Gadsby

So, now to start our story:—

Branton Hills was a small town in a rich agricultural district; and having many a possibility for growth. But, through a sort of smug satisfaction with conditions of long ago, had no thought of improving such important adjuncts as roads; putting up public buildings, nor laying out parks; in fact a dormant, slowly dying community. So satisfactory was its status that it had no form of transportation to surrounding towns but by railroad, or "old Dobbin." Now, any town thus isolating its inhabitants, will invariably find this big, busy world passing it by; glancing at it, curiously, as at an odd animal at a circus; and, you will find, caring not a whit about its condition. Naturally, a town should grow. You can look upon it as a child; which, through natural conditions, should attain manhood; and add to its surrounding thriving districts its products of farm, shop, or factory. It should show a spirit of association with surrounding towns; crawl out of its lair, and find how backward it is.

Now, in all such towns, you will find, occasionally, an individual born with that sort of brain which, knowing that his town is backward, longs to start things toward improving it; not only its living conditions, but adding an institution or two, such as any city, big or small, maintains, gratis, for its inhabitants.

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!!"

Dr. Wilkins, standing by Virginia's couch, said, slowly:—

"It's nothing to worry about, Nina. Virginia will pull through all right, by morning."

But that didn't satisfy Nina Adams, not for an instant, and Dr. Wilkins, knowing that ironclad spirit of school days which would stand for no obstructions in its path, saw that a "blow-up" was coming; but, through a kindly thought for this woman's comfort, did not say what his diagnosis was, until Nina, now actually livid with worry, said:—

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."

Priscilla Standish was waiting at our big railroad station, on a warm Spring day, for a train to pull out, so that cross-track traffic could start again. It was just an ordinary train such as stop hourly at Branton Hills, but Priscilla saw that a group was hurrying toward a combination-car, way up forward. Now Priscilla was not a girl who found morbid curiosity in any such a public spot; but, still, an odd, uncanny sort of thrill,—almost a chill, in fact,—was urging, urging a slow walk toward that car. Just why, Priscilla didn't know; but such things do occur in a human mind. So Priscilla soon was standing on a trunk truck, gazing down into that group which now was slowly moving back, forming room for taking out a young man in khaki uniform, on a hospital cot. With a gasp of horror, Priscilla was instantly down from that truck, pushing through that group, and crying out, wildly:—

"Arthur! Arthur Rankin! Oh! Oh! What is it, darling?" and looking up at a hospital assistant, "Is it bad?"

"Don't know, right now, lady," said that snowy clad official. "Unconscious. But our big hospital will do all it can for him."

Arthur Rankin! Arthur, with whom Priscilla had had many a childhood spat! Arthur who had shown that "puppy stuff" for Priscilla, that his old aunt was always so disapprovingly sniffing at! And now, unconscious on a,——

A crowd was standing around in City Park, for a baby was missing. Patrol cars roaring around Branton Hills; many a woman hunting around through sympathy; kidnapping rumors flying around. His Honor was out of town; but on landing at our railroad station, and finding patrol cars drawn up at City Park, saw, in that crowd's midst, a tiny girl, of about six, with a bunch of big shouting patrol officers, asking:—

"Who took that baby?"

"Did you do it?"

"Which way did it go?"

"How long ago did you miss it?"

"Say, kiddo!! Why don't you talk?"

An adult brain can stand a lot of such shouting, but a baby's is not in that class; so, totally dumb, and shaking with fright, this tot stood, thumb in mouth, and two big brown baby orbs just starting to grow moist, as His Honor, pushing in, said:

"Wait a bit!!" and that bunch in uniform, knowing him, got up and Gadsby sat down on a rock, saying:—

"You can't find out a thing from a young child by such hard, gruff ways. This tiny lady is almost in a slump. Now, just start this crowd moving. I know a bit about Youth."