The parade started. Drums commenced to beat time, bands commenced to play, and forth into the surrounding darkness flowed a little stream of lights as if the sea of torches had sprung a-leak, and was trickling down the street.
Hal and Ned had a good view of the make-up of the procession; but they were impatient to become, themselves, a part of it, and fretted at the delay.
“There comes the last!” exclaimed a self-appointed leader. “Get ready, four abreast!”
In the confusion caused by forming some semblance of ranks, the two boys found themselves elbowed aside by tall men who didn’t want to be made to look ridiculous, and by short men who didn’t wish to be classed with “kids,” and by medium sized men who evidently never had been boys—and finally, when the whole had been divided by four, Ned and Hal found themselves sifted back to the rear, as remainders!
Nobody seemed to notice them or their plight. For a moment they were dismayed.
“Aw, don’t let’s care,” said Ned, bluffly. “We can march, just the same.”
“Of course,” responded Hal. “And it’s more fun to be two,” he added, defiantly.
The column moved jerkily past, “hitching” along, after the manner of all processions in starting, as though it was learning to walk. When the tail came opposite, the blue capes joined themselves to it, and now the parade moved off, complete—a whip lash of bobbing lights, with the blue capes forming the snapper, and Ned and Hal being the frayed tip.
Bands played conflicting tunes; flambeaux flared and red fire glared; transparencies curtsied and turned themselves about for approval; the people lined up along the curb upon either side of the route hooted and cheered.