Every bench seemed to be occupied.
The solitary rebel of love received invisible reinforcements of like-minded men on every hand.
A protest choir took shape.
There must have been an old soldier among them, whom the march music had excited—for soon arose from powerful lungs the immortal song:
"I have been to Hamburg and seen the blooming world." "Harden your hearts no longer . . ." came through shrilly from the ascetic choir once more, for the Salvation Army with its nodding shovel bonnets was in a state of extreme alarm.
But the wicked triumphed.
"My name, I will not tell it,"—from a dozen lusty throats came the ringing counterblast—"for I am a girl off the street. . . ."
"I think we'd better be going now," said I to Pat. "I know that song.
It has a lot of verses, each steeper than the last.
Come on."
The city was there again with its clamour of horns and roar of wheels.
But it still remained enchanted.
The mist turned the omnibuses into great fabulous beasts, cars into prowling cats of light, and shop windows into gay caves of Aladdin.
We went down the street skirting the graveyard and crossed the amusemant park.
The roundabouts reached up into the misty air like whirling towers of music, the devil's wheel spouted purple and gold and laughter, and the maze was aglow with blue fire.
"Blessed maze!" said I. "Why?" asked Pat. "We were together in there once." .
She nodded. "It feels an endless long time ago." "Shall we go again now?" "No," said I, "not again.
Would you like something to drink?"
She shook her head.
She looked lovely.
The mist was like a faint perfume, that made her still more beautiful. "Aren't you tired too?" I asked. "No, not yet."
We came to the booths with the rings and hooks.
Carbide lamps with white, sputtering light were hanging in front.
Pat looked at me.
"No," said I, "I'm not throwing to-day.
Not a single ring.
Not though all Alexander the Great's schnapps cellar were to be won."
We walked on, across the square and through the municipal park.
"The Daphne indica must be somewhere about here," said Pat.
"Yes, you can smell it already away across the lawn.
Quite distinctly.
Or do you think not?"
She looked at me. "Sure," said she. "It must be in flower. You can smell it all over the city now."
I looked cautiously to right and left to see if there was a seat anywhere vacant.
But whether the Daphne indica was to blame or Sunday, or ourselves, I found none.
Every one was occupied.
I looked at my watch.
It was already past twelve.
"Come," said I. "We'll go to my place—there we will be alone."
She did not answer, but we went back.
At the graveyard we saw something unexpected.
The Salvation Army had called up reinforcements.
The choir was now four-deep: not only sisters, but two rows of uniformed brothers as well.
The singing sounded no longer two-part and shrill, but four-part like an organ.
To waltz time "Jerusalem the Golden" boomed over the gravestones.
Of the opposition not a sound was to be heard.
It was swept away.
"Perseverance," as my old rector, Hillermann, used to say.
"Perseverance and diligence are better than genius and license."
I closed the door.