Part 12
"Darling, that pair of robins up in that big oak with four young, and you and I in this big building, also with four, know all about what you just said; and, and,--hmmm! It's almost midnight." And His Honor's mansion was soon dark; bathing in soft moonlight.
XXXIX
Practically all Branton Hills was talking about Councilman Simpkins; for Councilman Simpkins just didn't look natural; and Councilman Simpkins didn't _act_ natural. In fact, Councilman Simpkins was crawling out of his old cocoon; and, though an ugly, snarling _dowdy_ worm had lain for so long, shut up in that tight mass of wrappings around his brain, _now_ a gay, smiling moth was coming out; for Councilman Simpkins was "dolling up!"
If Bill Gadsby was known as a "tailor-shop's outdoor part," Old Bill was not _a_ part. No, Old Bill _was_ that tailor shop--outdoor, indoor, or without a door. In fact, Councilman Simpkins now had "_it_," such as our films talk about so much today.
But Simpkins' outfit was not flashy or "loud." Suits of good cloth, hats of stylish form, always a bright carnation "just south of his chin," boots always glossy, and a smart, springy walk, had all Broadway gasping as this Apollo-vision swung jauntily along. Nancy, happy, giggling Nancy, was "all of a grin" about this magic transformation; and, with that old, inborn instinct of womanhood, told Lucy:--
"You just watch, and mark my word. A woman is in this pudding! Old Bill just couldn't boom out in such a way without having a goal in sight; and I'll put up a dollar on it."
And Lucy, also a woman, said smilingly:--
"And I'll put up a dollar and a half!"
But His Honor and Lady Gadsby, at such talk would look skyward, cough, and say:--
"Possibly a woman; and a mighty young woman, at that."
Now, if anything will "warm up" a public, it is gossip; particularly if it is about mystifying actions of a public man; and this had soon grown to a point at which a particularly curious man or woman thought of going to Old Bill and boldly asking: "Who is it?" But, as I said, what Councilman Simpkins would say to such "butting in" was known to all Branton Hills. No. Councilman Simpkins could doll up and trot around all that that portly Solon might wish; but, so to say, a sign was always hanging from his coat front, saying:--
"HANDS OFF!!"
* * * * *
Nina Adams and Virginia sat on Gadsby's porch with Nancy and Kathlyn; and Old Bill was up as a topic. Virginia, constantly smiling and inwardly chuckling, hadn't much to say about our frisky Councilman; and Nancy and Kathlyn couldn't fathom why. But Nina, not so backward, said:
"Pffft! If a man wants to throw old clothing away and buy stylish outfits, what affair is it, but his own? It isn't right so to pick out a man, and turn him into a laughing stock of a city. Old Bill isn't a bad sort; possibly born grouchy; but if a grouchy man or woman, (and I know a _bunch_ of that class in this town!) _can_ pull out of it, and laugh, and find a bit of joy in living, _I_ think it is an occasion for congratulations, _not_ booing."
"Oh," said Kathlyn, "I don't think anybody is booing Councilman Simpkins. But you know that any showing of such an innovation is apt to start gossip. Just why, I don't know. It, though, is a trait of Mankind only. Animals don't 'bloom' out so abruptly. You can hunt through Biology, Zoology or any similar study, and find but slow,--awfully slow,--adaptations toward any form of variation. Hurrying was not known until Man got around."
"My!" said Nancy, gasping, and not giggling now, "I wish that _I_ could know all that you know, Kathy. As our slang puts it, 'I don't know nothin'.'"
"But, you could," said Kathlyn, "if you would only study. All through our young days, you know, with you and Bill out at a card or dancing party, you in flimsy frills, and Bill swishing around in sartorial glory, _I_ was upstairs, studying. And so was Julius."
"That's right," said Nina. "I wish Virginia would study."
"Oh, I _am!_" said Virginia, all aglow.
"You? Studying _what_?"
