Grinning, or scowling,
according to individual moods, the roughs streamed out into the,
street.
Gridley boys steeled themselves for a conflict, hopeless in odds
of five to one!
At this point a clear voice sounded in the distance.
"A Company, left wheel, march!"
Around another corner near by came a company of boys from the
Fordham Military Institute. It was followed by a second company,
a third and a fourth.
Then, by a further series of commands, one company was sent, on
the double quick, to march ahead of the first stage, while another
company fell in behind the second stage, while the other companies
formed and marched on either side of the stages.
While these hasty maneuvers were being carried out the fine-looking
young cadet major of the battalion lifted his fatigue cap to Dick
Prescott.
"Captain," called the boyish major, "you gave us such a fine exhibition
of gentlemanly football that we beg leave to show our appreciation
by marching as your escort of honor to the station."
The rough crowd in the street had fallen back to the sidewalks,
a savage mutter going up at the same time.
The Military School boys were without arms, save those Nature
had given them, but they, marched in solid ranks and stood for
two hundred pairs of fists!
So Barnes's last hope of vengeance vanished. Even his own rough
followers turned to eye him in disgust.
Before they left the grounds some of the Military School boys
had heard a whisper or two of what Barnes planned.
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