EVENING ON THE CANAL.
It was a thrilling sight, and, on that cold night, chilled the spectators to the marrow.
As they walked along the edge of the Basin after leaving their launch, the boys greatly admired the statues of animals and men set up near the balustrade. There was a bull, several great bears, a farmer and a draft-horse, a bison (who seemed timid and dwarfed by his surroundings), and others, nearly all modeled with a massive effect that gave them wonderful dignity.
And still the crowd surged to and fro, but now with a decided tendency toward the outlets; the lights flashed and gleamed; the bands played, while the great moon sailed overhead as if it was all a fête to Diana.
Tired as they were when they reached the hotel, the boys could not refrain from talking over some of the principal things they had seen. They did not say much about the buildings, for they knew they should see them again; but they talked of the people, the fireworks, and such queer comments as they had overheard.
“I expected,” said Philip, “that we should see a great many foreigners—Turks, Swedes, Germans, all sorts. But I didn’t. I saw two or three fellows with fezzes on, but that was about all.”
“I noticed that, too,” Harry responded. “And I didn’t hear much but English spoken. It seems to me that Uncle Sam has done most of this thing himself, and that it’s mainly his own boys that are taking it in.”
“But it’s early days yet,” said Philip, with a prodigious yawn, “to make—aw!—comparisons.”
“That looks more like late hours than early days,” Harry suggested. “Let’s turn in.”