Part 10
Gadsby's hunch was now working, full tilt; and so, as this loving family man, having had four kids of his own, and this tot from a poor family with its "awfully small" parlor,--had trod this big glass building's paths again and again; round and round, an almost monstrous sigh from an almost bursting tiny bosom, said:--
"I'll think of God's parlor, always and always and _always!!_" and Gadsby, on glancing upwards, saw a distinct drooping and curving of many stalks; which is a plant's way of bowing to a child. And, at Branton Hills' following Council night a motion was---- But I said Gadsby had a hunch. So, not only _this_ schoolgirl's awfully small parlor, but many such throughout Branton Hills' poor districts, soon found a "big girl" from Gadsby's original Organization of Youth at its front door with plants from that big glass building, in which our City Florist works in God's parlor. (P.S. _Go_ with a child to _your_ City Florist's big glass building. It's a _duty!_)
XXIV
I am now going back to my saying that a city has all kinds of goings-on; both sad and gay. So, as His Honor sat on his porch on a warm spring day, a paragraph in Branton Hills' "Post" brought forth such a vigorous "_Huh!_" that Lady Gadsby was curious, asking:--
"What is it?"
So Gadsby said:--"What do you think of _this_? It says:--'In a wild swaying dash down Broadway last night at midnight, past-Councilman Antor's car hit a hydrant, killing him and Madam Antor instantly. Highway Patrolman Harry Grant, who was chasing that car in from our suburbs, says both horribly drunk, Antor grazing four cars, Madam shouting and singing wildly, with Grant arriving too tardily to ward off that final crash.'"
Now Lady Gadsby was, first of all, a woman; and so got up quickly, saying:--
"Oh!! I must go down to poor young Mary, _right off!_" and Gadsby sat tapping his foot, saying:--
"So Antor's pantry probably still holds that stuff. Too bad. But, oh, that darling Mary! Just got into High School! Not long ago Lucy told us of girls snubbing that kid; but I trust that, from this horror, our Branton Hills girls will turn from snubbing to pity. This account says that Madam Antor also was drunk. A _woman_ drunk!! And riding with a rum-sot man at a car's controls! _Woman!_ From History's dawn, Man's soft, fond, loving pal! _Woman!_ For whom wars of blood and agony cut Man down as you would mow a lawn! _Woman!_ To whom infancy and childhood look for all that is upright and good! It's too bad; too bad!"
As in all such affairs you will always find two factions talking. Talking about what? Just now, about _Norman_ Antor. What would this wiping out of his folks do to him? Norman was now living with Mary and two aunts who, coming from out of town, would try to plan for our two orphans; try to plan for Norman; Norman, brought up in a pool of liquor! Norman: tall, dark and manly and with a most ingratiating disposition----if not drunk. But nobody could say. A group would claim that "this fatality will bring him out of it;" but his antagonists thought that "That guy will always drink."
A day or two from that crash, Nancy, coming into Gadsby's parlor, found Lucy talking with Lady Gadsby, Lucy asking:--
"Nancy, who is with young Mary Antor now? That pair of aunts wouldn't stay, with all that liquor around."
"I just found out," said Nancy. "Mary is living with Old Lady Flanagan" and Lucy, though sad, had to laugh just a bit, saying:--
"Ha, ha! Old Lady Flanagan! What a _circus_ I had trying to pry a zoo donation from that poor soul's skimpy funds! But, Nancy, Mary is in mighty good hands. That loving old Irish lady is a trump!"
XXV
Along in April, Gadsby sat finishing his morning toast as a boy, rushing in, put a "Post" on his lap with a wild, boyish gasp of:--"_My gosh_, Mayor Gadsby, _Look!!_" and Gadsby saw a word about a foot high. It was W--A--R. Lady Gadsby saw it also, slowly sinking into a chair. At that instant both Nancy and Kathlyn burst frantically in, Nancy lugging Baby Lillian, now almost two, and a big load for so small a woman, Nancy gasping out:--
"Daddy!! Must Bill and Julius and Frank and John,----"
Gadsby put down his "Post" and, pulling Nancy down onto his lap, said:--
"Nancy darling, Bill and Julius and Frank and John must. Old Glory is calling, baby, and no Branton Hills boy will balk at _that_ call. It's awful, but it's a fact, now."