"Aviation! Harold is going to show--"
"Now, Virginia, Harold is _not!_" and Nina Adams' foot was _down!_ "It's not so bad for a man to fly, but a girl--"
"But, Mama, lots of girls fly, nowadays."
"I know that, _and_ I also know _a_ girl who _won't!_ and, just as Lucy has always known that Old Tom Young's 'no' _was_ a no, just so had Nina Adams brought up Virginia."
"But," said Kathlyn, "this sky-shooting talk isn't finding out anything about Councilman Simpkins;" and Virginia said:--
"Possibly Old Bill wants to 'fly high.' I think I'll ask Harold about taking him up for a jaunt."
This, bringing a happy laugh all around, Nina said:--
"Now don't jolly poor Bill too much. I don't know what, or who, got him to 'going social.'" And Nancy, giggling, said:--
"I put up a dollar, with Lucy's dollar-fifty that it's a woman."
"Oh, I don't know, now," said Nina. "A man isn't always trotting around on a woman's apron strings," and, as it was growing dark, Nina and Virginia got up to go.
Passing down Gadsby's front walk, a soft night wind brought back to that porch:--
"Now, Virginia, _quit_ this! You will stay _on solid ground!_"
"Aw, Ma! Harold says----"
But a big bus, roaring by, cut it short.
* * * * *
Just a month from this, His Honor, sitting on his porch with his "Morning Post" ran across a short bit, just two rows of print, which had him calling "Hi!" which Lady Gadsby took as a signal for a quick trip to that porch.
"All right, Your Honor! On duty! What's up?"
Gadsby, folding his "Post" into a narrow column, and handing it to that waiting lady, said nothing. As that good woman saw that paragraph, Gadsby saw first a gasp, following that, a grin, and finally:--
"_Why!_ Of all things! So _that's_ Nina--"
That row of print said, simply:--
"By Pastor Brown, on Saturday night, in Pastor's study, Nina Adams and Councilman Simpkins."
"Why!" said Lady Gadsby, laughing, "Nina sat on this porch only last month, talking about Old Bill, but saying nothing about this! I'm going right around to hug that darling woman; for _that_ is what I call _tact_."
So, as Nina and our Lady sat talking, Nina said:
"You know that Bill and I, growing up from kids in school, always got along grandly; no childhood spats; but, still it was no 'crush' such as Youth falls into. As Bill got out of high school, I still had two rooms to go through. You also know that I wasn't a 'Miss' for long from graduation day. But Irving Adams was lost in that awful 'Titanic' calamity, and I brought up my baby in my widowhood. Bill was always sympathizing and patronizing, though all Branton Hills thought him a cast-iron grouch. But a public man is not always stiff and hard in his off hours; and Bill and I, slowly but gradually finding many a happy hour could--
"All right, you grand, luscious thing!!" and Lady Gadsby and Nina sat laughing on a couch, as in old, old school days. "And," said Nina, happily; "poor Bill's upstairs, now, putting his things around to suit him. Living for so long in a small lodging all his things staid in a trunk. A lodging-room always has various folks around, you know, and a man don't lay his things out as in his _own_ room. So--"
"Nina," said Lady Gadsby; "do you know what brought him out of his old shut-in way of looking at things?"
"From just a word or two Bill drops, occasionally, I think that a child is--"
And Lady Gadsby, said; "You know our Good Book's saying about: 'And a tiny child shall----'"
XL
Six months from that day upon which old Mars, God of War, had angrily thrown down his cannons, tanks, gas-bombs and so on, fuming at Man's inability to "stand up to it," Gadsby's mansion was dark again. Not totally dark; just his parlor lamp, and a light or two in halls and on stairways. And so this history found Nancy and Kathlyn out on that moon-lit porch; Nancy sobbing, fighting it off, and sobbing again. Tall, studious, loving Kathlyn, sitting fondly by Nancy's tiny form, said;--
"Now, sis; I wouldn't cry so much, for I don't think that conditions, just now, call for it."
