Part 9

"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----?"

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!!_