Last of all came Flip. His wheelbarrow was stunning in its red, white and blue draperies, and the Plaster Group of noble signers stood firmly in place as he trundled the vehicle along. Flip wore a Continental suit, and was supposed to represent George Washington, but as his white cotton-wool wig proved rather warm, and he was not so patient as King, he carried the wig and cocked hat under his arm, until he should reach the party.
And so, his round, freckled face, and somewhat obstreperous hair, surmounting the brass-buttoned blue coat, rather spoiled the illusion of the Father of our Country.
“Hey, you!” called out King, from the other end of the parade, “put on your head-rigging. You spoil the show!”
“Can’t help it,” Flip called back. “It’s too roasting hot! I’ll put it on when we get there.”
“Hot! pooh!” shouted King, in scorn. “What d’you think of me! I’m melting in this fur envelope, but I keep it on just the same!”
“All right, keep it on,” returned Flip, amicably, and the incident was closed.
Slowly, and thoroughly enjoying themselves, the parade moved down Broad Avenue.
People flew to the windows to watch them, or stepped out on their verandahs to see them go by. They received great applause, and many enthusiastic spectators begged them to stop a moment, or came out and walked by their side to examine the curious floats. At last, they turned into the Maynards’ place.
Flip hastily clapped on his wig and hat, and the parade marched up the drive.
“Ought to have had music!” exclaimed King. “Never thought of it till this minute!”