Chapter 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!_)