The morning of the big parade had finally arrived. Professor Harold Hill, who hadn't even attempted to sleep the night before, was dressed and out of the boarding house as soon as the sun peeked up over the horizon. Initially, he had been determined to spend the night at the emporium, in case he thought of any other last-minute but crucial preparations for the impending concert, but Marian insisted he break for rest and refreshment. Looking into his beloved's wide hazel eyes, the charming music professor found himself unhesitatingly accepting her invitation to dinner – and promising that afterward he would head straight home and not leave until daylight dawned on August thirty-first. To ensure he kept this promise – not two minutes after he locked the emporium's doors, Harold tried to coax his dear little librarian into letting him return later that evening – Marian escorted him to the boarding house herself.

To his credit, Harold kept his promise, and did not attempt to sneak back to the music emporium. However, although he was no longer a conman, he wasn't averse to bending the rules to suit himself; instead of sleeping, he paced back and forth in his tiny room, pausing every so often to organize his scattered thoughts by writing them down in the notepad he kept on his bedside table. When the sun finally came up, he threw on a fresh shirt and suit-coat and hastened to the emporium.

To his surprise, Harold found Marian waiting for him by the main entrance. But Marian was clearly not surprised, as evidenced by the knowing smile with which she greeted him. "Good morning, Professor Hill."

Harold grinned. "It's awfully early to be up and about – even for punctual librarians," he teased. "I wasn't expecting you for at least another hour!"

Marian regarded him with a mischievous gleam in her eye. "I could go home again, if you'd like."

But Harold had already unlocked and thrown open the front doors – he grabbed her hand and pulled her into the building. "No sense in wasting time, if you're already here! We've still got a lot to do before the parade sets off at noon sharp from the high school, and I've got a feeling the hours are going to fly by quickly… "

The morning was indeed a whirlwind of activity. Harold was acutely aware this parade would make or break his fledgling business, and he was determined that the second public debut of the Think System would go perfectly – so much so that Marian smiled at his nervousness and urged him to relax.

"You're too keyed up, darling – everything's going to be just fine. We're far more prepared than we were the night of July twenty-third, and that occasion was a rousing success in the eyes of the River City-ziens. Just think how much more everyone will be wowed by the boys' performance today!"

Completely engrossed in the task at hand, Harold shook his head as if the librarian's words were bothersome gnats buzzing around his ears. "I just need to count the sparklers again," he muttered feverishly. "If any of them turn out to be duds, I want to make sure we've got adequate replacements on hand. Can't have our light formation looking like a gap-toothed grin… "

Marian laughed and placed her hands over his, arresting his motions. "Harold – relax!"

"I am relaxed," the busy music professor insisted – though his stiff stature and tense tone betrayed his anxiety.

Marian laughed again. "Look at you – you're all askew," she affectionately chided. "It's not like you to be this untidy." Like a doting mother – or perhaps wife – she reached over and began to straighten out his collar and bowtie. Parade preparations forgotten, Harold relaxed and savored her touch. Though the two of them had spent many hours alone together in the emporium during the past few weeks, it was always strictly business between them – Harold made sure of that. In the interests of protecting his beloved's reputation, he had never so much as taken her hand in his, and she of course had never attempted to initiate anything remotely romantic in word or deed. Now Marian's nimble fingers were gently brushing his throat, sending pleasant little shivers down his spine; the fact that she had unconsciously engaged in this domestic, intimate gesture made her actions all the more alluring.

Not only that, Marian was wearing that attractive blue skirt and white, high-collar blouse with sleeves that only came to her elbows. Despite her deeming this nothing more than a run-of-the-mill work dress, it was one of Harold's favorite ensembles. Although the librarian had been as neatly groomed as she ever was when he greeted her that morning, a few hours of polishing instruments and other labor-intensive tasks had rendered her just as charmingly rumpled as he. And in the sweltering heat of the day, she had rolled up her already-short sleeves even further and unfastened the top button of her blouse – giving him a tantalizing view of her collarbone.

