Donald tapped his baton against his wing. Snap! The marching band leaped into formation—saxophones gleaming, drum straps tight, all wearing tiny hats that tilted at jaunty angles. He lifted the baton high and marched off down the city street. The crowd erupted in cheers.
A line of trumpets blared and the whole band followed, splashing through a puddle in perfect unison. Donald kept marching, wings spread wide, his hat tipped proudly forward. The crowd danced along the sidewalk, clapping to the rhythm.
Halfway down the block, a street sweeper rumbled past and sent a spray of soapy water over the drums. The drumsticks flew everywhere—clatter, clatter, clatter! Donald stopped, baton frozen in the air, and stared at the scattered sticks on the ground.
A seagull perched on a fire escape above and let out a loud laugh. Donald picked up two drumsticks, pointed them at the band like batons, and marched again—this time slower, on purpose, like a very serious duck conducting a very slow parade.
The band fell into step behind him, slower now, carefully placing each foot. Donald kept his eyes forward, marching with long steady strokes. The crowd watched in silence, wondering what would happen next.
At the end of the block the band regrouped. Donald raised his baton high for the grand finale. He took a deep breath and brought it down with a mighty sweep—waiting for the music to roll out.
But nothing came out. Not a note. Donald tapped the baton against his wing—tap, tap—and frowned at it. He tapped it again. Still nothing. The crowd held its breath.
Then the crowd started clapping. Clap-clap-clap! One by one the saxophones joined in with a loud jazzy flourish. Donald's eyes went wide as he watched the music pour out of the band all on its own.
The music was never in the baton at all. It was in the band. It was in the street. It was in the clapping crowd. Donald's worried frown melted into a grin.
Donald spun his baton like a ribbon and led the band in a bouncy new rhythm. The crowd stomped and cheered. The saxophones wailed and the drums rolled. The whole city street shook with joy.
Animals of every kind marched alongside the band—rabbits bouncing, cats strutting, birds flapping low. Donald kept the rhythm rolling, wings wide, hat tipped proudly. The music didn't stop.
Donald marched tall all the way home, the baton still sparkling in his wing. The band followed behind, playing the happiest song the city had ever heard. The street danced behind him.
