But this fall, gun and duck did not stand as the only excitement for Ned and the other Beaufort youth. Politics were red hot. A president and vice-president of the United States were to be elected, and the town was in a perfect ferment day and night.

There were caucuses and parades and “rallies” and sidewalk discussions and even fights, in all of which the boys, and the girls, too, took lively interest.

At school the recesses were given over, for the most part, to debate. Ned’s father was a Republican, Ned was what his father was, and Bob was what Ned was; Mr. Lucas was a Democrat, therefore Hal was a Democrat; Tom had no father living, and so he sided with neither cause, but said that he “didn’t care.”

sang Ned and his crowd.

retorted Hal and his fellow partisans.

Whereupon the Republicans claimed the best of the argument.

Nobody in Beaufort was more faithful in attending the various political meetings than was Ned. With eyes and ears alert he sedately accompanied his father; or else, doing as he pleased, tagged the band about through the streets until it brought up at hall or opera house. He sat or stood, squeezed in, the whole evening through, listening to orators declare what great and wise things their party had done, and what mean and foolish things the other parties had done. In case it was a Republican meeting he cheered in triumph; in case it was the opposition (for he did not limit himself to the one) he cheered “just for fun.” Thus he was able to do lots of shouting, and went home hot, hoarse, and full of enthusiasm.

Of all the meetings in the town during the campaign, the crowning one occurred as follows:

“Hello!” exclaimed Mr. Miller, glancing over The Evening Clarion.

“What is it?” inquired his wife, while Ned, hovering near, was at once all ears.

“Why, I see by The Clarion that Senator Lipp is to be here on the twenty-ninth, and we’re going to have the biggest Republican rally ever held in the county,” explained her husband.

“Say——” cried Ned, agog, and forgetful of his recent promise.

“Gun!” said his mother.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to. It slipped out before I thought,” excused Ned.

“Well, don’t let it slip in again,” laughed his mother.

“There’ll be a big parade around the town, winding up at the opera house,” continued Mr. Miller, skimming through the article. “All the outside places are to be invited to send marching clubs. It’s the last rally before election, and it will be a whooper.”

“Oh, father! I want to march! Can I?” begged Ned.

“Certainly,” replied his father, unexpectedly. “Go ahead.”

“But I mean march in the parade,” persisted Ned.

“We’ll see,” responded his father.

“But I’m sure they don’t want boys fussing round them,” objected Mrs. Miller.

“Yes, they do, mother,” quickly corrected Ned. “Lots of boys march.”

“I’m afraid that they’ll gladly take anybody large enough to carry a torch,” confessed Mr. Miller.

“The idea!” exclaimed his wife, shocked by this give-away of political methods.

As time wore on, the approaching rally grew to mammoth proportions, and kept Ned busy talking about its numerous phases.

The Clarion devoted columns of space to it, and the town was well plastered with posters bristling with exclamation points and heavy type.

As to his marching, Ned now had not the slightest doubt. His father said nothing more upon the subject, and silence gave consent.

“My father says we’re going to have a monster rally, too; the night before election,” at last Hal declared, in retort to Ned’s vauntings.

“’Twon’t be as big as ours,” asserted Ned.

“’Twill, I bet,” stoutly returned Hal, sticking up for the honor of the Democratic party. “And I’m going to march!”

“Are you?” queried Ned, feeling as though some of the polish had been taken off his own future.

Of course, there was the remote chance that rain would interfere with the Republicans, or that in some other way the Democrats would be led to outdo them.

“Say—no, I didn’t mean that; but I tell you what,” he proposed, suddenly: “you march with me in our parade, and I’ll march with you in yours!”

“All right,” agreed Hal. “You don’t suppose they’ll care, do you?”

By “they” he referred to Republicans and Democrats in general, who might be disposed to resent such an exchange.

“I guess not,” hazarded Ned. “It evens up, you know. And then, we’re only kids.”

The day of the parade came, and dawned upon a town already gay with bunting and banners. As the sun rose higher, and peeped into the streets, seemingly at the touch of his rays other bunting and banners unfolded. By noon Republican Beaufort was in gala attire. Democratic Beaufort stolidly gazed, and resolved:

“Just wait until our turn, next week.”

