“Quit your crowding there!” barked a voice under his chin. “Sorry, but it's those behind me,” said Cutty, looking down into a florid countenance with a raggedy gray moustache and a pair of blue eyes that were blinking. “I'm so damned short I can't see anything!” “Neither can I.” “You could if you wiped your eyes.” “You're crying yourself,” declared Cutty. “Blinking jackass! Got anybody out there?” “All of 'em.” “I get you, old son of a gun! No flesh and blood, but they're ours all the same. Couple of old fools; huh?” “Sure pop! What right have two old codgers got here, anyhow? What brought you out?” “What brought you?” “Same thing.” “Damn it! If I could only see something!” Cutty put his hands upon the shoulders of this chance acquaintance and propelled him toward the curb. There were cries of protest, curses, catcalls, but Cutty bored on ahead until he got his man where he could see the tin hats, the bayonets, and the colours; and thus they stood for a full hour. Each time the flag went by the little man yanked off his derby and turned truculently to see that Cutty did the same. “Say,” he said as they finally dropped back, “I'd offer to buy a drink, only it sounds flat.” “And it would taste flat after a mighty wine like this,” replied Cutty. “Maybe you've heard of the nectar of the gods. Well, you've just drunk it, my friend.” “I sure have. Those kids out there, smiling after all that hell; and you and me on the sidewalk, blubbering over 'em! What's the answer? We're Americans!” “You said it. Good-bye.” Cutty pressed on to the flow and went along with it, lighter in the heart than he had been in many a day. These two million who lined Fifth Avenue, who cheered, laughed, wept, went silent, cheered again, what did their presence here signify? That America's day had come; that as a people they were homogeneous at last; that that which laws had failed to bring forth had been accomplished by an ideal. Bolshevism, socialism--call it what you will--would beat itself into fragments against this Rock of Democracy, which went down to the centre of the world and whose pinnacle touched the stars. Reincarnation; the simple ideals of the forefathers restored. And with this knowledge tingling in his thoughts--and perhaps there was a bit of spring in his heart--Cutty continued on, without destination, chin jutting, eyes shining. He was an American! He might have continued on indefinitely had he not seen obliquely a window filled with musical instruments.