Part 6

And with that big Municipal Band a-booming and blaring, and the crowd of our old Organization girls pushing forward, did Branton Hills look good to Nancy? _And did Nancy look good to Branton Hills?_ _What_ a glorious tan, from days and days on shipboard! And was that old Atlantic ugly? Ask Frank, poor chap, who, as on that big Pacific, had found out just what a ship's rail is for! And that stomachs can turn most amazing flip-flops if an old boat is too frisky!

In just an instant, actual count, Nancy was in Lady Gadsby's arms, fighting valiantly to hold back a flood of big, happy sobs; and Frank was busy, grabbing a cloud of hands surging towards him.

Coming back from a long trip is a happy occasion. And it is also mighty good to put a trunk or a bag down, knowing that it will "stay put" for a day or two, anyway. That constant packing and unpacking on a long trip, soon turns into an automatic function; and how Nancy did worry about what transportation customs in various lands would do to a first class trunk which has a romantic history, owing to its coming as a matrimonial gift from a group of loving girls. But now; _ah!!_ Put it away, and your things around, in familiar disposal.

Long trips do bring lots of fun and information; but a truly long trip is tiring, both in body and mind.

But Nancy and Frank won't stay with Gadsby long; for, during that trip, a charming bungalow was built on a lot of Gadsby's, facing City Park; and Nancy put in many days arranging things in it. Anybody who has had such joyful work to do, knows how assiduously a young pair would go about it; for two young robins carrying bits of cotton and string up to a criss-cross of twigs in a big oak, with constant soft, loving chirps, "had nothing," according to our popular slang, on Nancy and Frank.

Finally "moving in day" got around, with that customary party, to which you carry a gift to add to such things as a young husband on only a small salary can install. And _how_ gifts did pour in!! Rugs, chairs, small stands, urns, clocks, photos in wall mountings, dainty scarfs (all handwork by our girls in our Night School), books, lamps, a "radio" from Station KBH, until, finally, a big truck found an opportunity in that coming and going throng to back in and unload an upright piano, all satin ribbon wrappings, with a card:--"From Branton Hills' Municipal Band."

XIII

I could go on for hours about this starting out of Nancy and Frank, but many civic affairs await us; for Julius Gadsby who has not got into this story up to now, had, from his constant poring through all kinds of books of information, built up a thorough insight into fossils; and you know that Kathlyn is way up in Biology; which brings in our awkward "bugs" again. Now bugs will burrow in soil, and always did, from History's birth; building catacombs which at last vanish through a piling up of rocks, sand or soil on that spot. Now Julius continually ran across accounts of important "finds" of such fossils, and with Kathlyn's aid was soon inaugurating popular clamor for a big Hall of Natural History.

This, Julius and Kathlyn thought, would turn out as popular, in a way, as living animals out at our Zoo. But an appropriation for a Hall of Natural History is a hard thing to jam through a City Council; for though its occupants call for no food, you can't maintain such a building without human custody; "which," said Old Bill Simpkins, "is but a tricky way of saying CASH!!" But our Council was by now so familiar with calls from that famous "Organization", and, owing to its inborn faith in that grand body of hustling Youth, such a building was built; Julius and Kathlyn arranging all displays of fossil birds, plants, "bugs," footprints, raindrop marks, worms, skulls, parts of jaws, and so on. And what a crowd was on hand for that first public day! Julius and Kathlyn took visitors through various rooms, giving much data upon what was shown; and many a Branton Hills inhabitant found out a lot of facts about our vast past; about organisms living so far back in oblivion as to balk Man's brain to grasp. Kathlyn stood amongst groups of botanical fossilizations, with Gadsby not far away, as this studious young woman told school pupils how our common plants of today through various transitions in form, show a kinship with what now lay, in miraculously good condition, in this big Hall; and Julius told staring groups how this or that fossil did actually link such animals as our cow or walrus of today with original forms totally apart, both in looks and habits. And it was comforting to Gadsby to find pupils asking how long ago this was, and noting that amazing look as Julius had to say that nobody knows.

