The Loco Foco Club at school used to sing:

"Oh, poor old Harry Clay!
Oh, poor old Harry Clay!
You never can be President
For Polk stands in the way."

Nora Whitney used to rock in the big chair with kitty in her arms, and
this was her version:

"Oh, poor old pussy gray!
Oh, poor old pussy gray!
You never can be President
For Polk stands in the way."

This didn't tease the little girl nearly so much, for she knew no matter
how sweet and lovely and good a cat might be, it could only aspire to
that honor in catland. She did so hate to hear Mr. Clay called old and
poor when he was neither. To her he was brave Harry of the West, the
hero of battle-fields.

Jim had a rather hard time as well. He thought, with a boy's loyalty,
his people must be right. But there was Lily, who, with all _her_
people, was a rabid Democrat. He quite made up his mind he wouldn't keep
in with her, but the two girls he liked next best had Democratic
affiliations also.

Then the Whigs had a grand procession. Perhaps it would have been the
part of wisdom to wait until the victory was assured, but the leaders
thought it best to arouse enthusiasm to the highest pitch.

Stephen had joined with some friends and hired a window down Broadway.
The little girl thought it a very magnificent display. Such bands of
strikingly dressed men marching to inspiriting music, their torches
flaring about in vivid rays, such carriage loads, such wagons
representing different industries, and there was the grand Ship of
State, drawn by white horses, four abreast, and gayly attired, in which
Henry Clay was to sail successfully into the White House. After that
imposing display the little girl had no fear at all. Jim was very
toploftical to Miss Lily for several days.

Then came the fatal day. There were no telegraphs to flash the news all
over the country before midnight. A small one connected Baltimore and
Washington, but long distance was considered chimerical.

So they had to wait and wait. Fortunes varied. At last reliable accounts
came, and Polk had stood in the way, or perhaps Mr. Binney, the third
candidate, had taken too many votes. Anyhow, the day was lost to brave
Harry of the West.

The little girl was bitterly disappointed. She would have liked all the
family to tie a black crape around their arms, as Joe had once when he
went to a great doctor's funeral. Dele teased her a good deal, and Nora
sang:

"Hurra