Part 9
"I gotta four bambinos. My bambinos playa in thatta park: run, jumpa and rolla. Grow bigga an' strong. My woman say no coulda do thatta if playa all day on bricka walks. I say no buncha land sharks buya thatta Park!! How many you guys go to it, anyway? Huh? Notta many! But _go!!_ Walk around; sniffa its blossoms; look at grand busha; sit on softa grass! You do thatta, an' _I_ know you not stick no building on it!!"
So, at Mayor Gadsby's instigation, Council did not ballot on Simpkins' bill; and said it would go, as Tony thought only right, and "look atta gooda busha."
In a day or two this pompous body of solons was strolling about that big park. No man with half a mind could fail to thrill at its vistas of shrubs, ponds, lawns, arbors, fancy fowl, small pavilions and curving shady pathways. As Gadsby was "takinga his owna looka," Old Bill Simpkins, coming a-snorting and a-fussing along, sang out, gruffly:--
"All right; this is it! This is that grand patch of grass that pays Branton Hills no tax!"
But Gadsby was thinking--and thinking hard, too. Finally saying:--
"Bill, supposing that any day you should walk along that big Pathway known in Sunday School as 'Our Straight But Narrow Way.' You would find coming towards you, all sorts of folks: a king, roaring past in his big chariot, a capitalist with his hands full of bonds, an old, old lady, on a crutch. Such passings would bring to you various thoughts. But, supposing it was a possibility that you saw _Bill Simpkins_ coming your way. Aha! What an opportunity to watch that grouchy old--"
"That _what_?"
"I'll say it again: that grouchy old crab. How you _would_ gawk at him, that most important of all folks, to you. How you would look at his clothing, his hat, his boots! That individual would pass an inquiry such as you had not thought it a possibility to put a man up against. Bill, I think that if you _should_ pass Councilman Simpkins on that Big Pathway, you would say: 'What a grouchy old crittur that was!'"
Old Bill stood calmly during this oration, and, looking around that big park, said:--
"John, you know how to talk, all right, all right. I'll admit that things you say do do a lot of good around this town. But if I should run across this guy you talk about, on that vaporous highway, or 'boardwalk', as _I_ should call it,--I'd say, right out good and loud: Hi! You!! Hurry back to Branton Hills and put up a block of buildings in that silly park!" and Gadsby, walking away, saw that an inborn grouch is as hard to dig out as a wisdom tooth.
Now this Council's visit on this particular day, was a sly plan of Gadsby's, for His Honor is, you know, Youth's Champion, and having known many an occasion on which Youth has won out against Council opposition. So, our big City officials, strolling around that park, soon saw a smooth lawn upon which sat, stood, or ran, almost a thousand small tots of from four to six. In dainty, flimsy outfits, many carrying fairy wands, it was a sight so charming as to thaw out a brass idol! Amidst this happy party stood a tall shaft, or mast, having hanging from its top a thick bunch of long ribbons, of pink, lilac, gray, and similar dainty colors; and around it stood thirty tots--thirty tiny fists all agog to grasp thirty gay ribbons. Old Bill took a look, and said, growlingly, to His Honor:--
"What's all this stuff, anyway?"
"Bill, and Branton Hills' Council," said Gadsby, "today is May Day--that day so symbolic of budding blossoms, mating birds and sunny sky. You all know, or _ought_ to, of that charming custom of childhood of toddling round and round a tall mast in and out, in and out,--thus winding gay ribbons about it in a spiral. That is but a small part of what this Park can do for Branton Hills. But it is an important part; for happy childhood grows up into happy adults, and happy adults"--looking right at Councilman Simpkins--"_can_ form a happy City Council."
Now a kid is always a kid; and a kid knows just how any sport should go. So, just by luck, a tot who was to hold a gay ribbon didn't show up; and that big ring stood waiting, for that round-and-round march _just couldn't_ start with a ribbon hanging down! But a kid's mind is mighty quick and sharp; and a small tot of four had that kind of mind, saying:--
"Oh! That last ribbon! Isn't anybody going to hold it?"
