“I wouldn’t mind,” said some one in the crowd. “Nor I,” said another. “If I was general I wouldn’t mind being Pompey. Let me, Bevis.” “Who’s that,” said Ted. “If any one says that I’ll smash him.” When he found he could so easily be superseded he surrendered. “Well, I’ll be Pompey,” he said, “but mind I shan’t be beat.” “Pompey ought to win if he can,” said Val; “that’s only fair.” “What’s the use of fighting if we are to be beat?” said Phil. “Of course,” said Bevis, “how very stupid you all are! Of course, Ted is to win if he can; he’s only to be called Pompey to make it proper. I know I shall beat him, but he’s to beat us if he can.” “I’m only to be called Pompey, mind,” said Ted; “mind that. We are to win if we can.” “Of course;” and so this delicate point was settled after very nearly leading to an immediate battle. “Hurrah for Pompey!” shouted George, throwing up his hat. “Hurrah for Caesar!” said Bill, hurling up his. This was the signal for a general shouting and uproar. They had been quiet ten minutes, and were obliged to let off their suppressed energy. There was a wild capering round the oak. “Ted Pompey,” said Charlie, little and impudent, “what fun it will be to see you run away!” For which he had his ears pulled till he squealed. “Now,” shouted Mark, “let’s get it all done. Come on.” The noise subsided somewhat, and they gathered round as Ted and Bevis began to talk again. “Caesar,” said Phil to Bevis, “if you’re Caesar and Ted’s Pompey, who are we? We ought to have names too.” “I’m Mark Antony,” said Mark, standing bolt upright. “Very well,” said Bevis. “Phil, you can be--let me see, Varro.” “All right, I’m Varro,” said Phil; “and who’s Val? Oh, I know,”-- running names over in his mind,--“he’s Crassus. Val Crassus, do you hear?” “Capital,” said Crassus. “I’m ready.” “Then there’s Cecil,” said Mark; “who’s he?” “Cecil!” said Phil. “Cecil--Cis--Cis--Scipio, of course.” “First-rate,” said Mark. “Scipio Cecil, that’s your name.” “Write it down on the roll,” said Bevis. The names were duly registered; Pompey’s lieutenants as Val Crassus and Phil Varro, and Caesar’s as Mark Antony and Scipio Cecil. After which there was a great flinging of stones into the water and more shouting. “Let’s see,” said Ted. “If there’s fifteen each side, there will be five soldiers to each, five for captains, and five for lieutenants.” “Cohorts,” said Phil. “A cohort each, hurrah!” “Do be quiet,” said Ted. “How can we go on when you make such a row? Caesar Bevis, are all the swords ready?” “No,” said Bevis. “We must fix the length, and have them all the same.” They got a stick, and after much discussion cut it to a certain length as a standard; Mark took charge of it, and all the swords were to be cut off by it, and none to be any thicker. There were to be cross-pieces nailed or fastened on, but the ends were to be blunt and not sharp. “No sticking,” said Ted. “Only knocking.”