Lady Gadsby said nothing, but Nancy and Kathlyn saw an ashy pallor on that matronly brow; and Gadsby going out without waiting for his customary kiss.
For what you might call an instant, Branton Hills, in blank, black gloom, stood stock still. But not for long. Days got to flashing past, with that awful sight of girls, out to lunch, saying:--
"Four from our shop; and that big cotton mill has _forty-six_ who will go."
With Virginia saying:--
"About all that our boys talk about is uniforms, pay, transportation, army corps, divisions, naval squadrons, and so on."
An occasional Branton Hills politician thought that it "might blow out in a month or two;" but your Historian knows that it didn't; all of that "blowing" consisting of blasts from that military clarion, calling for mobilization.
* * * * *
Days! Days! Days! Finally, on May Fourth, that day of tiny Nancy's big church ritual, you know; that day, upon which any woman would look back with romantic joy, Nancy, with Kathlyn, Lady Gadsby and His Honor, stood at Branton Hills' big railway station, at which our Municipal Band was drawn up; in back of which stood, in solid ranks, this city's grand young manhood, Bill, Julius, Frank, John, Paul and Norman standing just as straight and rigid as any. As that long, long troop train got its signal to start,--but you know all about such sights, going on daily, from our Pacific coast to Atlantic docks.
As it shot around a turn, and Gadsby was walking sadly toward City Hall, a Grammar School boy hurrying up to him said:--
"_Wow!!_ I wish _I_ could go to war!"
"Hi!" said Gadsby. "If it isn't Kid Banks!"
"Aw! Cut that kid stuff! I'm _Allan_ Banks! Son of _Councilman_ Banks!"
"Oh, pardon. But you don't want to go to war, boy."
"_Aw! I do too!!_"
"But young boys _can't_ go to war."
"I know that; and I wish this will last until I grow so I _can_ go. It's just grand! A big cannon says _Boom! Boom!_ and,--"
"Sit down on this wall, boy. I want to talk to you."
"All right. Shoot!"
"Now look, Allan. If this war should last until you grow up, just think of how many _thousands_ of troops it would kill. How many grand, good lads it would put right out of this world."
"Gosh! That's so, ain't it! I didn't think of guys dyin'."
"But a man _has_ to think of that, Allan. And _you_ will, as you grow up. My two big sons just put off on that big troop train. I don't know _how_ long Bill and Julius will stay away. Your big cannon might go _Boom!_ and hit Bill or Julius. Do you know Frank Morgan, Paul Johnson and John Smith? All right; that big cannon might hit that trio, too. Nobody can say _who_ a cannon will hit, Allan. Now, you go right on through Grammar School, and grow up into a big strong man, and don't think about war;" and Gadsby, standing and gazing far off to Branton Hills' charming hill district, thought: "I think _that_ will bust up a wild young ambition!"
But that kid, turning back, sang out:--
"Say!! If this scrap stops, and a _big_ war starts,--_Aha_, boy! You just watch Allan Banks! Son of Councilman Banks!!" and a small fist was pounding viciously on an also small bosom.
"By golly!" said Gadsby, walking away, "that's Tomorrow talking!"
* * * * *
So now this history will drift along; along through days and months; days and months of that awful gnawing doubt; actually a paradox, for it was a "conscious coma;" mornings on which Branton Hills' icy blood shrank from looking at our city's "Post," for its casualty list was rapidly--too rapidly,--growing. Days and days of our girlhood and womanhood rolling thousands of long, narrow cotton strips; packing loving gifts from many a pantry; Nancy and Kathlyn thinking constantly of Frank and John; Lucy almost down and out from worrying about Paul; Kathlyn knowing just how Julius is missing his Hall of Natural History, and how its staff is praying for him; Nancy's radio shut down _tight_, for so much as a thought of Station KBH was as a thrust of a sword. Days. Days. Days of shouting orators, blaring bands, troops from far away pausing at our big railway station, as girls, going through long trains of cars, took doughnuts and hot drinks. In Gadsby's parlor window hung that famous "World War flag" of nothing but stars; nobody knowing at what instant a _gold_ star would show upon it. A star for Bill; a star for Julius. Ah, Bill! Branton Hills' fop! Bill Gadsby now in an ill-fitting and un-stylish khaki uniform.
