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 easiest. He sang in a lazy tune, but it was strange that he was the fellow who takes the heaviest responsibility.

While Porcupine and I, deeply impressed, were looking at the dance with absorbing interest, a sudden hue and cry was raised about half a block off. A commotion was started among those who had been quietly enjoying the sights and all ran pell-mell in every direction. Some one was heard saying “fight!” Then the younger brother of Red Shirt came running forward through the crowd.

“Please, Sir,” he panted, “a row again! The middles are going to get even with the normals and have just begun fighting. Come quick, Sir!” And he melted somewhere into the crowd.

“What troublesome brats! So they’re at it again, eh? Why can’t they stop it!”

Porcupine, as he spoke, dashed forward, dodging among the running crowd. He meant, I think, to stop the fight, because he could not be an idle