As the Governor stepped back to cheers that rocked the street, Lieutenant de Moal barked a sharp order, and the "Blue Devils" shouldered their guns with fixed bayonets, the six trumpeters ta-ra-ta-raed, and the soldiers of France moved off up the sidewalk lane to the side door of the Stock Exchange, where all business was suspended during the fifteen minutes of their visit on the floor. Four of the "Anzacs" meanwhile were taken from their ranks on the steps of the building up to the pedestal of the statue of Washington, which was used as speaker's platform, and Captain Frank McCallam made a brief address. "We haven't many men left," he said simply. "And it is up to you people to help us out to the best of your ability." More cheers, and then Cecil Arden sang "God Save the King." The American regular fired a blank volley over the heads of the crowd, and the kids scrambled for the empty shells. Following Wise and Straus, Bouilliz, the Belgian baritone, sang the "Marseillaise," and then, after the soldier band had played "Where Do We Go from Here, Boys?" Mme. Schumann-Heink advanced and sang the national anthem, following it up with an appeal that was the climax to the play. Less exciting but more impressive was the parade on April 26, when thousands of mothers who had sent their sons to the front marched in a column of 35,000 men and women in the Liberty Day parade in New York City. This day had been proclaimed as such by President Wilson for "the people of the United States to assemble in their respective communities and liberally pledge anew their financial support to sustain the nation's cause, and to hold patriotic demonstrations in every city, town, and hamlet throughout the land." The challenge of the mothers was inscribed on one of the banners they carried: "We give our sons--they give their lives--what do you give?" Remarkable as was the appearance of these mothers with the little service flags over their shoulders, many of them so old that they marched with difficulty, the spectators who flanked the line of march along Fifth Avenue from Washington Square to Fifty-ninth Street found it even more thrilling to note that so very many of them, whether they were mothers or young wives, or just young girls proud of the brothers that had gone forth to service--so very many of them carried service flags with three and four and five and even six stars, and occasionally a glint of the sun would even carry the eye to a gold star, which meant, whenever it appeared, a veil of mourning for a wooden cross somewhere in France. Among the minor but ingenious forms of publicity was the Liberty Loan ball which was rolled from Buffalo to New York, a distance of 470 miles, and which ended its journey of three weeks on May 4 at the City Hall. The ball was a large steel shell covered with canvas.