Lithographs of the Republican candidates were displayed on all sides, in windows and attached to flags drooping from upper stories; cheese-cloth, bearing mottoes and portraits, spanned the downtown streets and stretched across corners; through the ordinary channels of business and private affairs ran a current of excitement.

“So you’re going to march, are you, Ned?” remarked his father, that noon, at dinner.

“Don’t, Neddie,” begged his mother. “You’ll get all covered with dirt and grease; and I’m sure the sight of you in the ranks won’t influence many voters.”

“But I’ve promised Hal to march in his parade if he’ll march in mine,” explained Ned. “And he’ll be mad if I back out. I’ll wear my old clothes.”

Mrs. Miller sighed and looked, for support, at her husband. However, not having Ned’s garments to clean, he was filled only with amusement.

As the afternoon wore on, the delegations from outside points began to arrive. In the shape of marching clubs, with wild cheers they tumbled off from incoming trains, and forming at the depot paraded up town, bands playing and people shouting. Or as farmers’ families they rattled in by wagon-loads, and tying the horses around the court-house square wandered through the streets.

In the schoolroom Ned and his fellow prisoners could hear the cries and music and sound of heavy wheels, and chafed to be free. With the welcome four o’clock bell they poured abroad, quite certain that there were a thousand new things to see.

This afternoon Bob sat at the front gate and waited in vain. He was cut out by politics.

His master, who had found much to do in watching the depots, and not missing what the streets also had to offer, did not appear until nearly supper time.

“Here you are, Ned,” called Mr. Miller, Clarion in hand. “This means you: ‘Marchers not attached to any organization may obtain their uniforms at Room 6, Shinn Block. It is requested that the uniforms be returned here, either immediately after the meeting, or to-morrow.’”

“Good!” cried Ned. “What kind of uniform?”

“Oh, nothing very extra, you’ll find,” replied his father, destroying Ned’s visions of epaulets and a cocked hat.

“But it will serve to keep your clothes from the oil and soot, I hope,” voiced the thrifty mother.

Ned galloped through his chores, and bolted a hasty supper. Hal whistled for him, and ruthlessly shutting in the barn the luckless Bob—who would have been unhappy, anyway, with so many bands playing in his ears, and so many feet to dodge—he scooted off.

“We’ll watch for you, when the parade comes past the corner,” cried his mother, after him; for the line of march led within a block of the house.

Already streams of people, mostly men and boys, some even now in uniform, were flowing toward the business centre of town; and that business centre itself was a fascinating scene of bustle, as the marchers, in a variety of costumes, strode the walks, or loitered at their points of assembly.

For Ned and Hal, the first thing to do was to get uniforms. Until they had some trappings they could not feel as though they amounted to much.

Room 6, Shinn Block, fairly was swarming with persons after uniforms. In one corner was a pile of capes, near by was a stack of caps, and in another corner were sheaves of torches. Evidently all that was necessary to do was to walk up, pick out an outfit, and leave.

The two boys sidled in, and had just seized upon a cape apiece when they were interrupted by a man who from beside the door was overseeing things.

“Hey, you kids! What are you doing with those capes?” he demanded, gruffly.

Ned and Hal, startled and abashed, dropped their spoils.

“We’re going to march,” stammered Ned.

“Oh, that’s all right. It’s Will Miller’s boy,” explained somebody in the room, coming to the rescue. “Let him march.”

“And isn’t that young Lucas?” queried somebody else. “Is your father going to march with us to-night, too, sonny?”

“No, he isn’t!” retorted Hal, hotly. “He’s going to be in a lots bigger parade than this, next week!”

Amid the teasing laughter which greeted this sally the boys snatched cape and cap and torch, and fled lest yet they might be stopped.

The capes were of blue oilcloth, and buckled at the throat. The caps also were of oilcloth, but red, and were round, with a flat top and heavy visor. The torches consisted of a long staff, at the end of which swung a can containing kerosene and a wick.

