"There may
be trouble."
Cluff brightened perceptibly.
"What kind of trouble?"
"Urgante is leading a mob up this way. They're turning the corner
now."
"I'm going to wait and see them," cried Miss Polly, with decision.
"Bend over, then, all of you," ordered Sherwen. "The vines will
cover you if you keep down."
Around the corner, up the hill from where they were, streamed a
rabble of boys, leaping and whooping, and after them a more
compact crowd of men, shoeless, centering on a tall, broad, heavy-
mustached fellow who bore on a short staff the Stars and Stripes.
"Where on earth did he get that?" cried Sherwen.
"Looted the Bazaar Americana," replied Perkins.
"That's Urgante," growled Cluff; "that devil with the flag."
"But he seems to be eulogizing it," cried the girl.
The orator had set down his bright burden, wedging it in the iron
guard railing of a tree, and was now apostrophizing it with
extravagant bows and honeyed accents in which there was an
undertone of hiss. For confirmation, Miss Polly turned to the
others. The first face her eyes fell on was that of the ball-
player.
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