Now historians shouldn't laugh. Historians should only put down what occurs. But I, _your_ historian of Branton Hills, not only had to laugh, but to _roar_; for this tot, worrying about that hanging ribbon, saw our big pompous Council group looking on. Now a Council is nothing to a tot of four; just a man or two, standing around. So, trotting up and grasping Old Bill's hand, this tot said:
"_You'll_ hold it, won't you?"
"_What!!_" and Simpkins was all colors on throat and brow as Branton Hills' Council stood, grinning. But that baby chin was straining up, and a pair of baby arms was pulling, oh, _so_ hard; and, in a sort of coma, big, pompous, grouchy Councilman Simpkins took that hanging ribbon! A band struck up a quick march, and round and round trod that happy, singing ring, with Old Bill looming up as big as a mountain amongst its foothills! Laugh? I thought His Honor would _burst!_
As that ribbon spiral got wound, Simpkins, coming back, said, with a growl:--
"I was afraid I would tramp on a kid or two in that silly stunt."
"It wasn't silly, Bill," said Gadsby. "It was _grand!_" And Tony Bandamita sang out:--
"Gooda work, Councilmanna! My four bambinos walka right in fronta you, and twista ribbons!"
Simpkins, though, would only snort, and pass on.
XX
On a warm Sunday, Kathlyn and Julius, poking around in Branton Hills' suburbs, occasionally found an odd formation of fossilization, installing it amidst our Hall of Natural History's displays. Shortly following such an installation, a famous savant on volcanic activity noting a most propitious rock formation amongst Julius' groups, thought of cutting into it; for ordinary, most prosaic rocks _may_ contain surprising information; and, upon arriving at Branton Hills' railway station, ran across old Pat Ryan, czar of its trunk room.
"Ah, my man! I want to find a lapidary."
"A what?"
"It isn't a 'what,' it's a lapidary."
"Lapidary, is it? Lapidary, lapidary, lapi--lapi--la--. No, I----"
Now this savant was in a hurry, and said, snappily:--
"But a city as big as Branton Hills _has_ a lapidary, I trust!"
"Oh, Branton Hills has a lot of things. But, wait a bit! It ain't a lavatory what you want, is it?"
But at this instant, to old Pat's salvation, Kathlyn, passing by, said:--
"All right, Pat. I know about this;" and, both taking a taxi, old Pat walking round and round, scratching his bald crown, was murmuring:
"Lapid----Aho! I got it! It's probably a crittur up at that zoo! I ain't forgot that hop, skip and jump, walloping Australian tornado! And now His Honor has put in a lapidary!! I think I'll go up with that old canvas bag! But why all sich high-brow stuff in naming critturs? This lapidary thing might turn out only a rat, or a goofy bug!"
But that _fairy_ bug, Dan Cupid, goofy or not, as you wish, was buzzing around again; and, though this story is not of wild, romantic infatuations, in which rival villains fight for a fair lady's hand, I am bound to say that Cupid has put on an act varying _much_ from his works in Gadsby's mansion; for _this_ arrow from his bow caught two young folks to whom a dollar bill was as long, broad and high as City Hall. Both had to work for a living; but by saving a bit, off and on, Sarah Young, who, you know, with Priscilla Standish first thought of our Night School, and Paul Johnson, who did odd jobs around town, such as caring for lawns, painting and "man-of-all-work," had put by a small bank account. Paul was an orphan, as was Sarah, who had grown up with a kindly old man, Tom Young; his "old woman," dying at about Sarah's fourth birthday. (That word "old woman," is common amongst Irish folks, and is not at all ungracious. It _had_ to crawl into this story, through orthographical taboos, you know.) But Sarah, now a grown young lady, had that natural longing for a spot in which a woman might find that joy of living, in having "things to do for just us two" if bound by Cupid's gift--matrimony.
Many a day in passing that big church of Nancy's grand display, or Gadsby's rich mansion, Sarah had thought fondly about such things; for, as with any girl, marrying amidst blossoms, glamour and organ music was a goal, to attain which was actual bliss. But such rituals call for cash; and lots of it, too. Also, Old Tom Young had no room in any way fit for such an occasion.
