Lane couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a parade anything on this scale. It was worth leaving his worries behind for just a few hours if only to take a look at this spectacle. Confetti and streamers were everywhere, as were cars and ramshackle marching bands and people shouting. It seemed like everyone on the sidewalk was pushing forward, trying to see for themselves the man of the hour: Charles Lindbergh, back from his successful flight from New York to Paris. “This is quite a blow, isn’t it?” Eddie said behind Lane. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like this. Have you?” “No.” Lane thought about that for a moment. “I guess there was that parade last summer for the woman who swam across the English channel, but even that wasn’t quite like this.” “He’s touring the country,” Eddie said. “Lindbergh, I mean. I suppose he means to promote aviation, but I’ll tell ya, I can’t imagine ever going up in one of those things. I will stay here on the ground, thank you.”