When Marian's eyes met his in the course of her tidying him up, her look of carefree merriness disappeared as Harold returned her gaze with a smoldering one of his own. Wanting to prolong this moment – it had been at least two weeks since they shared more than the briefest of embraces – he reached up and covered her hands with his. Hoping a conversational manner would temper his perhaps too-ardent expression, Harold gave Marian his trademark grin and said the first thing that leapt into his mind: "I was just remembering the night of the fireworks display on the fourth of July, and how roundly you rejected my advances. Did you ever think you'd be standing here with me, like this?"

Harold had meant to speak with the lighthearted demeanor of a man who was engaging in fond reminiscence, but his tone was far too fervent for that. When Marian blushed and lowered her gaze, he knew she had interpreted this statement as an amorous advance, and waited for her to pull away from him. But her fingers didn't even twitch beneath his. Instead, she lifted her eyes to his again and looked at him with obvious desire.

Although his intentions had been pure – for once – and his initiation of this heated exchange had been inadvertent, Harold was unable to resist such a come-hither glance from the woman he loved. Instead of letting the librarian go – as he should have – Harold slid his arms around her waist and pulled her closer. When Marian's beautiful eyes fluttered shut and her delectable crimson lips parted slightly in anticipation of his kiss, he tilted his head and leaned in, just as eager to taste delight as she.

"Ahem!"

With an annoyed frown – he hadn't even been able to so much as brush Marian's lips with his – Harold turned to face the person who had so rudely spoiled their pleasant little tête-à-tête.

A stranger stood before them. At any rate, Harold had never seen the man before. And it was also clear from Marian's bewildered expression that she wasn't familiar with the fellow, either. He wasn't a young man, but he wasn't old – Harold estimated him to be in his early thirties. With his keen sense of observation about people, which he still kept honed even though he was no longer a charlatan, the music professor observed from the stranger's olive-green suit that he was a man who followed clothing fads but also took great pains to blend into his surroundings – despite the drabness of the color, the cut of his coat and trousers was stylish enough to put even Harold's Sunday best to shame. And the man was handsome, with his light-brown, slicked-back hair and pencil moustache. The fellow looked distinguished but not too distinctive – he was a man people gravitated to, without knowing exactly why. It probably helped that his pleasant smile and broad gaze projected a wholesome, unpretentious affability – but there was also a knowing gleam in those wide eyes that suggested craftiness or, at the very least, that this fellow was a lot more aware of things than he liked to let on.

Having noted all this in a matter of milliseconds, Harold bounded over to the man's side, flashing him a jovial grin and extending his hand in greeting. "Why, you must be Mr. Gallup, from the Des Moines Register and Leader! Pleased to meet you. I must say this is an unexpected pleasure – I thought you'd be here around eleven!"

The man nodded and shook the music professor's hand in return. As Harold had surmised, Mr. Gallup's grip was hearty and pleasantly firm. "I'm sorry if I interrupted you at a bad time," the reporter said with an apologetic smile, "but the doors were wide open and, in any case, I didn't see a quarantine sign!"

"Indeed," Harold muttered, inwardly cursing himself for his misstep. The one time he contemplated breaking his "no canoodling with Marian in the emporium" rule, and a member of the press was there to witness his lapse!

"Since my train got in early, I thought I'd get right down to business," Mr. Gallup explained. The reporter's gaze wandered over to Marian, who had refastened the top button of her blouse and was now hastily smoothing back a few errant strands that had fallen from her chignon. His smile broadened into a grin. "After all, the early bird gets the worm! Wouldn't you agree, Madam?"

Harold's own grin didn't even waver. "Allow me to introduce to you Miss Marian Paroo," he said grandly. "She is my extremely able and talented assistant, whose musical knowledge was instrumental to the development of my Think System."

"Charmed to make your acquaintance, my dear," Mr. Gallup said warmly, raising Marian's hand for a kiss. "Forgive my boldness – but you've got the loveliest blonde tresses I've ever seen – when Robert Browning wrote of 'smooth cords of gold,' he must have had you in mind!"

