Лето
IX
Theramshacklewoodenhotelsaboutthesquarewereallhungwithflagsandpaperlanterns,andasHarneyandCharityturnedintothemainstreet,withitsbrickandgranitebusinessblockscrowdingouttheoldlow-storiedshops,anditstoweringpolesstrungwithinnumerablewiresthatseemedtotrembleandbuzzintheheat,theysawthedoublelineofflagsandlanternstaperingawaygailytotheparkattheotherendoftheperspective.ThenoiseandcolourofthisholidayvisionseemedtotransformNettletonintoametropolis.CharitycouldnotbelievethatSpringfieldorevenBostonhadanythinggrandertoshow,andshewonderedif,atthisverymoment,AnnabelBalch,onthearmofasbrilliantayoungman,werethreadingherwaythroughscenesasresplendent.
“Whereshallwegofirst?”Harneyasked;butassheturnedherhappyeyesonhimheguessedtheanswerandsaid:“We’lltakealookround,shallwe?”
Thestreetswarmedwiththeirfellow-travellers,withotherexcursionistsarrivingfromotherdirections,withNettleton’sownpopulation,andwiththemill-handstroopinginfromthefactoriesontheCreston.Theshopswereclosed,butonewouldscarcelyhavenoticedit,sonumerousweretheglassdoorsswingingopenonsaloons,onrestaurants,ondrug-storesgushingfromeverysoda-watertap,onfruitandconfectioneryshopsstackedwithstrawberry-cake,cocoanutdrops,traysofglisteningmolassescandy,boxesofcaramelsandchewing-gum,basketsofsoddenstrawberries,anddanglingbranchesofbananas.
