mustn't fight. Red Crossers never do. They
just stay around the hospitals." He fumbled in a hip pocket for the bit
of red school chalk which he used for marking hop-scotch squares on the
sidewalks. "Come here and I'll put the cross on your arm. And," he
offered as alluring alternative, "if you don't like that, I'll punch
your face and send you home!"

Like the one non-office holder of a certain short-lived boys' club who
was given the specially created position of "Honorable Vice-President,"
the Mosher infant was more than placated. As he galloped off astride an
imaginary horse for a circuit of the field, the factions breathed a
unanimous sigh of relief.

"No fair firing until we say 'Ready,'" shouted the exultant diplomat, as
he gathered his forces and led them toward their own territory.

"Now," said he, when they reached the tall, straggling weeds, "how're we
going to beat 'em?"

Immediately a babel of suggestions ensued. Bill waited a few impatient
minutes and executed a taunting, barbaric war dance to the center of the
field. Carefully planned campaigns were not for him; his force boasted
too many good marksmen.

"'Fraid cats! 'Fraid cats!" he shrieked at the top of his lungs.
"C'ardy, c'ardy custard, eatin' bread an' must-a-ard. Come on an' get
beat. Come on an' get beat."

John nodded at a suggestion of Red's and turned to the dancing figure.

"Ready, ch-a-arge!" he shouted. Silvey retreated promptly to the shelter
of his own army. Presently his four weakest marksmen advanced.

"Wants to get us fighting," explained General Fletcher, as he restrained
his impatient subordinates. "Then he and Skinny and Sid will pick us
off. Come on--and remember."

They advanced silently without wasting a cucumber. The elder Harrison
boy who led the four skirmishers, ventured a shot to open the
engagement. Silvey, Skinny, and Sid DuPree sauntered carelessly up.

"Now!" shouted John.

His little force split into two groups. Red, with Perry and two others,
charged to the right of the advancing quartette, while the general's
detachment dodged quickly past their left. Then at a signal, seven arms
loosed a shower of missiles at the startled trio of leaders.

A cucumber caught Skinny Mosher squarely below his ear. Another left a
moist spot on one of Silvey's oft darned stockings. A third missile
found another mark on the now bewildered Mosher. Red Brown advanced upon
him.

"Surrender!" he yelled.

Mosher fished another