So Sarah would walk past, possibly a bit sad, but looking forward to a coming happy day. And it wasn't so far off. My, no! As Nancy had thought April was "a million months long," Sarah's days swung past in a dizzy whirl; during which, in company with Paul on Saturday nights, a small thing or two was happily bought for that "Cupid's Coop," as both found a lot of fun in calling it. But Sarah naturally had girl chums, just as Nancy and Kathlyn had; for most of that old Organization was still in town; and many a gift found its way to this girl who, though poor in worldly goods, was as rich as old King Midas in a bright, happy disposition; for anybody who didn't know that magic captivation of Sarah Young's laugh, that rich crown of light, fluffy hair, or that grand, proud, upright walk, wasn't amongst Branton Hills' population. Paul, scratching around shady paths, a potato patch or two, front yards, back yards, and city parks, was known to many an old family man; who upon knowing of his coming variation in living conditions, thought way, way back to his own romantic youth; so Paul, going to Sarah at night, brought small but practical gifts for that "coop."
As Sarah and Paul stood in front of City Hall on a hot July night, Sarah scanning Branton Hills' "Post" for "vacant rooms," who should walk up but His Honor! And that kindly hand shot out with:--
"Aha! If it isn't Paul and Sarah! What's Sarah hunting for, Paul?"
"Sarah is looking for a room for us, sir."
"_Us_? Did you say 'us'? Oho! H-mmm! I'm on! How soon will you want it?"
"Oh," said Sarah, blushing, "not for about a month."
"But," said His Honor, "you shouldn't start out in _a_ room. You would want from four to six I should think."
Sarah, still ogling that "rooms" column said, softly:--
"Four to six rooms? That's just grand if you can afford such. But,----"
"Wait!" said Gadsby, who, taking Paul's and Sarah's arms, and strolling along, told of a small six-room bungalow of his, just around from Nancy's.
"And you two will pay just nothing a month for it. It's yours, from front porch to roof top, as a gift to two of my most loyal pals."
And instantly a copy of Branton Hills' "Post" was blowing across Broadway in a fluky July wind!
Now, as this young pair was to start out frugally, it wouldn't do to lay out too much for, as Sarah said, "about forty words by a pastor, and a kiss."
So only Priscilla stood up with Sarah; and Bill Gadsby, in all his sartorial glory, with Paul, in Parson Brown's small study; both girls in dainty morning clothing; Sarah carrying a bunch of gay nasturtiums, claiming that such warm, bright colorings would add as much charm to that short occasion as a thousand dollars' worth of orchids. Now, such girls as Sarah, with that capacity for finding satisfaction so simply, don't grow as abundantly as hollyhocks--and Paul found that Gadsby's old Organization was a group knowing what a dollar is: just a dollar.
XXI
Occasionally a sight bobs up without warning in a city, which starts a train of thought, sad or gay, according to how you look at it. And so, Lucy, Priscilla, and Virginia Adams, walking along Broadway, saw a crowd around a lamp post, upon which was a patrol-box; and, though our girls don't customarily follow up such sights, Lucy saw a man's form sprawling flat up against that post, as limp as a rag. Priscilla said, in disgust:--
"_Ugh!!_ It's Norman Antor! Drunk again!!" and Virginia, hastily grasping both girls' arms and hurrying past, said:--
"So!! His vacation in jail didn't do him any good! But, still, it's too bad. Norman is a good looking, manly lad, with a good mind and a thorough schooling. And _now_ look at him! A _common drunk!!_"
Priscilla was sad, too, saying:--
"Awful! Awful for so young a chap. What is his Dad doing now?"
"Still in jail," was all Virginia could say; adding sadly: "I do pity poor young Mary, who sold Antor's liquor, you know. Doris says that lots of school-girls snub that kid. Now that's not right. It's downright _horrid!_ Mary was brought up in what you almost might call a pool of liquor, and I don't call it fair to snub a child for that; for you know that, not only 'Past' Councilman Antor, but also _Madam_ Antor, got what our boys call 'lit-up' on many public occasions. Antor's pantry was _full_ of it! Which way could that poor kid look without finding it? You know Mary is not so old as most of us; and I'm just going to _go_ to that child and try to bring a ray of comfort into that young mind. That rum-guzzling Antor family!! _Ugh!!_"
* * * * *
But a city also has amusing sights; and our trio ran plump into that kind, just around a turn; for, standing on a soap box, shouting a high-sounding jargon of rapidly shot words, was Arthur Rankin, an original Organization lad; a crowd of boys, a man or two, and a woman hanging laughingly around. Our trio's first inkling as to what it was all about was Arthur's hail to Priscilla:--
"Aha! Branton Hills' fair womanhood is now approaching!!"