"B-b-b-but I'd stop if I could, wouldn't I?" and poor Nancy was sobbing again. "Now, _wait!_" and Kathlyn, uncommonly cross, vigorously shook Nancy's arm. "You can't gain a _thing_ this way. Mama is probably all right. Oh, is that you, Daddy?"
His Honor sat down by his two girls. Gadsby was not looking good. Black rings around his always laughing orbs; a hard cast to that jovial mouth; a gray hair or two, cropping up amongst his wavy brown. But Gadsby was not old. Oh, no; far from it. Still, that stoop in walking; that odd, limp slump in sitting; that toning down in joviality, had, for six months past, had all Branton Hills sympathizing with its popular Mayor.
* * * * *
Days; days; days! And, oh! that _tough_ part,--nights, nights, nights! Nights of two young chaps, in full clothing, only just napping on a parlor couch. Nights of two girls nodding in chairs in a dimly,--oh, _so_ dimly a lit room.
It got around almost to Christmas, only a fortnight to that happy day; but,--happy in Gadsby's mansion? Finally Frank took a hand:--
"Now, kid, _do_ try to stop this crying! You know I'm not scolding you, darling, but, you _just can't_ go on this way; and _that's that!_"
"I'm trying _so_ hard, hubby!"
Now Nancy was of that good, sturdy old Colonial stock of His Honor and Lady Gadsby; and so, as Christmas was approaching, and many a bunch of holly hung in Broadway's big windows, and as many a Salvation Army Santa Claus stood at its curbs, Nancy's constitution won out; but a badly worn young lady was in and out of Gadsby's mansion daily; bringing baby Lillian to kiss Grandma, and riding back with Frank at about six o'clock.
* * * * *
Old Doctor Wilkins, coming in on a cool, sharp night, found His Honor, Nancy, Kathlyn, Bill, Julius, Lucy, Mary, Frank and John all in that big parlor.
"Now, you bunch, it's up to you. Lady Gadsby will pull through all right," (Nancy rushing wildly to kiss him!) "it hangs now upon good nursing; and I know you will furnish that. And I will say without a wisp of a doubt, that a calm, happy room; not too many around; and--and--hmmm!! Julius, can't you hunt around in our woods that you and Kathlyn know so thoroughly, and find a tall, straight young fir; cut it down, rig it up with lights and a lot of shiny stuff; stand it up in your Ma's room, and----"
* * * * *
'Tis a night, almost Christmas, And all through that room A warm joy is stirring; No sign of a gloom. And "Ma," sitting up, In gay gown, and cap, No, no! Will _not_ start On a long wintry nap! For, out on that lawn A group of girls stand; A group singing carols With part of our Band. And that moon, in full vigor, Was lustrous; and lo! _Our Lady is singing!_ Aha, _now_ I know That Nancy and Kathlyn And Julius and Bill And also His Honor, Will sing with a will! And Old Doctor Wilkins Amidst it all stands; Smiling and nodding, And rubbing his hands; And, sliding out, slyly; Calls back at that sight:-- "Happy Christmas to all; And to all a Good Night!"
Along about midnight a happy group sat around Gadsby's parlor lamp, as Dr. Wilkins was saying;--
"Stopping a war; that is, stopping actual military combat, is not stopping a war in _all_ its factors. During continuous hard strain a human mind can hold up; and it is truly amazing how much it can stand. Day by day, with that war-strain of worry pulling it down, it staunchly holds aloof, as a mighty oak in facing a storm. But it has a limit!! With too much and too long strain, it will _snap_; just as that mighty oak will fall, in a long fight. Lady Gadsby will avoid such a snap though it is by a narrow margin."
