Noon of Thursday was the time fixed for the departure of the fleet. Certain naval evolutions and much saluting and other courtesies would attend the farewell. Every available vessel of the United States navy would take part in the ceremonies. The president and the cabinet would come from Washington, and a great banquet, at which Mr. Brent and the officers of the foreign ships would be the principal guests, would be given on the eve of sailing. These and other plans for making memorable an occasion unique in human history were hastily prepared. These few days were not particularly happy ones for Brent. He was able to escape many of the honors and much of the publicity which would have been forced upon him. He was most pleasantly disappointed by the absence of all envious and abusive notes from the chorus of public comment upon the situation. The criticism would come later, he told himself, but he was thankful for the present immunity. Not that he relished much more the fulsome laudations that were poured upon him from all sides. He speedily wearied of praise which he was sure was not deserved. Especially irksome did this become at the great banquet, where he and his gold were the almost exclusive themes of after-dinner eloquence. He acknowledged these tributes from great men with a diffidence and brevity which might have signified lack of appreciation, but his words were received with flattering enthusiasm. The extravagant though eloquent eulogy in which his health was proposed by a famous orator, aroused emotions more gloomy than proud in the young man’s breast, and many noticed the expression of sadness upon his face as he silently acknowledged the compliment. The next day was given over to those forms of public pleasure-making which America loves best. It was a holiday by common consent. The metropolis was thronged. Thousands had come from all parts of the Atlantic seaboard and the interior to witness all that could be publicly seen of an event for which history could find no parallel. Nobody seemed quite sure whether it should be a solemn or a gay occasion. It was the celebration of an escape from a great though unknown peril, and at the same time it was the funeral ceremony of what the world regards as the most potent of its material possessions. At all events, it was a moment which called for the most imposing display of civic and political splendor, and nothing within the resources of a spectacle-loving people was withheld. The city was decorated from end to end as for a great fête. There was a great naval, military, and civic procession on Broadway, stretching almost from the Battery to Central Park.