"You look like nodding vat I efer see!" whooped Carl, envious to a degree that brought out the sarcastic words in spite of himself.
"My see plenty things likee Dutchy boy when my no gottee gun," chattered Ping.
"Py shinks," rumbled Carl, beside himself, "I vill make you eat dose topacco tags vat you haf on!"
"Makee tlacks," answered Ping, with a maddening wave of the fan; "makee tlacks to side show and plingee-plunk for Zulu man! My makee lide in procesh."
The Chinaman's lordly way worked havoc with Carl's nerves. He howled angrily and rushed forward. At just that moment the parade got under way, and the aëroplane lurched and swayed across the ground toward the road.
"Carl," cried Matt sternly, "keep away!"
The Dutch boy had to content himself with drawing back, shaking his fist at the glittering form on the upper wing of the aëroplane, and saying things to himself.
The parade was but a wearying repetition of the many Matt, McGlory, and Ping had already figured in. The glitter of tinsel, the shimmer of mirrors, the prancing steeds and their mediæval riders, the funny clowns, the camels and elephants, and the blare of the bands had long since lost their glamour. For Matt and his friends the romance had died out, and they were going about their work on a business basis.
The motor boys and their gasoline air ship always commanded attention and were loudly cheered. The fame of Motor Matt's exploits had been told in handbills and dodgers by the clever showman, and, too, Burton had seen to it that the young motorist secured ample space in the newspapers. This, naturally, aroused a great deal of interest, and it had long ago been conceded that Burton's greatest attractions were Matt and his aëroplane.
Rajah was a very good elephant during the entire parade. As usual, his mate, Delhi, marched ahead of him, and always had a pacifying effect. Dhondaram, perched on Rajah's neck, kept the huge brute lumbering in a straight line.