As soon as they were clear of the room the boys donned their rigs. The capes came down to their knees; and since in their haste they had not taken account of size, their caps were far too large, and spun about on their crowns. Paper, a tremendous quantity, having been stuffed under the bands inside, then, with their caps still wobbly, but with their capes rustling and their torches proudly held aloft, the two brave marchers descended to the street.

Even during their brief stay while getting their outfit, a change had taken place in the aspect of the world without. Darkness had fallen, and torches were being called into life, right and left.

“Let’s light up!” proposed Hal.

“Let’s,” seconded Ned.

This was as easily done as said; they simply applied their wicks to the lighted wick of the next good-natured man whom they met—and good nature was everywhere to-night—and now, with torches blazing, they were fully in trim for the parade.

The procession was forming. On horseback marshals, distinguished by a sash passing from one shoulder diagonally across the chest and under the opposite arm, dashed up, and wheeled and dashed down again. Horns gave preliminary, erratic toots, and drums broke in with sudden rolls. Flambeaux flamed forth, and died out. Transparencies bobbed hither and thither, upon invisible legs. Marching clubs stood at ease, while their members jested and waited. The air was filled with kerosene smoke and echoing voices.

Ned and Hal, holding their heads stiffly lest their caps should tumble off, and wrapped in their blue capes like a cattle-man in his poncho, sped to the corner mentioned by The Clarion as the meeting place of the “unattached.” Here had gathered about fifty other blue capes and red caps, and the number was slowly being swelled.

“Hi there!” hailed a marshal, spurring to them. “You men close in, in column of fours, on the rear of the procession, as it passes by.”

Off he tore again, while Ned and Hal felt not a little elated at having been classed among the “men.”

The parade started. Drums commenced to beat time, bands commenced to play, and forth into the surrounding darkness flowed a little stream of lights as if the sea of torches had sprung a-leak, and was trickling down the street.

Hal and Ned had a good view of the make-up of the procession; but they were impatient to become, themselves, a part of it, and fretted at the delay.

“There comes the last!” exclaimed a self-appointed leader. “Get ready, four abreast!”

In the confusion caused by forming some semblance of ranks, the two boys found themselves elbowed aside by tall men who didn’t want to be made to look ridiculous, and by short men who didn’t wish to be classed with “kids,” and by medium sized men who evidently never had been boys—and finally, when the whole had been divided by four, Ned and Hal found themselves sifted back to the rear, as remainders!

Nobody seemed to notice them or their plight. For a moment they were dismayed.

“Aw, don’t let’s care,” said Ned, bluffly. “We can march, just the same.”

“Of course,” responded Hal. “And it’s more fun to be two,” he added, defiantly.

The column moved jerkily past, “hitching” along, after the manner of all processions in starting, as though it was learning to walk. When the tail came opposite, the blue capes joined themselves to it, and now the parade moved off, complete—a whip lash of bobbing lights, with the blue capes forming the snapper, and Ned and Hal being the frayed tip.

Bands played conflicting tunes; flambeaux flared and red fire glared; transparencies curtsied and turned themselves about for approval; the people lined up along the curb upon either side of the route hooted and cheered.

Away at the end Ned and Hal proudly held their torches as high as they could, and tried to keep step with the men in front of them. Theirs was the most uncomfortable station in the line. All the dust, and the soot and reek from the kerosene drifted back to enfold them; the red fire was burned out before they arrived, and likewise the spectators had done their cheering and were taking short cuts to other points. Worse than all this, as the rear of the procession filed by the onlookers crowded in behind it, and fairly stepped on the heels of the two boys.

The parade was now about to traverse a section of South Beaufort—and Ned and Hal, realizing that they were nearing the enemy’s country, grew a little nervous. It was at no little risk that a boy from Beaufort proper crossed the dead-line into South Beaufort—the lurking place of the Conners, and “Slim” and “Fat” Sullivan, and Luke McCoy, and “Big” Mike Farr and “Loppy” Lynch, and the rest of the “gang”!