As this group sat in that holly-hung parlor, with that big cloth sign in big gold capitals; HAPPY CHRISTMAS, across its back wall; with horns tooting outdoors; with many a window around town aglow with tiny, dancing tallow-dip lights; with baby Lillian "all snuggling--so warm in a cot; as vision of sugar plums"--(and why _shouldn't_ a baby think of sugar plums on that night, almost Christmas?); as, I say, this happy group sat around Gadsby's lamp, Mars, that grim old war tyrant, was far, far away. Upstairs, calmly snoozing on a big downy pillow, Lady Gadsby was now rapidly coming back again to that buxom, happy-go-lucky First Lady of Branton Hills.
XLI
Christmas, gay and happy in Gadsby's mansion, was soon far, far back. A robin or two was hopping about on His Honor's lawn, looking for a squirming lunch; Lady was taking short walks with Nancy; Kathlyn having to go back to work in our big hospital. Lilac, syringa, narcissus, tulips, hyacinths burst out in a riot of bloom; and a bright warm Sun brought joy to all. And so this history found His Honor on his porch with his "Post" as a young lad, coming up, said;--"Good morning, sir. I'm soliciting funds for a big stadium for Branton Hills, which will furnish an opportunity for football, polo,----"
"Whoa!" said Gadsby, putting down his "Post" and looking critically at his young visitor. "You look a bit familiar, boy. Oho! If it isn't kid Banks; oh, pardon!--_Allan_ Banks; son of Councilman Banks! You young folks grow up so fast I don't know half of you. Now what about this soliciting. Who is back of you?"
"Branton Hills' Organization of Youth; Part Two, sir."
"Branton Hills Org----Ha, ha! Upon my word! Who is starting this group?"
Mary, coming out from His Honor's parlor, said:--
"Oh, I forgot to notify you of this. Norman has got about fifty kids from Grammar School boys and girls, anxious to follow in _your_ Organization's foot-prints."
Was Gadsby happy? Did Gadsby thrill? Did that long-past, happy day float in glowing colors through his mind? It did. And now that old, hard-working bunch of kids, grown up, now, and with kids of its own; that loyal bunch of young sprouts was taking root; was born again!
Oh, _how_ Youth crawls up on you! How a tiny girl "almost instantly" shoots up into a tall, charming young woman! _How_ a top-spinning, ball-tossing, racing, shouting boy looms up into a manly young chap in Military School uniform! Gadsby _was_ happy; for, wasn't this a tonic for his spinal column? So His Honor said;--
"Allan, I think Branton Hills will officially aid this stadium plan. I'll put it up to Council."
But, Allan Banks, _not_ Kid Banks now, was just so old as to know a thing or two about Council bills; and, out as a solicitor, naturally sought a good showing on donations won, so said;--
"A Council donation will fit in grand, sir; but how about grouchy old Bill Simpk----"
"Trot along, Allan."
"But how about this stadium? I'm doubting Old B--"
"Trot along, Allan."
* * * * *
What Mary had said was a fact. Norman Antor had not only fought a military war; Norman Antor had also fought an _inward_ war. A war, which fought him with gallon jugs, small phials, spoons, mixing apparatus, and--a stumbling, mumbling _stupor!_ Norman had fought with about two million lads in that military war; but now, with no aid but a strain of good blood, starting way back of his carousing Dad (but, as such traits may, skipping a notch or two, and implanting in this young lad just a grain of its old nobility of mind), was fighting again; and, just as any solitary young chap amongst that two million loyally did his part, just so was this tiny grain now doing _its_ part; fighting valiantly in his brain. It was giving him torturing thoughts in army night-camps, of a darling, loving young girl, a part of his own family, growing up "in a pool of liquor;" thoughts in night-camps of Branton Hills' patrol-wagon trips to jail; and _Darn_ that thought of Virginia! Virginia _drunk_ by his own hand! Ugh!! _Why not chop that stinking hand off?_ And, on coming back to Branton Hills, watching that darling Mary in Salvation Army uniform, tramping, talking, praying for just such low-down "liquor hounds" as----.
