“So may all our foes be routed!” said the president, and to this sentiment there was a response of three cheers.  Alas, how soon all that pride was to be humiliated!  The column was now nearing the head of the lane which ran into Water Street, the leading business avenue of the town.  Sid, who always had an eye out to the course that was prudent, was exclaiming, in low tones, “Don’t—­don’t go too near Water Street!  Look out for down-townies, fellers!” It is often the case in a village of any size that there will be among the boys two parties representing two different sections and supposed to represent two different ideas and civilizations.  Seamont had its boy-clans, those at the lower end of the village being the down-townies, and those at the upper end were designated as up-townies.  The club belonged to the up-townies, “the only fit class for gentlemen,” Sid had declared The down-townies delighted to hurl all kinds of epithets at the other boys, and these “gentlemen” up-townies could sling titles almost as successfully, and both sides would sometimes give additional flavor to their epithets by means of missiles, even as mothers sometimes season their injunctions to boys with a twig from the old apple-tree in the yard.  The club had had no hand in these intestine feuds, but sympathized with the warriors in their neighborhood, the up-townies.  There had been war recently between the two hostile sections, so that the boys did not venture far from their homes, and what did our valiant column now run into but a band of six belligerent down-townies!  The club, at Sid’s suggestion, had already passed a vote to give no quarter to down-townies, and that in case of trouble it should be “war to the last drop!” They prudently did not say what that drop might be, blood or only perspiration.  Here was a grand test-hour close at hand.  One of the down-townies raised a provoking cry, “Ho, fellers; see those little ragamuffins!”

He pointed toward the column, whose advance Juggie was enthusiastically stimulating by loud and prolonged blasts on the fish-horn.

“Boys, let’s go for ’em,” said one of the down-townies.  Raising the war-whoop of the down-townies, which was a savage, senseless yell, and lacking the fine martial tones of the up-townies’ battle-cry, the enemy made their charge.  Sid Waters stepped, or leaped rather, from the “chariot” and ran toward the barn.  Away went the “colors” in the hands of Juggie, almost capsizing him, as the tall standard swayed violently.  Away went Wort, and away went Tony.  Away rattled the go-cart, Billy and Pip making excellent time as they dragged it along.  An engine rushing to a fire could not have gone much faster.

“Don’t run!” shouted Gov.  Grimes.  “Stand your ground, my men!  Rally!”

“No, sir,” said Charlie, replying to the first appeal, and then, in response to the second, said, quickly, “Yes, sir.”

Charlie was the only one among “my men” willing to “rally.”  But the governor was not discouraged.  He was resolute, even at times to stubbornness.