Such a building is an addition to any city; for this big World is so old that human calculation cannot fathom it; and it will, in all probability, go on always. So it is improving a child's mind to visit such displays; for it will start a train of thoughts along a path not commonly sought if such institutions do not stand as attractions. Now, in any community a crank will bob up, who will, with loud acclaim and high-sounding words, avow that it "is a scandalous drain on public funds to put up such a building just to show a lot of rocks, animals' ribs and birds' skulls." But such loud bombasts only show up an "orator's" brain capacity (or lack of it), and actually bring studious folks to ask for just such data upon things which his ridiculing had run down. It is an old, old story, that if you want a city's population to go in strongly for anything, and you start a loud, bawling campaign against it, that public will turn to it for information as to its worth. So, just such a loud, bawling moron had to drift into our Hall on its inauguration day, and soon ran smack up against Kathlyn! That worthy girl, allowing him to "blow off" a bit, finally said:--

"I know you. You run a stock farm. All right. You want to know all you can about matching and crossing your stock, don't you? I thought so. But God did all that, long, oh, _so_ long ago; gradually producing such animals as you own today; and all you can do is to follow along, in your puny way, and try to avoid a poor quality of stock mixing with yours. This building contains thousands of God's first works. It won't do you a bit of harm to look through our rooms. Nothing will jump out at you!"

At that that barking critic shut up! And Gadsby slid outdoors, chuckling:--

"That's _my_ girl talking!! That's my Kathlyn!!"

It is curious why anybody should pooh-pooh a study of fossils or various forms of rocks or lava. Such things grant us our only vision into Natural History's big book; and it isn't a book in first-class condition. Far from it! Just a tiny scrap; a slip; or, possibly a big chunk is found, with nothing notifying us as to how it _got_ to that particular point, nor how long ago. Man can only look at it, lift it, rap it, cut into it, and squint at it through a magnifying glass. And,--_think_ about it. That's all; until a formal study brings accompanying thoughts from many minds; and, by such tactics, judging that in all probability such and such a rock or fossil footprint is about so old. Natural History holds you in its grasp through just this impossibility of finding actual facts; for it is thus causing you to _think_. Now, thinking is not only a voluntary function; it is an _acquisition_; an _art_. Plants do not think. Animals probably do, but in a primary way, such as an aid in knowing poisonous foods, and how to bring up an offspring with similar ability. But Man can, and _should_ think, and think hard and constantly. It is ridiculous to rush blindly into an action without looking forward to lay out a plan. Such an unthinking custom is almost a panic, and panic is but a mild form of insanity.

So Kathlyn and Julius did a grand, good thing in having this Hall as an addition to Branton Hills' institutions.

Now, in any city or town, or almost any small community, you will find a building, or possibly only a room, about which said city or town has nothing to say. It is that most important institution in which you put a stamp on your mail and drop it into a slot, knowing that it will find its way across city or country to that man or woman who is waiting for it.

But how many young folks know _how_ this mail is put out so quickly, and with such guaranty against loss? Not many, I think, if you ask. So Gadsby, holding up Youth as a Nation's most important function in its coming history, thought that any act which would instruct a child in any way, was worthy. So, on a Saturday morning His Honor took a group of Grammar School pupils to a balcony in back of that all-hiding partition, and a postal official, showing all mail handling acts individually, said:--

"In this country, two things stand first in rank: your flag and your mail. You all know what honor you pay to your flag, but you should know, also, that your mail,--just that ordinary postal card--is also important. But a postal card, or any form of mail, is _not_ important, in that way, until you drop it through a slot in this building, and with a stamp on it, or into a mail box outdoors. Up to that instant it is but a common card, which anybody can pick up and carry off without committing a criminal act. But as soon as it is in back of this partition, or in a mail box, a magical transformation occurs; and anybody who _now_ should willfully purloin it, or obstruct its trip in any way, will find prison doors awaiting him. What a frail thing ordinary mail is! A baby could rip it apart, but no adult is so foolish as to do it. That small stamp which you stick on it, is, you might say, a postal official, going right along with it, having it always in his sight."

A giggling girl was curious to know if that was why a man's photo is on it.

"Possibly," said our official, laughing. "But wait a bit. Look downstairs. As your mail falls in through that slot, or is brought in by a mailman it is put through an ink-daubing apparatus--that's it, right down in front of you--which totally ruins its stamp. How about your man's photo, now?"

