The town quickly took on the appearance of entertaining a royal visitor, and a number of shops were kept open longer than usual in the hope that their owners might catch some of the American’s money. One morning Philippe, the hotel proprietor, was trying to impress Brewster with a gesticulatory description of the glories of the Bataille de Fleurs. It seemed quite impossible to express the extent of his regret that the party had not arrived in time to see it.
“This is quite another place at that time,” he said ecstatically. “C’est magnifique! c’est superbe! If monsieur had only seen it!”
“Why not have another all to ourselves?” asked Monty. But the suggestion was not taken seriously.
Nevertheless the young American and his host were in secret session for the rest of the morning, and when the result was announced at luncheon there was general consternation. It appeared that ten days later occurred the fête day of some minor saint who had not for years been accorded the honor of a celebration. Monty proposed to revive the custom by arranging a second carnival.
“You might just as well not come to the Riviera at all,” he explained, “if you can’t see a carnival. It’s a simple matter, really. I offer one price for the best decorated carriage and another to the handsomest lady. Then everyone puts on a domino and a mask, throws confetti at everyone else, and there you are.”
“I suppose you will have the confetti made of thousand franc notes, and offer a house and lot as a prize.” And Bragdon feared that his sarcasm was almost insulting.
“Really, Monty, the scheme is ridiculous,” said DeMille, “the police won’t allow it.”
“Won’t they though!” said Monty, exultantly. “The chief happens to be Philippe’s brother-in-law, and we had him on the telephone. He wouldn’t listen to the scheme until we agreed to make him grand marshal of the parade. Then he promised the cooperation of the entire force and hoped to interest his colleague, the chief of the fire department.”
“The parade will consist of two gendarmes and the Brewster party in carriages,” laughed Mrs. Dan. “Do you expect us to go before or after the bakery carts?”
“We review the procession from the hotel,” said Monty. “You needn’t worry about the fête. 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 cakewalk 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 Hôtel 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 curé 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.
From the balcony of the hotel Monty and his party pelted those below with flowers and confetti. More allusions to Franklin and Lafayette were made when the cure and the mayor halted the procession and presented Monty with an address richly engrossed on imitation parchment. Then the school children sang and the crowd dispersed to meet again in the evening.
At eight o’clock Brewster presided over a large banquet, and numbered among his guests every one of