Although such a brazen compliment might have sounded sleazy coming from any other man, Mr. Gallup's dulcet twang and cordial demeanor made this statement seem like nothing more than good, old-fashioned down-home gallantry. But when Harold saw the bright smile Marian gave Mr. Gallup in return for this piece of flattery, he frowned. Since when was his maiden librarian so susceptible to such pleasantries from strange men? She would never have swallowed that line from him. "What say I give you a tour of the emporium, Mr. Gallup?" Harold offered, his voice booming a bit too loudly as it echoed off the walls in the massive auditorium.

"Why, I'd be delighted!" Mr. Gallup said eagerly, still not taking his eyes off of Marian. Before Harold could politely suggest to the librarian that she was free to depart the emporium for the time being, the fast-talking reporter gestured for her to accompany them. "After you, Miss Paroo."

So Marian went on the tour, much to Harold's chagrin. He wanted Mr. Gallup to be impressed with the marvel that was the Think System, not distracted by a pretty face – especially when the woman behind that gorgeous countenance was suddenly far more affable and open with her smiles than she should have been when in the presence of an openly ogling man.

But Harold needn't have worried. When he gave Mr. Gallup his carefully rehearsed but seemingly spontaneous spiel about his teaching methods and the founding of the emporium, the reporter listened attentively as a model student trying to impress his teacher. Harold would have been pleased by this, but for one thing – although Mr. Gallup had pulled out a notepad and pencil, he didn't write down a single word of the music professor's speech.

Once Harold was finished making all the points he deemed important, he masked his irritation with a smile and politely added, "If you need me to elaborate on anything for your notes, I'd be happy to explain what I told you in greater detail."

Mr. Gallup's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Thank you, but that won't be necessary." He tapped his temple. "I have a memory like a steel trap! But I do have a few questions for you."

Harold grinned as if he relished the opportunity. "Go ahead and fire when ready!"

Although the bombastic music professor was already well aware of what he was dealing with, even he was surprised by the reporter's insight. Mr. Gallup's complex questions displayed a solid knowledge of musical theory – not only was the man far from being a toneless rube, he probably could have given concert virtuosos a run for their money. Of course, Harold had prepared for such an eventuality and sailed through each inquiry with his usual finesse. At any rate, Mr. Gallup seemed satisfied enough with his answers, as he did not ask any follow-up questions.

That is, until he latched on to the subject of Harold's musical training. When Mr. Gallup inquired about formal credentials, the music professor uneasily noted that this was the first time the reporter's pencil stood poised at the ready. At first, Harold tried to downplay the matter with vague yet breezy statements about "natural talent" and "coming from a musically gifted family," but the reporter persisted in his quest for specific degrees, dates and institutions. Harold supposed he could have given him the same line he had fed to everyone when he came to River City, but a clever librarian with a penchant for doing background research had taught him the dangers of being too detailed.

Thankfully, Marian, who was avidly observing the proceedings, interrupted the interview before Harold could get too tongue-tied. "I must say, Mr. Gallup, you have an impressive knowledge of music! Do you play an instrument?"

Like a bloodhound thrown off track by a passing squirrel, Mr. Gallup turned and beamed at her. "Rather astute of you to ask, Miss Paroo! As a matter of fact, when I was a boy I played the trumpet, cello, flute and piano – to varying degrees of mediocrity," he added in a self-deprecating voice – though the pride in his eyes at having mastered so many instruments was obvious. "My real talents lay in composing – which won me a scholarship that was enough to pay for a year of instruction at the University of Iowa School of Music. Unfortunately, my more practical-minded father refused to finance my education any further, so I dropped out and took a job as a journalist, instead."

"Oh, what a shame," the librarian commiserated. Although Harold was grateful for her well-timed distraction, the genuine gleam of sympathy in her eyes rankled him.