Gadby's mansion had no brilliant night lights, now; just his parlor lamp and a small light or two in hallways or on stairways. Only our Mayor and his Lady, now worrying, worrying, worrying; but both of good, staunch old Colonial stock; and "carrying on" with good old Plymouth Rock stability; and Nancy's baby, Lillian, too young to ask why Grandma "wasn't hungry," now; and didn't laugh so much.
Kathlyn got into our big hospital, this studious young lady's famous biological and microscopic ability holding out an opportunity for most practical work; for Branton Hills' shot-torn boys would soon start drifting in. And thus it was; with Lucy, Sarah and Virginia inspiring Branton Hills' womanhood to knit, knit, knit! You saw knitting on many a porch; knitting in railway trains; knitting during band music in City Park; knitting in shady arbors out at our big zoo; at many a woman's club,--and,--_actually_, knitting _in church!!_ Finally a big factory, down by our railway station, put out a call for "anybody, man or woman, who wants to work on munitions;" and many a dainty Branton Hills girl sat at big, unfamiliar stamping, punching, grinding, or polishing outfits; tiring frail young backs and straining soft young hands; knowing that this factory's output might,--and probably would,--rob a woman across that big Atlantic of a husband or son,--but, still, it is war!
Gadsby, smoking on his ivy-clad porch, as his Lady was industriously knitting, said, in a sort of soliloquy:--
"War! That awful condition which a famous military man in command of a division, long ago, said was synonymous with Satan and all his cohorts! War! That awful condition of human minds coming down from way, _way_ back of all history; that vast void during which sympathy was not known; during which animals fought with tooth, claw or horn; that vast void during which wounds had no soothing balm, until thirst, agony or a final swoon laid low a gigantic mammoth, or a tiny, gasping fawn! But now, again, in this grand day of Man's magically growing brain, this day of kindly crooning to infants in cribs; kindly talks to boys and girls in school; and blood-tingling orations from thousands of pulpits upon that Holy Command: 'Thou Shalt Not Kill,' now, _again_, Man is out to kill his own kind." And Lady Gadsby could only sigh.
XXVI
As this story has shown, _Youth_, if adults will only admit that it has any brains at all, will stand out, today, in a most promising light. Philosophically, Youth is Wisdom in formation, and with many thoughts startling to adult minds; and, industrially, this vast World's coming stability is now, _today_, in its hands; growing slowly, as a blossom grows from its bud. If you will furnish him with a thorough schooling, you can plank down your dollar that Youth, _starting out_ from this miraculous day, will not lag nor shirk on that coming day in which old joints, rusty and crackling, must slow down; and, calling for an oil can, you will find that Youth _only_, is that lubrication which can run Tomorrow's World. But Youth must not go thinking that all its plans will turn out all right; and young Marian Hopkins found this out. Marian, you know, took part in our airport initiation. But Marian, only a kid at that day, has grown up--or half-way up, anyway, and just graduating from Grammar School; upon which big day a child "knows" as much as any famous savant of antiquity! But, as this story runs in skips and jumps, strict chronological continuity is not a possibility. So, Marian is now half grown-up. Now that big airport, as you also know, was just back of Marian's back yard; and as that yard was much too big for anything that Marian's Dad could do with it, it was put up for disposal. But nobody would go to look at it; to say nothing of buying it. But Old Bill Simpkins, past antagonist of Gadsby's Organization of Youth, did go out to look at it; but said, with his customary growl:--
"Too many aircraft always roaring and zooming. Too far out of town. And you ask too much for it, anyway."
But Marian thought that Branton Hills, as a municipality, should own it; figuring that that airport would grow, and that yard was practically a part of it, anyway. So Marian, going to His Honor, as about anybody in town did, without an instant's dallying, "told him," (!) what his Council should do.
"But," said Gadsby, "what a City Council should do, and what it _will_ do, don't always match up."
"Can't I go and talk to it?"
"_What!_ To our Council? No; that is, not as a body. But if you can run across a Councilman out of City Hall you can say what you wish. A Councilman is just an ordinary man, you know."