A good laugh rang around, and our official said:--

"Now a man sorts it according to its inscription, puts it into a canvas bag and aboard a train, or possibly an aircraft. But that bag has mail going to points a long way apart, so a man in a mail car sorts it out, so that Chicago won't find mail in its bag which should go to California."

At this point our giggling girl said:--

"Ooooo! I had a Christmas card for Missouri go way down to Mississippi!"

"How did you mark it?"

"I put M-i-s-s for Missouri."

"Try M-o, and I wish you luck."

As that laugh ran round, our official said:--

"Now you know that you can buy a long, narrow stamp which will hurry your mail along. So, as all mail in this building is put up in many a small bunch, all with such stamps attract a mailman, who will so wrap a bunch that that kind of a stamp will show up plainly. Upon its arrival at a distant point, a boy will grab it, and hurry it to its final goal. But that stamp will not hurry it as long as it is on that train."

Our giggling girl, swinging in again, said:--

"What? With that stamp right on top?"

"How can it?" said our official. "A train can only go just so fast, stamp or no stamp."

"Oh."

Our boys and girls got a big thrill from this visit in back of that partition, and told Gadsby so. On coming out of that building our party saw a big patrolman putting a small boy into a patrol wagon. That poor kid was but a bunch of rags, dirty, and in a fighting mood. Our boys got a big laugh out of it. Our girls, though, did _not_. Young Marian Hopkins, who had that fairy wand, you know, at our airport inauguration, said:--

"Oh, that poor child! Will that cop put him in jail, Mayor Gadsby?" At which His Honor instantly thought of a plan long in his mind. Branton Hills had a court room, a child's court, in fact, at which a kindly man looks out for just such young waifs--trying to find out why such tots commit unlawful acts. So Gadsby said:--

"I don't know, Marian, but I want you young folks to go on a visit, tonight, to our night court, to find out about just such wild boys. How many want to go?"

To his satisfaction, all did; and so, that night that court room had rows of young folks, all agog with curiosity which a first visit to a court stirs up in a child. Just by luck, our young vagrant in rags was brought in first, shaking with childish doubt as to what was going to occur. But that kindly man sitting back of that big mahogany railing had no thought of scaring a child, and said calmly:--

"Now, boy, what did you do that you ought not to do; and why did you do it?"

As our boys sat nudging and winking, but with our girls growing sad from sympathy, our young culprit said:--

"Aw! I grabs a bun, and dis big cop grabs my collar!"

"But why did you grab that bun? It wasn't yours, you know."

"_Gosh_, man!! I was _hungry!!_"

"Hungry? Don't your folks look out for you?"

"Naw; I do my own looking. And that's what I _was_ doing, too!"

"What had you for food all day?"

"Just that bun. And _say!!_ I only got _half_ of it! That big cop was so rough!"

"Did that cop, as you call him, hurt you?"

"_Hurt!!_ I should say _not!!_ I put up a good stiff scrap! I paid him back, blow for blow! No big gas-bag of a cop is going to wallop _this_ kid and not pay for it!"

"But, boy, don't your folks bring you up to know that it is wrong to rob anybody?"

"Naw! My Dad robs folks, and just got six months for it. So why shouldn't I? It's all right to do what your Dad will do, isn't it?"

"Not always, boy," and our girls in row two and our boys in row four sat sad and glum at this portrayal of youthful sin. Finally that big kindly man, thoughtfully rubbing his chin, said:--

"Whom did your Dad rob?"

"I dunno. It was a Ford car. Nobody wasn't in it, so why not grab it? That's what Dad said. You can pick up a bit of cash for a car, you know, boss. And say, if a car brung only six months, how long will I squat in jail for swiping this half bun? Aw! Go slow, boss! I ain't no bad kid! Only just a hungry mutt. Gosh!! _How_ I wish I had a glass of milk!"

From row two a young, vigorous girlish form shot out, dashing for a doorway; and as that big kindly man was still rubbing his chin, Marian burst in again, rushing, sobbingly, to that sad bunch of rags, holding out a pint of milk and two hot biscuits. A quick snatch by two horribly dirty young hands, a limp flop on a mat at that big mahogany railing, and a truly hungry child was oblivious to all around him. And I'll say that our boys, in row four, had lumpy throats. But finally that big kindly man said:--

"Though taking things unlawfully is wrong, conditions can occur in which so young a culprit is not at fault. This young chap has had no bringing up, but has run wild. A child will not know right from wrong if not taught; and, as it is a primary animal instinct to obtain food in any way, I will simply put this boy in a school which Branton Hills maintains for just such youths."

