"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.