But a Councilman out of City Hall was a hard man to find; and a child couldn't go to a man's mansion to "talk him around." But, by grand luck in a month or so, Marian did find, and _win_, all but Simpkins.
On Council night, Simpkins took up a good,--or I should say, bad--half hour against Branton Hills "buying any old dump or scrap land that is put up. What was this city coming to?" and so on, and so on. And Marian's back yard wasn't bought. Now Youth is all right if you rub its fur in a way which suits it; but, man!! hold on to your hat, if you don't!! And Marian's fur was all lumpy. _Boy! was that kid MAD!!_
Now, just by luck, March thirty-first, coming along as days do, you know, found Marian in front of a toy shop window, in which, way down front, was a box of cigars, with a card saying: "This Brand Will Start His Blood Tingling." And Marian, as boys say, was "on" in an instant; and bought a cigar. Not a box, not a bunch, but just _a_ cigar. Coming out Marian saw His Honor and Simpkins passing; Simpkins saying:--
"All right. I'll drop around, tonight." And was Marian happy? Wait a bit.
That night as Gadsby and Simpkins sat talking in His Honor's parlor, who would, "just by luck," (??) walk in, but Marian; saying, oh, _so_ shyly:--
"Just thought I'd drop in to chat with Nancy," and, on passing a couch, slyly laid that cigar on it. Now Simpkins, in addition to his famous grouch, was a parsimonious old crab; who, though drawing good pay as Councilman, couldn't pass up anything that cost nothing; and, in gazing around, saw that cigar; and, with a big apologizing yawn, and slinking onto that couch as a cat slinks up on a bird, and, oh, _so_ nonchalantly lighting a match, was soon puffing away and raving about Branton Hills politics. Out in a back parlor sat Marian and Nancy on a big divan, hugging tightly up, arm in arm, and almost suffocating from holding back youthful anticipations, as Simpkins said:--
"... and that Hopkins back yard stunt! Ridiculous! Why, his kid was out, trying to find all of our Council to talk it into buying. Bah! And _did_ I block it? I'll say I did! You don't find kids today laughing at Councilman Simpkins."
An actual _spasm_ of giggling in that back parlor had Gadsby looking around, inquiringly.
"No, sir!" Simpkins said. "No kid can fool Coun----"
_BANG!!_
Gadsby, jumping up saw only a frazzly cigar stump in Old Bill's mouth, as that palpitating individual was vigorously brushing off falling sparks as His Honor's rugs got a rain of tobacco scraps! Gadsby was "on" in an instant, noticing Marian and Nancy rolling and tumbling around on that big divan, and doubling up in a giggling fit, _way_ out of control. Finally Simpkins angrily got up, viciously jamming on his tall silk hat; and Marian, fighting that giggling fit, just _had_ to call out:--
"_April Fool_, Councilman Simpkins!!"
(And Mayor Gadsby, on a following Council night, got Marian's land bill through; many a Councilman holding his hand in front of his grinning mouth, in voting for bright, vitalic Youth.)
XXVII
Widow Adams was sitting up again, for it was way past midnight, and Virginia was out. Many months ago Virginia was also out, and was brought back, unconscious. So now Nina was again sitting up, for Virginia was not a night-owl sort of a girl. Finally, around two o'clock, Nina couldn't stand it, and had to call in a passing patrolman. Now this patrolman was an original Organization of Youth boy, and had always known Nina and Virginia; and said:--
"Oh, now! I wouldn't worry so. Possibly a bus had a blowout; or--"
"But Virginia said nothing _about_ going on a bus! Oh!! _How_ could that child vanish so?"
Naturally, all that that patrolman could do was to call his station; and Nina, almost all in, lay down, until, just about dawn a jangling ringing brought this half wild woman to a front hall, shouting:--
"This is Nina Adams talking! Who? _What?_ Virginia, is that you? What's wrong? What! You and Harold Thompson? Our aviator? You did what? Took his aircraft to _what_ city? Why, that's so far you can't----" but Virginia had hung up. So Nina also hung up, and sat down with a big, long sigh:--
"My Virginia, not _running_ away, but _flying_ away, to marry! Oh, this Youth of today!"