At this both row two and row four burst out in such a storm of hand-clapping that Gadsby found that this visit had shown his young folks, from actual contact with a child without training, how important child-raising is; and how proud a city is of such as act according to law.

XIV

In almost any big town, around Autumn, you will annually run across that famous agricultural show known as a County Fair; and, as Branton Hills had a big park, which you know all about, right in front of Nancy's and Frank's small bungalow, it was a most natural spot for holding it. And so, as this happy pair's third Autumn got around, stirring activity in that big park also got a-going; for railings for stockyards don't grow all built; yards and yards of brown canvas don't just blow into a park; nor do "hot dog" and popcorn stands jump up from nothing. And Nancy, rocking on that bungalow porch, could watch all this work going on. And rocking was about all that Nancy could, or, I should say, _should_ do, just now.

What a sight it was! Trucks; small cars; wagons; a gang with a tractor plowing up hard spots; a gang picking up rocks, grading humpy spots, and laying out ground plans. Masons building walls, and all kinds of goods arriving, by tons. But out of all that confusion and ado a canvas town will grow, strung from top to bottom with gaily flapping flags and hanging bunting, and that customary "mid-way" with its long rows of gaudy billboards, in front of which circus ballyhoo artists will continuously bawl and shout out claims about sword-swallowing, tattooing, hula-hula dancing, boa constrictor charming, or a Punch and Judy show.

At a County Fair two things stand out as most important: farm stock and that oval track around which swiftly trotting colts will thrill thousands; and, I'll say, shrink a bank account or two! But, of all sights, I don't know of any with such drawing ability for kids as just such a carnival lot. So, daily, as soon as school was out, throngs of happy, shouting, hopping, jumping boys and girls would dash for that big park; looking, pointing, and climbing up on auto tops, into lofty oaks, onto tall rocks, or a pal's back; for if anything is difficult for a boy to obtain a sight of, nothing in climbing that an orang-outang can do, will balk him!

So Nancy sat calmly rocking, rocking, rocking, and,--but, pardon! I'll go on with this story. All I know is that Frank, arriving from work at Radio Station KBH, wouldn't so much as look at that big carnival lot, but would rush in, in a most loving, solicitous way which always brought a kiss and a blush from Nancy. Now if I don't quit talking about this young pair you won't know anything about that big show going up in front of that happy bungalow. Almost daily Lady Gadsby would drop in on Nancy, bringing all sorts of dainty foods; and His Honor, with Kathlyn, Julius and Bill, paid customary visits.

"But that fair!" you say. "How about that fair?"

Ah! It _was_ a fair, I'll say! What mobs on that first day! And what a din!! Bands playing, ballyhoos shouting, popcorn a-popping, "hot dogs" a-sizzling, ducks squawking, cows lowing, pigs grunting, an occasional baby squalling; and 'midst it all, a choking cloud of dust, a hot Autumn wind, panting, fanning matrons, cussing husbands; all working toward that big oval track at which all had a flimsy possibility of winning a million or two (or a dollar or two!). Oh, you County Fairs! You bloom in your canvas glory, annually. You draw vast crowds; you show high quality farm stock, gigantic pumpkins, thousands of poultry, including our "Thanksgiving National Bird". You fill coops with fancy squabs, fat rabbits, and day-old chicks. You show many forms of incubators, churns, farming apparatus, pumps, plows, lighting plants for small farms, windmills, "bug" poisons, and poultry foods. And you always add a big balloon, which you anchor, so that kids may soar aloft until a windlass pulls it down. You fill us with food that would kill a wild goat, but you still last! And may you always do so; for, within your flapping, bulging canvas walls, city man rubs against town man, rich and poor girls bump, snobs attain no right of way, and a proud, happy boy or girl shows a "First Class" satin ribbon which a lovingly brought-up calf or poultry brood has won.

