And then we'll tackle the planets.

Chorus as before.

From the beginning of the day, however, it became apparent that
there was a concerted movement under way to heckle the Pan-Antis.
As the Gooseberry Anthem came to an end a number of men were
observed on the skyline of a tall building, wig-wagging with
flags. All eyes were turned aloft, and much speculation ensued
among the waiting thousands as to the meaning of the signals. Then
a cry of anger burst from one of the section leaders, who was
acquainted with the Morse code. The flags were spelling WHAT A DAY
FOR A DRINK! All down the Boulevard the white and gold banners
tossed in anger. To those above, the mass of agitated chuffs
looked like a field of daisies in a wind.

Shortly afterward the familiar buzz of airplane motors was heard,
and three silver-gray machines came coasting above the channel of
the Boulevard. They flew low, and it was easy to read the initials
C.P.H. painted on the nether surface of their wings. Over the
front ranks of the parade (which was beginning to fall in line)
they executed a series of fantastic twirls. Then, as though at a
concerted signal, they dropped a cloud of paper slips which came
eddying down through the sunlight. The chuffs scrambled for them,
wondering. A sullen murmur rose when the messages were read. They
ran thus:--

TO MAKE GOOSEBERRY WINE

(Paste This in Your Hat),