* * * * *
Around six o'clock that night, Virginia and Harold stood arm in arm in Nina's parlor, as a big bus was groaning noisily away.
"But, Mama," said Virginia, sobbing pitifully, "I didn't think you would----"
"That's just it, Virginia, you _didn't_ think!! But you _should!_ How could I know what was going on? That's just you young folks of today. You think of nothing but your own silly, foolish doings, and you allow us old _good-for-nothings_ to go crazy with worry!!" and Nina sank in a gasping swoon onto a sofa.
But old Doc Wilkins, arriving at Virginia's frantic call, knowing Nina's iron constitution from childhood, soon had that limp form back to normal; and, with a dark, disapproving scowl at Virginia, said:--
"Bring in a good batch of hot food, and your Ma will turn out all right," and going out, with a snort of disgust, and banging viciously that big front door!
XXVIII
Awful tidings in our Branton Hills' "Post," had so wrought up our ordinarily happy, laughing Sarah, who, with Paul abroad, was back, living again with old Tom Young, that Sarah, sitting on a low stool by old Tom's rocking chair was so still that Tom put down his "Post," saying:--
"Gift of gab all run out, kid?"
But Sarah had an odd, thoughtful look. Sarah's bosom was rising and falling abnormally; but, finally, looking quickly up at old Tom, Sarah said:--
"Daddy, I want to go to war."
"_Do what?_" If Sarah had said anything about jumping out of a balloon, or of buying a gorilla to play with, Tom Young wouldn't know any such astounding doubt as brought his rocking chair to a quick standstill.
"_War?_ What kind of talk is this? A girl going to war? What for? How? _Say!!_ Who _put_ this crazy stunt into your brain, anyway?"
As you know, Sarah was not only charming in ways, but also in build; and, with that glorious crown of brownish-gold hair, that always smiling mouth and that soft, plump girlishly-girlish form, no man, Tom Young nor anybody, could think of Sarah and war in a solitary thought. So Sarah said, softly:--
"Last night, our Night School trio thought that our boys, so far away, must miss us, and Branton Hills sights; and Doris said, 'Branton Hills sounds.' And so, why couldn't our trio join that big group of musicians which is sailing soon? And, Daddy, you know Paul is in that army. I don't know that I could find him, but--but--but I want to try. And Kathlyn is talking of going as biologist with a big hospital unit; so possibly I could stay with it."
Tom Young was _dumb!_ His "Post" actually _had_ told of such a musical outfit about to sail; but it was a man's organization. So, now it has got around to _this!_ Our girls, our dainty, loving girls, brimful of both sympathy and patriotism, wanting to go into that tough, laborious work of singing in army camps; in huts; in hospitals; singing from trucks rolling along country roads along which sat platoons and battalions of troops, waiting for word which might bring to this or that boy his last long gun-toting tramp. Singing in--
"Aw, darling! Your trio was fooling, wasn't it? Now, girls don't----"
"Daddy, girls _do!_ So, if our folks don't put up too much of a--"
"_Aha!!_ _Now_ you said a mouthful; _if_ your folks _don't!_ Darling, I'll say just two words as my part in this crazy stunt: '_Nothing doing!!_' Kathlyn's work is mighty important; singing isn't."
Sarah had not grown up from infancy in kindly Tom's cabin without knowing that his "no" was a "_no!!_" and not a flimsy, hollow word which a whining, or a sniffling, or a bawling child could switch around into: "Oh, all right, if you want to." So Sarah still sat on that low stool; or, to turn it around almost backwards,--Sarah sat on that stool,--still. _So_ still that Tom's old tin clock on its wall hooks was soon dominating that small room with its rhythmic ticking, as a conductor's baton controls a brass band's pianissimos. Finally Sarah said softly, slowly, sadly and with a big, big sigh:--
"I _did_ so want to go." And that small clock was ticking, ticking, ticking ...
For a full hour Sarah and old Tom sat talking and rocking, until Sarah, phoning to Doris, said:--
"My Dad says no."
And Doris, phoning back to Sarah, said:--
"So did my Dad."
And, as Virginia Adams was that trio's third part; and as Sarah and Doris had always known Nina Adams' strong will; and as,--Oh, hum! It was a happy fascination until adult minds got hold of it!
XXIX