Now if our trio didn't know Arthur so thoroughly, such girls might balk at this publicity. But Priscilla and Arthur had had many a "slapping match" long ago, arising from childhood's spats; Priscilla originally living on an adjoining lot, and was Arthur's "first girl;" which according to his old Aunt Anna, "was just silly puppy stuff!" So nobody thought anything of this public hail and Arthur was raving on about "which puts an instant stop to all pain; will rid you of anything from dandruff to ingrowing nails; will build up a strong body from a puny runt; will grow hair on a billiard-ball scalp, and _taboo_ it on a lady's chin; will put a glamorous gloss on tooth or nail; stop stomach growls; oil up kinky joints, and bring you to happy, smiling days of Utopian bliss! How many, Priscilla? Only a dollar a box; two for dollar-sixty!"
Priscilla, laughing, said:--
"Not any today, thank you, Art! All I want is a pair of juicy lamb chops--a dish of onions--a dish of squash--a dish of carrots--a pint of milk--potato-chips--hot biscuits--cold slaw--custard pudding--nuts--raisins----"
"_Whoa_, Priscilla! Hop right up on this box! I know that word-slinging ability of old" and as that crowd was fading away, Priscilla said:--
"This is odd work for you, Arthur; _you_ so good a draughtsman. What's up?"
And Arthur, a happy, rollicking boy, having always had all such things as most boys had, with a Dad making good pay as a railroad conductor, told sadly of an awful railway smash-up which took "Dad" away from four small Rankin orphans, whom Arthur was now supporting; and a scarcity of jobs in Branton Hills and of trips to surrounding towns, always finding that old sign out: "No Work Today." Of this soap box opportunity bobbing up, which was now bringing in good cash. So our girls found that our Branton Hills boys didn't shirk work of any kind, if brought right up against want.
XXII
But what about Branton Hills' municipal affairs, right now? In two months it was to ballot on who should sit in past-Councilman Antor's chair; and a campaign was on which was actually sizzling. And in what a contrast to our city's start! For it has grown rapidly; and, in comparison to that day upon which a thousand ballots was a big out-pouring of popular clamor now many politicians had City Hall aspirations. And _who_ do you think was running for Council, now? William Gadsby! Popularly known as Bill! Bill, Branton Hills' famous dandy; Bill, that consummation of all Branton Hills girls' most romantic wish; Bill, that "outdoor part" of Branton Hills' most aristocratic tailor shop! Naturally, opposing groups fought for that vacancy; part of our population clamoring loudly for Bill, but with many just as strongly against him. So it was:--
"Put Bill Gadsby in!! Bill has all our Mayor's good points! Bill will work for all that is upright and good!"
And also:--
"_What!_ Bill Gadsby? Is this town plumb crazy? Say! If you put that fop in City Hall you'll find all its railings flapping with pink satin ribbons; a janitor at its main door, squirting vanilla on all who go in; and its front lawn will turn into a pansy farm! Put a _man_ in City Hall, not a sissy who thinks out 'upsy-downsy, insy-outsy' camping suits for girls!"
But though this didn't annoy Bill, it _did_ stir up Nancy, with:--
"Oh! That's just an abomination! _Such_ talk about so grand a young chap! But I just saw a billboard with a sign saying: 'Bill Gadsby for Council;' so, probably I shouldn't worry, for Bill is as good as in."
"Baby," said Gadsby, kindly, "that's only a billboard, and billboards don't put a man in City Hall. It's _ballots_, darling; _thousands_ of ballots, that fill Council chairs."
"But, Daddy, I'm going to root for Bill. I'll stand up on a stump, or in a tip-cart, or----"
"Whoa! Wait a bit!" and Gadsby sat down by his "baby girl," saying: "You can't go on a stumping campaign without knowing a lot about municipal affairs; which you don't. Any antagonist who knows about such things would out-talk you without half trying. No, darling, this political stuff is too big for you. You just look out for things in that small bungalow of yours, and allow Branton Hills to fight to put Bill in. You know my old slogan:--'Man at a city's front; woman at a cabin door.'"