"Fortunately, as it turns out, journalism suits me just fine, Miss Paroo," Mr. Gallup said with a smile and a shrug. He paused and regarded Marian with a pensive expression. "Paroo… am I correct in thinking that your father was Eli Paroo, the famous trumpet player?"

"Yes, he was!" Marian confirmed, her eyes lighting up in delight.

"One of the most gifted musicians I've ever met – I had the golden opportunity of seeing him perform with the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra, many years ago." Mr. Gallup took his hands in hers. "My deepest condolences to you and your family, Miss Paroo – the music world truly lost a genius with his passing."

Marian bowed her head. "Thank you, Mr. Gallup," she said, somewhat stiffly. Harold smiled to hear her sounding like her usual, guarded self, and he was also pleased to note she extricated her hands from the reporter's much quicker than she ever pulled away from him.

At her cool response, Mr. Gallup resumed his brisk, businesslike demeanor and refocused his attentions on Harold. "Which brings me to my final question, Professor Hill: Might you at least tell me the name of the institution that conferred upon you that august title?"

Realizing there was no way to evade the matter further, Harold smoothly replied, "Well, of course – why didn't you say so before? I'm an alumnus of Gary Conservatory, Gold Medal Class of" – he paused when Marian let out a small cough – "Aught-Seven."

Mr. Gallup carefully recorded this item on his notepad. Then he paused and regarded Harold with a pensive expression. "Did Gary, Indiana even have a conservatory in aught-seven?" he mused. "As I recollect, the town wasn't even built until aught-six – "

Once again, Marian provided a fortuitous distraction. "My goodness, look at the time!" she exclaimed, eying the clock on the wall. "If you gentlemen will forgive me, I must be running along." Without further ado, she exited the auditorium.

Suddenly, Mr. Gallup also seemed eager to leave. "Indeed, the hours are positively flying by! I should get out of your hair now, Professor – I'm sure you've got a lot left to do before the beginning of the parade."

Surmising the reporter's true motive for leaving so hastily was to catch up with Marian for a cozy chat, Harold replied, "Nope, things are in pretty good shape – how about I give you the inside scoop on River City, as well?"

Mr. Gallup politely shook his head. "Thanks, but I like to get a feel for new places on my own."

"You might not get the warmest of receptions if you go it alone," Harold warned. "River City doesn't take too well to outsiders."

"I appreciate your concern, but I'm sure I'll muddle on through just fine," the reporter said cheerfully.

Harold shrugged, as if it didn't much matter to him. "Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me."

Mr. Gallup grinned as he departed the auditorium. "Indeed – I'll definitely keep that in mind!"

Even though the reporter was likely hot on his beloved's heels, Harold felt his usual confidence return – so much so that he dissolved into laughter. As friendly as the librarian behaved, he knew her gregariousness toward such strangers definitely had its limits. He also knew exactly what kind of reception the reporter was likely to get from anyone else in town with whom he tried to ingratiate himself: the River City cold shoulder.

XXX

Busy as he was with final preparations for the big parade, Harold quickly relegated the irritatingly charming and persistent Mr. Gallup to the back of his mind. But a little after eleven, when the music professor was absorbed in leading his boys in an extremely boisterous warm-up session, he felt a light but insistent tap on his shoulder that made him jump. At first, Harold turned to face the offender with a frown – he prided himself on being difficult to startle and, in any case, no one ever dared to interrupt Professor Hill when he was conducting – but when he saw the reporter gazing at him with a benign smile, he quickly put on a friendly grin and motioned for the band to take a break. Still, there was a deliberate edge to Harold's voice as he addressed Mr. Gallup:

"You have more questions for me, I presume?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do," the reporter said serenely, not even sounding the slightest bit abashed by his behavior – though he did look a bit confused as to what he had just walked in on. "I was hoping to catch you before the parade started; forgive me for interrupting your, er… rehearsal."

