On the first corner of Harvard Street were stationed three or four small boys (the occasionally useful Cambridge muckers) employed as vedettes. Upon the approach of the triumph, they dashed off to the different clubs and gathering-places where the long oppressed people were eagerly awaiting the arrival of Bullam in chains. These all flocked to Harvard Street, Hudson bringing his cornet, Dixey a pair of cymbals, and Ned Burleigh flourishing the drum-major's baton, with which he had done mighty service in the last torch-light procession. It was going to be the most glorious triumph ever seen in the classic shades since Washington rode through them on his white charger. But, alas! what a trivial thing may upset the grandest strategy; what a petty boor may defeat Ulysses! Yet it was not such a petty boor who caused the ruin in this case; it was the Cambridge mucker, and he should never have been overlooked by a man of Machiavelli Stoughton's experience. Those who know the Cantabrigian guerilla respect his power, though they abhor his ways. An influential member of this free lancehood, having demanded a quarter for the vedette service before mentioned, and being refused employment, nursed a vindictive spirit. He gathered a band on Harvard Street, near to the advanced scouts, and waited to see what was going to happen. As soon as Stoughton and Randolph came up with the attendant Bullam, this unforeseen enemy raised a joyful shout and marshalled his comrades behind the trio. As they proceeded along the street, he yelled to every mucker they passed, "Hey, ragsy, come on! Here's two o' de Ha'vards gettin' run in!" Muckers gathered from every side like jackals, and Bullam, realizing the sudden turn in the aspect of affairs, no longer lagged behind, but forged up alongside of his would-be tamers, and assumed his old fierce and haughty air. He could maintain his dignity before the public anyway. This was the way Dick Stoughton's great triumph looked when it reached a point opposite the Yard. The expectant crowd of undergraduates looked for a moment in surprise and grief, then, notwithstanding their disappointment at Bullam's escape, a great roar of laughter went up, as they concluded that the two daring plotters had egregiously failed in their attempt and were on their way to a dungeon. "Let's bail them out," cried two or three. "Bail nothing, you idiots," shouted the chagrined Stoughton, "we are not arrested; this man is our body-guard. Come on, and we will take the procession around the Square and up Garden Street."