However, it was too late to back out. The rear guard must hold its post.

Hardly had the tail of the procession passed over the South Beaufort threshold, when rose the jeering cry:

“The kids! Say, catch on to the kids hangin’ on behind!”

A lump of dirt slapped against Ned’s oilcloth cape. Another knocked Hal’s cap askew. Small lads and girls pressed close upon them and threatened and mocked, while big brothers and sisters in the background encouraged.

The two boys pretended not to notice, but looked straight ahead while earnestly wishing that they were again in their own district.

But the worst was coming.

The nagging urchins, urged on from all sides, waxed bolder, and began to jerk at the boys’ capes, so that both were being compelled to struggle along like engines towing a line of cars.

This was getting to be too much.

“Oh, let go, will you!” growled Ned, crossly, turning and giving his foremost tormentor a sharp push.

“Hi, Mike, he hit your brother!” delightedly rose a chorus of voices.

“Sock it to him, Patsy! Don’t you stand it!” advised others.

“Aw, Patsy! To let a feller like him hit yer!” jeered still others.

Thus egged on, Patsy, who was not even up to Ned’s shoulders, doubled his scrawny, dirty fists, and scowled fiercely.

“What did you hit me fer? I wasn’t doin’ nothin’,” he demanded.

“I didn’t hit you. You were too!” replied Ned, seeking to go on. But too late. He was hemmed about, as through magic, by a circle which cut him off from Hal and from the procession.

The parade with the blue cape snapper went its way, unaware that it had lost its frayed tip, for Hal, too, was having his troubles.

“G’wan!” sneered Ned’s mite of a foe, hunching himself forward, brave in his knowledge that the majority was with him.

“Soak it to him, Patsy,” howled the ring of spectators.

They took up the playful practice of shoving one another against Ned, who, like a baited bear, was assailed from all sides.

“G’wan!” piped Patsy, again, trampling on Ned’s toes.

Somebody smartly knocked Ned’s cap off. Somebody reached over and wrenched at his torch, and while he was striving to keep it his cape was neatly turned over his head just as Patsy struck him a stinging blow on the mouth.

Blinded in his cape, poor Ned floundered here and there, jostled, kicked, and beaten, until he thought that his last hour had come. He lost his cap, and he lost his torch, and finally the fastenings of his cape gave way and he lost it, too. This proved lucky, for with a plunge he broke the ring hemming him in, and in the mix-up escaped.

He was discovered.

“Here he is!”

“Stop him!”

“Head him off!”

“Kill him!”

Ned, never doubting that they would “kill him” if they caught him, darted down the street, and into an alley, his laughing, whooping pursuers full tilt after him. Over fences, through yards, breathless, desperate, hunted, dodged Ned, and the hue and cry died in the distance. He ventured out upon a street, and slackened to a walk.

Bareheaded, bruised and aching, his trappings in the hands of the enemy, he cared no more for the parade. He went straight home.

As he neared the gate, he saw a figure sitting on the horse-block before it.

“Is that you, Hal?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Hal. “Did they hurt you?”

“No—not much,” asserted Ned, going to the horse-block. “Did they jump on you, too?”

“Yes,” said Hal, with a little sob in his voice. “They grabbed me from behind, and held me, and then somebody hit me, and then they all piled on me—the dirty cowards.”

“So they did on me,” announced Ned, knowing that misery loves company.

“They don’t fight fair!” sobbed Hal. “And they took my cap and cape and torch.”

“Mine, too,” said Ned. “But I’ll get my father to explain so the men won’t think we stole them. And we’ll get even with that South Beaufort gang, some day.”

“You bet we will,” vowed Hal, pulling himself together. “They didn’t hurt me much, only they didn’t give me any chance.”

The boys compared notes, and found that neither was damaged beyond a few bruises, and their wounded spirits. They spent an hour going over plans to get even; the best seemed to be to enlist all their friends for the Democratic parade, and march through South Beaufort, and when the moment came, to turn on the “gang” and simply annihilate it.

However, this plan did not ripen, mainly because the Democratic parade was prevented by rain.