Ernest Vincent Wright-Gadsby_ A Lipogram Novel -CreateSpace (2011) (10 page)

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 amidst 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 hospital-wards, 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!

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 that 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: —

"Tom Wilkins! Doctor Wilkins, if you wish, — I claim a natural right to know why my child is unconscious! And you, a physician, cannot, by law, withhold such information." But Wilkins, trying to find a way out of a most unhappy condition of affairs, said:-"Now, Nina, you know I wouldn't hold anything from you if Virginia was critically ill, but that is not so. If you'll only wait until morning you'll find that I am right."

But this only built obstruction upon obstruction to Nina's strong will, until Dr. Wilkins, noticing coming total prostration, had to say:-"Nina, Virginia is drunk; horribly drunk."

"Drunk!!" Widow Adams had to grab wildly at a chair, sinking into it; at first as limp as a rag, but instantly springing up, blood surging to a throbbing brow. "Drunk! Drunk!! My baby drunk!! Tom, I thank you for trying to ward off this shock; but I'll say right now, with my hand on high, that I am going to start a rumpus about this atrocity that will rock Branton Hills to its foundations! Who got this young school-girl drunk? I know that Virginia wouldn't drink that stuff willingly. How could it occur? I pay through taxation for a patrolman in this district; in fact in all districts of this city. What is a patrolman for, if not to watch for just such abominations as this, pray?"

Dr. Wilkins didn't say, though probably thinking of a rumor that had run around town for a month or two. At this point Virginia, partly conscious was murmuring:

"Oh, Norman! Oh! I'm so sick!!" Don't!! I can't drink it!

This brought forth all of Nina Adams' fury instantly.

"Aha! Aha! Norman! So that's it! That's Norman Antor, that low-down, good-for-nothing night-owl! Son of our big Councilman Antor. So!! It's 'Norman! I can't drink it'!

Tom Wilkins, this thing is going to court!!"

* * * *

About noon of that day, our good doctor, walking sadly along, ran across Mayor Gadsby, in front of City Hall; and did His Honor "burn" at such an abomination?

"What? High School boys forcing young girls to drink? And right in our glorious Branton Hills? Oh, but, Doc! This can't pass without a trial!"

"That's all right, John; but a thorn sticks out, right in plain sight."

"Thorn? Thorn? What kind of a thorn?" and our Mayor was flushing hard, as no kind of wild thoughts would point to any kind of thorns.

"That thorn," said Wilkins, "is young Norman Antor; son of—"

"Not of Councilman Antor?"

"I am sorry to say that it is so," and Wilkins told of Virginia's half-conscious murmurings. "And Nina wants to know why, with a patrolman in all parts of town, it isn't known that all this drinking is going on. I didn't say what I thought, but you know that a patrolman don't go into dancing pavilions and night clubs until conditions sanction it."

"Who is supplying this liquor?"

"Councilman Antor; but without knowing it."

All His Honor could say was to gasp: —

"How do you know that, Doc?" and Wilkins told of four calls for him in four days, to young girls, similarly drunk.

"And my first call was to young Mary— Antor's tiny Grammar School kid, who was as drunk as Virginia; but, on coming out of it, told of robbing Antor's pantry, in which liquor was always on hand for his political pals, you know; that poor kid taking it to various affairs and giving it to boys; and winning 'popularity' that way."

"So," said Gadsby, "Councilman Antor's boy and girl, brought up in a family with liquor always handy, now, with ignorant, childish braggadocio, bring Councilman Antor into this mix-up! I'm sorry for Antor; but his pantry is in for an official visit."

It wasn't so long from this day that Court got around to this rumpus. To say that that big room was full, would put it mildly Although, according to an old saying, "a cat is only as big as its skin," that room's walls almost burst, as groups of church organizations and law abiding inhabitants almost fought for admission; until standing room was nothing but a suffocating jam. As Gadsby and Doc Wilkins sat watching that sight, Gadsby said:— "It's an outpouring of rightful wrath by a proud city's population; who, having put out good, hard work in bringing it to its high standing as a community, today, will not stand for anything that will put a blot on its municipal flag, which is, right now, proudly flying on City Hall."

As Wilkins was about to say so, a rising murmur was rolling in from out back, for Norman Antor was coming in, in custody of a big patrolman, and with four youths, all looking, not only anxious, but plainly showing humiliation at such an abomination against trusting young girlhood. Scowls and angry rumblings told that high official, way up in back of that mahogany railing, that but a spark would start a riot. So, in a calm, almost uncanny way, this first trial of its kind in Branton Hills got along to a court official calling, loudly:— "Virginia Adams!"

If you think that you know what a totally still room is, by no kink of your imagination could you possibly know such an awful, frightful hush as struck that crowd dumb, as Virginia, a tall, dark, willowy, stylish girl quickly took that chair, from which Truth, in all its purity, is customarily brought out. But Virginia was not a bit shaky nor anxious, nor doubtful of an ability to go through with this ugly task.

Gadsby and Doc Wilkins sat watching Nina; Gadsby with profound sympathy, but Wilkins with an old school-pal's intuition, watching for a blowup. But Nina didn't blow up, that is, not visibly: but that famous rigid will was boiling, full tilt; boiling up to a point for landing, "tooth and claw" on our pompous Councilman's son, if things didn't turn out satisfactorily.

Virginia didn't occupy that stand long; it was only a half-sobbing account of a night at a dancing pavilion; and with a sob or two from a woman or girl in that vast crowd. All Virginia said was: — "Norman Antor said I was a cry-baby if I wouldn't drink with him. But I said, 'All right; I am a cry-baby!' And I always will turn 'crybaby' if anybody insists that I drink that stuff." (Just a short lull, a valiant fight for control, and) — "But I had to drink!! Norman was tipping my chair back and John Allison was forcing that glass into my mouth! I got so sick I couldn't stand up, and didn't know a thing until I found I was on a couch in my own parlor."

A court official said, kindly: —

"That will do, Miss Adams."

During this, Nina was glaring at Norman; but Virginia's bringing Allison into it, also, was too much. But Wilkins, watching narrowly, said, snappingly:-"Nina! This is a court room."

Now this trial was too long to go into, word for word; so I'll say that not only Norman Antor and Allison, but also our big, pompous Councilman Antor, according to our popular slang, "got in bad"; and Branton Hills' dancing and night spots got word to prohibit liquor or shut up shop. Young Mary Antor was shown that liquor, in dancing pavilions or in a family pantry was not good for young girls; and soon this most disgusting affair was a part of Branton Hills' history. And what vast variations a city's history contains! What valorous acts by far-thinking officials! What dark daubs of filth by avaricious crooks! What an array of past Mayors; what financial ups and downs; what growth in population. But, as I am this particular city's historian, with strict orthography controlling it, this history will not rank, in volubility, with any by an author who can sow, broadcast, all handy, common words which continuously try to jump into it!