at full strength.

And bringing up the very rear of the Procession was a special decorated
cart, full of color and holding a lone man with long white hair, wearing
a rusty black suit and playing away, with great attention and care, on
the largest steam calliope Forrester had ever met. Jets of steam fizzed
out of the top, and music bawled from the interior of the massive thing
as it went by, trailing the Procession into the woods, and the entire
aggregation swung into a single song, hundred upon hundreds of musicians
and singers all coming down hard on the opening strains of the Hymn to
Dionysus:

"_Mine eyes have seen the glory of the Lord who rules the wine--
He has trampled out the vintage of the grapes upon the vine!_"

The twelve Priests picked up the palanquin and Forrester adjusted his
weight so they wouldn't find it too heavy. It was impossible to think in
the mass of noise and music that went on and on, as the Procession wound
uptown through the paths of Central Park, and the musicians banged and
scraped and blew and pounded and stroked and plucked, and the great Hymn
rose into the air, filling the entire city with the bawled chorus as
even the twelve Priests joined in, adding to the ear-splitting din:

"_Glory, Glory, Dionysus!
Glory, Glory, Dionysus!
Glory, Glory, Dionysus!
While his wine goes flowing on!_"

Forrester had always been disturbed by what he thought might have been a
double meaning in that last line, but it didn't disturb him now. Nothing
seemed to disturb him as the Procession wound on, and he was laughing
uproariously and winking and nodding at his worshippers as they sang and
played all around him, and the hours went by. Halfway there, he fished
in the air and brought down the small golden disks with the picture of
Dionysus on them that were a regular feature of the Processional, and
flung them happily into the crowd ahead.

Only one was allowed per person, so there was not much scrambling, but
some of the coins pattered down on the various instruments, and one
landed in the old gentleman's middle-C water glass and had to be fished
out before he could go on with the Hymn.

Carousing and noisy, the Procession finally reached the huge stand at
the far end of the park, and the music stopped. On the stand was a whole
new group of musicians: harpists, lyrists, players of the flageolet and
dulcimer, two men sweating over glockenspiels, a group equipped with
zithers a