Baldwin did not answer. He stood meditatively gazing out the window. From the Dickinson and the Kennedy magic lanterns were flashing campaign slogans on white sheets suspended at opposite houses. The uproar of cat-calls and hoots that accompanied the exhibitions left small reason to hope that they were couched in that clear, reasoning style which would uplift future American politics.
As he looked, from the Upper House the indignant and now thoroughly aroused fourth form started to parade with torch-lights and transparencies. Presently the winding procession, clothed in super-imposed night shirts, arrived with hideous clamour. Dangling from a pole were two grotesque figures stuffed with straw and decked with aprons; overhead was the inscription, "Kings of the Goo-Goos," and one was labelled Hickey and one was labelled Brother. Opposite his window they halted and chanted in soft unison:
Hush, hush, tread softly,
Hush, hush, make no noise,
Baldwin is the King of the Goo-Goos,
Let him sleep,
Let him sleep.
Shouted: LET HIM SLEEP!!!
Then the transparencies succeeded one another, bobbing over the rolling current of indignant seniors.
BACK TO THE KINDERGARTEN!
WE WANT NO BROTHERLY LOVE!
GOOD-BYE, BALDWIN! GOOD-BYE!
Baldwin drew down the shade and stepped from the window. He heard a familiar step in the corridor, and quickly locked the door. Baronson knocked; then he knocked again; after which he moved away, chuckling.
When the fourth form procession arrived on its tour around the circle the Dickinsonians were prepared to welcome it. Crazy Opdyke, head of the literary bureau, stood by the lantern directing the proclamations to be flashed on the sheet that hung from the opposite house.
Hickey and Macnooder posted the orators at strategic windows, supplying them with compressed arguments in the form of eggs and soft apples.
"All ready?" said Opdyke as Hickey returned, chuckling.