And Nancy, fondly stroking his hand, said:
"Man at a city's front! What a grand post for a man! A city, a big, rushing, dashing, slamming, banging, boiling mass of humanity! A city; with its bright, happy, sunny parks; and its sad, dark slums; its rich mansions and its shanty-town shacks; its shops, inns, shows, courts, airports, railway stations, hospitals, schools, church groups, social clubs, and,--and,--_Oh!_ _What_ a magic visualization of human thought it is! But it is as a small child. It looks for a strong arm to support its first toddlings; for adult minds to pilot it around many pitfalls; and onward, _onward!!_ To a shining goal!!" and Nancy's crown of rich brown hair sank lovingly in Gadsby's lap.
During this outburst Gadsby had sat dumb; but finally saying, proudly:--
"So, ho! My baby girl has grown up! Dolls and sand-digging tools don't call, as of old. And small, dirty paws, and a tiny smudgy chin, transform, almost in a twinkling into charming hands and a chin of maturity. My, my! It was but a month or two ago that you, in pig-tails and gingham----"
"No, Daddy! It was a _mighty long_ month or two ago; and it's not pig-tails and gingham, now, but a husband and a baby."
"All right, kid; but as you grow old, you'll find that, in glancing backwards, months look mighty short; and small tots grow up, almost in a night. A month _from now_ looks awfully far off; but _last month_? Pff! That was only last night!"
Thus did Nancy and His Honor talk, until a vigorous honking at his curb told of Frank, "looking for a cook," for it was six o'clock.
XXIII
Any man with so kindly a disposition toward Youth as has brought our Mayor forward in Branton Hills' history, may, without warning, run across an occasion which holds an opportunity for adding a bit of joy in living. So, as Gadsby stood, on a chilly fall day, in front of that big glass building which was built for a city florist, admiring a charming display of blossoming plants, a small girl, still in Grammar School, said, shyly:--
"Hulloa."
"Hulloa, you. School out?"
"On Saturdays, school is always out."
"That's so; it _is_ Saturday, isn't it? Going in?"
"_In!!_ My, no! _I_ can't go into that fairyland!"
"No? Why not, pray?"
"Aw! I dunno; but nobody has took kids in."
"Took? Took? Say, young lady, you must study your grammar book. Branton Hills schools don't----"
"Uh-huh; I know. But a kid just can't--"
"By golly! A kid _can!_ Grab my hand."
Now, many a fairy book has told, in glowing words, of childhood's joys and thrills at amazing sights; but _no_ fairy book _could_ show, in cold print, what Gadsby ran up against as that big door shut, and a child stood stock still--and _dumb!_ Two small arms hung limply down, against a poor, oh, _so_ poor skirt; and two big staring brown orbs took in that vision of floral glory, which is found in just that kind of a big glass building on a cold, raw autumn day.
Gadsby said not a word; slowly strolling down a path amidst thousands of gladioli; around a turn, and up a path, along which stood pots and pots of fuchsias, salvias and cannas; and to a cross-path, down which was a big flat pansy patch, tubs of blossoming lilacs, and stiff, straight carnations. Not a word from Gadsby, for his mind was on that small bunch of rapturous joy just in front of him. But, finally, just to pry a bit into that baby mind, His Honor said:--
"Looks kind of good, don't it?"
A tiny form shrunk down about an inch; and an also tiny bosom, rising and falling in a thralldom of bliss, finally put forth a long, long,--
"_O-h-h-h-h!!_"
It was so long that Gadsby was in a quandary as to how such small lungs could hold it.
Now in watching this tot thrilling at its first visit to such a world of floral glory, Gadsby got what boys call "a hunch;" and said:--
"You don't find blossoms in your yard this month, _do_ you?"
If you know childhood you know that thrills don't last long without a call for information. And Gadsby got such a call, with:--
"No, sir. Is this God's parlor?"
Now Gadsby wouldn't, for anything, spoil a childish thought; so said, kindly:--
"It's part of it. God's parlor is awfully big, you know."
"_My_ parlor is awfully _small_; and not any bloss---- Oh! Wouldn't God----?"