“Pile in, boys!” called one of the drivers.

Neither of the stage drivers was in the secret of what was likely to happen down the road.

The start was made, the horses moving barely faster than a walk.

By this time the athletic field was practically deserted.  There was no sign of the presence of the Fordham High School team, nor of the bad element that Barnes had enlisted.

It was not until the stages had proceeded nearly four blocks that Dave, sitting beside Dick on the driver’s seat of the first stage, caught sight of some bobbing heads further up the road.

“There they are,” whispered Dave.  “Lying in wait at the next corner.  They’ll jump out when we get there.”

“Let them!” muttered Dick.   “They’ll have to start it—–­but after
they do-----!”

The stages had almost reached the next corner.  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.

The soldier is drilled to fair play, and to detestation of cowardice.  These young military students passed the word quickly.  They left the grounds at once, but formed near by, on a side street near where they learned that Barnes and his rough mob lay in ambush.

“I declare, that’s the neatest, most military thing I ever saw done!” laughed Dave Darrin.

“And done by the boys you made fun of as sham West Pointers!” laughed Dick quizzically.

“But I didn’t mean it,” protested Dave, growing very red.  “These are splendid fellows.  Evidently they think that they, too, are entitled to say a word or two about the good name of Fordham.”