nd citharas and sitars, three women playing nose-flutes, two
men with shofars, and a tall, blond man playing a clarino trumpet. As
the Procession ground to a halt, this new band struck up the Hymn again,
played it through twice, and then stopped.

Seven girls filed out onto the platform in front of the musicians. One
was there representing every year since the last Sabbatical Bacchanal.
Forrester, riding high on the palanquin, beamed down at them, roaring
with happy laughter. They were all for him. Having been carried to one
end of the park in triumph, he was now to march back at the head of his
people, surrounded by seven of the most beautiful girls in New York.

Their final selection had been left, he knew, to a brewery which had
experience in these matters. And the girls certainly looked like the
pick of anybody's crop. Forrester beamed at them again, stood up in the
palanquin and spread his arms wide.

Then he sprang. In a flying leap, he went high into the air and did a
full somersault, landing on his toes on the stage, twenty-five feet
away. The girls were kneeling in a circle around him.

"Come, my doves!" he bellowed. "Come, my pigeons!" His Godlike golden
baritone carried for blocks.

He grabbed the two nearest girls by their hands and helped them to their
feet. They blushed and lowered their eyes.

"Come, all of you!" Forrester shouted. "We are about to begin the
revels!"

The girls rose and Forrester gestured them in closer. Then, surrounded
by all seven, he threw back his head again.

"A revel to make history!" he roared. "A revel beyond the imagination of
man! A revel fit for your God!"

The crowd cheered wildly. Forrester picked up one of the girls, tossed
her into the air and caught her easily as she descended. He set her on
her feet and put his hands solidly on his hips.

"My cup!" he shouted. "Fill you my cup!"

Behind the stage was a corps of Priests guarding a mountainous golden
hogshead of wine, adjudged the finest wine produced during the year.

"We shall have drink!" Forrester shouted. "We shall let the revels roar
on!"

Two priests came forward, staggering under the weight of a gigantic
crystal goblet containing fully two gallons of the clear purple liquid.
They bore it to Forrester with great pomp, and before them came a dozen
players on the gahoon and the contra-gahoon, making Forrester's ears
ring with deafening fanfares.

Forrester took the great goblet in one hand and held it