“We review the procession from the hotel,” said Monty.  “You needn’t worry about the fete.  It’s going to be great.  Why, an Irishman isn’t fonder of marching than these people are of having a carnival.”

The men in the party went into executive session as soon as Monty had gone to interview the local authorities, and seriously considered taking measures to subdue their host’s eccentricities.  But the humor of the scheme appealed to them too forcibly, and almost before they knew it they were making plans for the carnival.

“Of course we can’t let him do it, but it would be sport,” said “Subway” Smith.  “Think of a cake-walk between gendarmes and blanchiseuses.”

“I always feel devilish the moment I get a mask on,” said Vanderpool, “and you know, by Jove, I haven’t felt that way for years.”

“That settles it, then,” said DeMille.  “Monty would call it off himself if he knew how it would affect Reggie.”

Monty returned with the announcement that the mayor of the town would declare a holiday if the American could see his way to pay for the repairs on the mairie roof.  A circus, which was traveling in the neighborhood, was guaranteed expenses if it would stop over and occupy the square in front of the Hotel de Ville.  Brewster’s enthusiasm was such that no one could resist helping him, and for nearly a week his friends were occupied in superintending the erection of triumphal arches and encouraging the shopkeepers to do their best.  Although the scheme had been conceived in the spirit of a lark it was not so received by the townspeople.  They were quite serious in the matter.  The railroad officials sent advertisements broadcast, and the local cure called to thank Brewster for resurrecting, as it were, the obscure saint.  The expression of his gratitude was so mingled with flattery and appeal that Monty could not overlook the hint that a new altar piece had long been needed.

The great day finally arrived, and no carnival could have been more bizarre or more successful.  The morning was devoted to athletics and the side shows.  The pompiers won the tug of war, and the people marveled when Monty duplicated the feats of the strong man in the circus.  DeMille was called upon for a speech, but knowing only ten words of French, he graciously retired in favor of the mayor, and that pompous little man made the most of a rare opportunity.  References to Franklin and Lafayette were so frequent that “Subway” Smith intimated that a rubber stamp must have been used in writing the address.

The parade took place in the afternoon, and proved quite the feature of the day.  The question of precedence nearly overturned Monty’s plans, but the chief of police was finally made to see that if he were to be chief marshal it was only fair that the pompiers should march ahead of the gendarmes.  The crew of the “Flitter” made a wonderful showing.  It was led by the yacht’s band, which fairly outdid Sousa in noise, though it was less unanimous in the matter of time.  All the fiacres came at the end, but there were so many of them and the line of march was so short that at times they were really leading the processional despite the gallant efforts of the grand marshal.