Oh! It was an awful fight! A long, brain-racking onslaught against a villain shut in by walls of iron! But though Norman Antor's night-camp fights with Norman Antor had "put a big kick" in his wish to "lay off that stuff," just a final blow, just an awful brain-crashing _blast_ was still missing, so that that big right hand might point skyward, to clinch that vow. And that blast was waiting for Norman! To anybody standing around, it wasn't much of a blast; but it _was!_ It was a mighty concussion of T.N.T., coming as Mary, young, loving, praying Mary, said, as his arms unwound from around that frail form:--
"Why, Norman! _Not drunk?_"
_God!!_ What flashing, shooting, sizzling sparks shot through his brain!! Up, out, in; all kinds of ways!! _What_ crashing bombs!!
And, that first calm night on Old Lady Flanagan's porch; that moonlit night of bliss, with soft, cuddling, snuggling, laughing, crying darling Mary!
"I say," Norman was shouting, inwardly; "that night of bliss _was_ a night of bliss and _don't anybody try to say that it wasn't!_"
For it was a night on which a young man's Soul was _back_; back in its own Mind, now full of God's incomparably grand _purity!_
* * * * *
Lady Gadsby was visiting Nina, sitting in that big front parlor; Virginia sitting calmly rocking; (and, hmmm! That was about all Virginia _ought_ to do, just now!) A young High School girl, coming in, said;--
"Good morning! I'm soliciting for funds for a stadium for----"
"_Marian!_" sang out Virginia, "_What's_ all this? _You_, soliciting?"
"Why not?" said Marian, brightly. "Norman Antor's Organization of Youth; Part Two, is soli--"
"Norman Antor's _what_?" and Virginia was all agog in an instant, as Marian Hopkins told all about it; and, with childish flippancy, forgot all about soliciting, saying:--
"I was told that Harold is giving flying instructions. Don't _you_ want to fly? My! _I_ do!"
"I _did_," said Virginia, softly; "but,--not now;" and Marian was a bit too young to know why Lady Gadsby was smiling at Nina!
As Nancy found out about this, on Lady Gadsby's coming back to lunch, that "old Branton Hills matron," as Gadsby found a lot of fun calling "his baby girl," now-a-days, said, giggling:--
"No! Virginia! You'll _stay on solid ground!_"
XLII
Lady Gadsby and His Honor sat in Branton Hills' First Church, on a hot July Sunday. Out-doors, twitting birds, lacy clouds, and gay blossoms, told of happy hours in this long, bright month. Pastor Brown, announcing a hymn, said:--
"This is a charming hymn. Our choir always sings it without company; but today, I want _all_ you good folks to join in. Just pour forth your joy and sing it, good and strongly."
That hymn had six stanzas; and Gadsby, noting an actually _grand_ bass singing just back of him, thought of turning around, from curiosity; and as that fifth stanza was starting, said to Lady Gadsby:--
"Do you know who that is, singing that grand bass part?"
Lady Gadsby didn't; but Lady Gadsby was a woman; and, from Noah's Ark to Branton Hills' First Church, woman, as a branch of Mankind, was curious. So a slow casual turning brought a dig in His Honor's ribs:--
"It's Norman Antor!"
Pastor Brown, standing at that big church door as folks, filing out would stop for a word or two, said to Gadsby:--
"Young Antor is invariably in church, now-a-days. I may add to my choir, and am thinking of putting him in it. I'm so glad to find out about that boy winning his fight. I always _thought_ Norman would turn out all right."
Pastor Brown was right; and two Branton Hills girls, a Salvation Army lady, and a tiny tot of six had won crowns of Glory, from throwing rays of light into two badly stagnant Minds.