This time, Harold's smile was genuine; he couldn't blame even Mr. Gallup for sounding perplexed by the shrilly discordant clamor that had been coming from the boys' instruments. "It's all part of my method, what you just heard!" he cheerfully explained. "Before each performance I have the boys play as hard as they can on their instruments. No tunes or melodies allowed – just sheer exuberance! Gets out all that nervous energy so the boys can think with cool, clear heads when it comes time to perform for the crowd."

"I see," Mr. Gallup said politely – though he looked rather appalled by such brazen unorthodoxy. For a moment, the reporter stared at the music professor with the expression of bewildered speechlessness with which one reserved for the utterly daft.

Taking the opportunity to strengthen his upper hand, Harold took Mr. Gallup by the arm and breezily ushered him to the door of the auditorium. "Thanks so much for dropping by! Now if you'll excuse me, I've really got to get back to my boys before they get too restless. If that happens, we'll have to start over from square one – "

At the words "square one," Mr. Gallup blinked and shook himself as if he were coming out of a stupor. "Ah yes, that reminds me – my question for you: Who is your town's librarian?"

The music professor was so taken aback by this unexpected inquiry that he stopped in his tracks. "Librarian?" he said nonchalantly, wondering just what the reporter was playing at. "What do you need the librarian for?"

His air of serene confidence restored, Mr. Gallup smiled and replied, "I wanted to look something up at the library, but it seems to be closed for the day."

Concealing his surprise as best he could – Marian had told him she was planning to open the library for a few hours that morning – Harold nodded as if this wasn't news to him. "Yes, everyone's gearing up for the big event – is there any information I can provide you with?"

Mr. Gallup beamed, as if he had been hoping the music professor would ask precisely that. "You can, as a matter of fact. I wanted to verify I didn't mishear your class year at Gary Conservatory – there seems to be a bit of confusion." The reporter pulled out his notepad and opened it. "According to my notes from earlier this morning, you are Gold Medal Class of Aught-Seven, but everyone else I've met – especially Mayor Shinn – seems to think you are Gold Medal Class of Aught-Five."

Harold laughed with a sense of carefree lightheartedness he did not truly feel. "Aught-five? That's preposterous – after all, as you mentioned this morning, the town wasn't even built until aught-six. Somebody must have mistaken the year, and it stuck." He laughed again. "That's Iowa stubborn for you!"

Mr. Gallup laughed as well, but the amusement didn't quite reach his eyes. "Indeed," he agreed. "Sorry again for the intrusion, but I wanted to clear that up right away." He started to leave, and then turned back again. "Just in case anything else comes up and I can't reach you – who is your town's librarian?"

Harold's grin froze. He had the nasty sense that Mr. Gallup knew quite well who the town's librarian was, and was playing a little game with him, like a cat would toy with a mouse before moving in for the kill. If Harold had still been a conman, he would have simply laughed and turned up the charm. But he was a genuine music professor now, with a legitimate band, and his pride smarted at the implication that he was engaged in some kind of chicanery. If he hadn't been so irritated, he might have laughed at the irony of the situation; for once, he had done absolutely nothing underhanded, but this reporter was one of those rare people who could put him on the defensive. Unfortunately, this wasn't a battle he could win – he was harried and in a rush to get back to his boys, and to lie or delay answering this question would raise even more suspicion. So Harold stifled his inclination to put this prying pup in his place and simply said, "That would be Marian Paroo."

The reporter's expression brightened. "Ah – Miss Paroo! Clearly a woman of many talents," he said far too happily for the music professor's liking. "Well, thanks again for your time, Professor Hill. I won't bother you anymore."

As Mr. Gallup began to exit the auditorium, whistling a jaunty tune while he went, Harold gritted his teeth and watched his nemesis depart; he refused to relax until he was certain the man had gone. Damn sneaky reporter and his infernal interruptions…

Mr. Gallup looked over his shoulder just before he disappeared through the double doors. "Perhaps after the parade, you can help me convince Miss Paroo to open the library for a little while."

Harold smiled and nodded, making a mental note to forget to do just that.