Only a satin ribbon, but, displaying it to a group of admiring young pals brings to a child that natural thrill from accomplishing anything worthy of public acclaim. Such thrills will not crowd in as Maturity supplants Youth; and so I say, "a trio of our customary huzzas" for any child who can carry away a satin ribbon from a County Fair.

But what about our good Mayor during all this circus hullabaloo? Did important thoughts for still improving Branton Hills pass through his busy mind? Not just now; but fond, anxious thoughts did; for his mind was constantly on Nancy; tiny, darling Nancy, his baby girl. For, during that noisy carnival, folks saw (or _thought_ so, you know), a big bird with long shanks and a monstrous bill, circling round and round that small bungalow's roof, plainly looking for a spot to land on. Lady Gadsby and old Doctor Wilkins saw it, too, and told Nancy that that big hospital which our old Organization had built, was holding a room for instant occupancy; and, as that big bird daily swung down, down, down, almost grazing that small roof, Frank, poor chap, as shaky as at his church ritual, thirty months ago, staid away from Radio Station KBH, and stuck to that small bungalow as a fly sticks around a sugar bowl.

Finally, on a crisp Autumn night, that soaring bird shot straight down with such an assuring swoop, that old Doc Wilkins, indoors with Nancy, saw it and said, quickly:--

"On your way, Nancy girl!!" and that part of Branton Hills saw his car racing hospitalwards, with Lady Gadsby fondly patting Nancy's tiny, cold hands, and saying just such loving things as a woman would, naturally, to a young girl on such a trip. But Gadsby and Frank? Ah! Poor, half-crazy things! No car would do at all! _No, sir!!_ A car was far too slow! And so, across lots, down into many a man's yard, and jumping high walls, shot two shadowy forms, arriving at that big hospital, badly blown, just as Lady Gadsby and old Doc Wilkins took Nancy's arms, and got slowly to that big door with its waiting rolling chair.

Now this stork's visit is nothing out of ordinary in World affairs. Millions and billions of visits has it, and its kind, flown--to king's mansion or a black Zulu woman's hut. But _this_ flight was poor Frank's initiation to that awful hour of blank panic, during which a young husband is boiling hot or icy cold in turn. God!! How still a hospital corridor is!! How doctors and assistants do float past without as much sound as falling snow! Oh! _How_ long Frank and His Honor sat, stood, or trod up and down, watching that room door!! What was going on? Was Nancy all right? Oh!! Why this prolonging of agonizing inactivity? Can't anybody say anything? _Isn't anybody around, at all?_ But hospital doctors and nursing staffs, though pitying a young chap, must pass him up for that tiny lady, who now was but a tool in God's hands; in God's magic laboratory. And so---- _Ah!!_ Doctor Wilkins is coming--_and smiling!!_

"A baby girl--and with a ripping good pair of lungs!" but has to jump quick to catch Frank, who has sunk in a swoon. And Mayor Gadsby's collar is as limp as a dish-rag!

Ah! Man, man, man! and woman, woman, woman! Just you two! God's only parts in His mighty plan for living actuality. Not only with Man and animals, but also down,--way, _way_ down amongst plants. Just two parts. Only two!! And Baby, you tiny bunch of wriggling, gurgling humanity, by that slowly ticking clock is _your_ turn in this mighty World, unavoidably arriving. Mama, Papa, and all of us will go on, for a bit, growing old and gray, but you, now so young and frail, will stand sturdily, and willingly, in our vacancy; and carry on God's will!

XV

As this is a history of a city I must not stay around any part too long. So, as it was almost "a small morning hour," Nina Adams, a widow, was sitting up; for Virginia, a High School girl, was still out; and, around two-thirty, was brought back in a fast car; two youths actually _dumping_ an unconscious form on Nina's front porch, and dashing madly away. But Nina Adams saw it; and, calling for aid in carrying Virginia indoors, put in a frantic call for old Doc Wilkins, an old, long-ago school pal, who found Nina frantic from not knowing Virginia's condition, nor why the pair of youths shot madly away without calling anybody. But it only took Doctor Wilkins an instant to find out what was wrong; and Nina, noting his tight lips and growing scowl was in an agony of doubt.

"What _is_ it, Tom? _Quick!!_ I'm almost crazy!!"