XLIII
Thirty-six months. That's not so long a run in daily affairs, and this Branton Hills history finds Thanksgiving Day dawning. In Branton Hill's locality it is not, customarily, what you would call a cold day. Many a Thanksgiving has had warm, balmy air, and without snow; though, also, without all that vast army of tiny chirping, singing, buzzing things on lawn or branch. But contrast has its own valuation; for, through it, common sights, vanishing annually, show up with a happy joy, upon coming back. Ah! That first faint coloring of grass, in Spring! That baby bud, on shrub or plant, shyly asking our loving South Wind if it's all right to pop out, now. That sprouting of big brown limbs on oak and birch; that first "blush of Spring" in orchards; that first furry, fuzzy, cuddly spray of pussy willows! Spring and Fall; two big points in your trip along your Pathway. Fall with its rubbish from months of labor: cornstalks, brown, dry grass, old twigs lying around, wilting plants; bright colorings blazing in distant woodlands; chill winds crawling in through windows, at night. And Spring! Pick-up, paint-up, wash-up Spring!! So, as I said, Branton Hills got around to Thanksgiving Day; that day on which as many of a family as possibly can should sit around a common board; coming from afar, or from only a door or two away.
Gadsby's dining-room was not big; it had always sat but six in his family. But, on _this_ Thanksgiving Day,--hmmm! "Wait, now--uh-huh, that's it. Just run that pair of sliding doors back, put that parlor lamp upstairs; and that piano? Why not roll it out into my front hall? I know it will look odd, but you can't go through a Thanksgiving 'soup to nuts' standing up. _Got_ to jam in chairs, any old way!"
But who is all this mob that will turn His Honor's dining-room into a thirty-foot hall? I'll look around, as our happy, laughing, singing, clapping group sits down to Gadsby's Thanksgiving party.
I find _two_ "posts of honor;" (My gracious! _so_ far apart!); His Honor, with carving tools filling dish, dish, and dish.
"Atta boy! Atta girl! Pass up your chow-dish! This bird has but two drum-sticks, but six of his cousins wait, out in our cook-shop! Lots of grub! What's that, Julius? A bit of dark? Want any gravy?"
At Post Two sits "Ma;" again in that good old buxom condition, so familiar to all Branton Hills:--
"Right this way, folks, for potato, squash, onions, carrots and turnip!!"
_What_ a happy bunch! Following around from Gadsby, sit Bill, Lucy and Addison. But whoa! Who's this Addison? Oh, pardon; I forgot all about it. Lucy's baby; and his first Thanksgiving. Hi, you! Tut-tut! Mustn't grab raisins! Naughty, naughty! On Lucy's right sit Mary, Julius and Norman; following along, I find Nancy, Frank and Baby Lillian, Kathlyn, John, Lady Standish, Priscilla and Hubby Arthur Rankin; Nina Adams,--Oh! A _thousand_ pardons!!--Nina _Simpkins!_ and Old Bill. Say! You wouldn't know Bill! Bright, happy, laughing, singing, and tapping a cup with his spoon; spick-span suit, and that now famous "Broadway carnation." Hulloa, Bill; you old sport!! Glad to find you looking so happy! _What?_ _Two_ whacks at that bird? Why Bill!! On Bill's right sits Pastor Brown, old Doctor Wilkins, Harold, Virginia, and Patricia. Oh, pardon again! Patricia, Virgina's baby; just six months old, today, and valiantly trying to swallow a half-pound candy cow! Following around I find Old Tom Young, Sarah, and Paul. No, I don't find a high-chair by Sarah; but Sarah sits just rocking, rocking, rocking, now-a-days. Following on, again, is Old Tom Donaldson, Clancy Dowd, _and_--Old Lady Flanagan, with "this dom thing I calls hoosband!" And lastly, Marian and old Pat Ryan from our railway station's trunk room.
So it was just laugh, talk, "stuff," and--
* * * * *
Oh, hum! Folks can't stay all night, you know; so, finally, groups and pairs, drifting out, all had happy words for His Honor and Lady Gadsby; and His Honor, a word or two; for you know Gadsby _can_ talk? So it was:--