“I do not blush for my friends, Miss Rowrer,” Phil said. “I will go this instant. The good fellow will be very glad to have your order.”
“We shall see you later,” answered Ethel.
The camping-party continued its stroll through the fair in two distinct groups. Behind were grandma and grand’mère, talking familiarly together. The piping-time of peace had come with currant-syrup under the arbor by the riverside. Mme. Riçois, full of smiles, fat and dimpling, came and went like a diplomatic valise between the group ahead,—Ethel, Yvonne, and Will,—and the group behind, grandma and grand’mère. These two elegant groups formed a phalanx, bannered by parasols, in the midst of the crowd in blue blouses.
They went along the principal part of the fair, a sort of central alley, which the circus blocked at one end, whereas, at the other end, under dusty trees, the show of domestic animals was lined up. From all parts arose a continuous confusion of sounds, like the murmur of the sea.
“What a noise!” grand’mère exclaimed. She was accustomed to her silent house, between the deserted place and the garden with its clipped yew-trees. “But there’s no harm in passing by such a Jericho now and then—it disgusts you with noise for a year to come!”
Just then Mme. Riçois came up, breathing hard.
“Oh, no! It’s too funny! I never saw Yvonne amuse herself so much. Ah! how gay these young people are! Do you know what M. Rowrer has been telling us? He declares that the country, even on a fair-day like this, soothes his nerves. Miss Rowrer is of the same opinion; they are as merry as children.”
“Perhaps they are too merry,” grand’mère thought to herself. “What an idea of my daughter’s to stay at the house for her preserves, and to leave me alone to look after Yvonne. Really, she chose her time well; was it so necessary for Yvonne to come here and admire the fronts of the booths? Ah! nowadays young people never have their fill of pleasure!”
To calm her conscience, grand’mère said to herself that it was all right for once, but that it should not happen again. Mme. Riçois spoke the truth. They were amusing themselves very much there in front—a great deal too much for grand’mère. Will was as gay as a boy let loose from school.
In comparison with such a provincial fête, Chicago, as he remembered it, made on him the effect of a machine-shop full of the noise of steam-hammers. Taking out his watch, he thought how at that very hour he might have been at the Stock Exchange, worried with business, in the midst of frenzied outcries and distorted faces; whereas, here there were only smiles and gaiety. Every one seemed happy, even the poorest; and the tumult was that of good-fellowship. Joyous vine-dressers were buying baskets for their grapes. Farther along, waffles were frying. Here they were selling cooked sausages; and expansive mouths were emptying their glasses or biting into loaves of bread.