Ernest Vincent Wright-Gadsby_ A Lipogram Novel -CreateSpace (2011) (11 page)

BRANTON HILLS, NOW an up-to-today city, coming to that point of motorizing all city apparatus, had just a last, solitary company of that class which an inhabitant frantically calls to a burning building—Company Four, in our big shopping district; all apparatus of which was still animal drawn; four big, husky chaps: two blacks and two roans. Any thought of backing in any sort of motor apparatus onto this floor, upon which this loyal four had, during many months, stood, champing at bits, pawing and whinnying to start out that big door, in daylight or night-gloom, calm or storm, — was mighty tough for old Dowd and Clancy. A man living day and night with such glorious, vivacious animals, grows to look upon such as almost human. Bright, brainy, sparkling colts can win a strong hold on a man, you know.

And now!! What form of disposal was awaiting "Big Four", as Clancy and Dowd took a fond joy in dubbing this pair of blacks and two roans? Clancy and Dowd didn't know anything but that a mass of cogs, piping, brass railings, an intricacy of knobs, buttons, spark-plugs, forward clutch and so forth was coming tomorrow.

"Aw!!" said Dowd, moaningly, "you know, Clancy, that good old light shifting about and that light 'stomping' in that row of stalls, at night; you know, old man, that happy crunching of corn; that occasional cough; that tail-swatting at a fly or crazy zigzagging moth; that grand animal odor from that back part of this floor."

"I do," said Clancy. "And now what? A loud whizz of a motor! A suffocating blast of gas! and a dorn thing a-standin' on this floor, wid no brain; wid nothin' lovin' about it. Wid no soul."

"Um-m-m," said Dowd, "I dunno about an animal havin' a soul, but it's got a thing not so dom far from it."

As Clancy sat worrying about various forms of disposal for Big Four, an official phoning from City Hall, said just an ordinary, common word, which had Clancy bopping up and down, furiously mad.

"What's all this? What's all this?" Dowd sang out, coming from a stall, in which a good rubbing down of a shiny coat, and continuous loving pats had brought snuggling and nosing.

"Auction!!" said Clancy, wildly, and sitting down with a thud.

"Auction? Auction for Big Four? What?

Put up on a block as you would a Jap urn or a phony diamond?"

"Uh-huh; that's what City Hall says."

An awful calm slunk insidiously onto that big smooth floor, as Dowd and Clancy, chins on hands, sat, — just thinking! Finally Clancy burst out with:-

"Aw! If an alarm would only ring in, right now, to stop my brain from cracking! Auction!

Bah!!"

* * * *

A big crowd stood in City Park, including His Honor, many a Councilman, and, naturally, Old Bill Simpkins, who was always bound to know what was going on. A loud, fasttalking man, on a high stand, was shouting:— "All right, you guys! How much? How much for this big black? A mountain of muscular ability! Young, kind, willing, smart! How much? How much?"

Bids abominably low at first, but slowly crawling up; crawling slowly, as a boa constrictor crawls up on its victim. But, without fail, as a bid was sung out from that surging, gawking, chin-lifting mob, a woman, way in back, would surpass it! And that woman hung on, as no boa constrictor could! Gadsby, way down in front, couldn't fathom it, at all. Why should a woman want Big Four? A solitary animal, possibly, but four! So His Honor, turning and making his way toward that back row, ran smack into Nancy.

"Daddy! Lady Standish is outbidding all this crowd I"

"Oho! So that's it!"

So Gadsby, pushing his way again through that jam, and coming to that most worthy woman, said:-

"By golly, Sally! It's plain that you want Big Four."

"John Gadsby, you ought to know that I do. Why! A man might buy that big pair of roans to hitch up to a plow! Or hook a big black onto an ash cart!"

"I know that, Sally, but that small back yard of yours is—"

"John!! Do your Municipal occupations knock all past days' doings out of your skull? You know that I own a grand, big patch of land out in our suburbs, half as big as Branton Hills. So this Big Four will just run around, jump, roll, kick, and loaf until doomsday, if I can wallop this mob out of bidding."

As Lady Standish was long known as standing first in valuation on Branton Hills' tax list, nobody in that crowd was so foolish as to hang on, in a war of bidding, against that bankroll. So Gadsby shook hands, put an arm about Nancy, walking happily away, as a roar of plaudits shot out from that crowd, for that loud, fast-talking man was announcing: — "Sold! All four to Lady Standish!!"

As Gadsby and Nancy ran across Old Bill Simpkins, Gadsby said:—

"Bill, you know that grand old day.

Look! A building is burning! A patrolman has put in an alarm! And now look! Coming down Broadway! Two big blacks, and following on, two big roans! What grand, mighty animals! Nostrils dilating; big hoofs pounding; gigantic flanks bulging; mighty lungs snorting; monstrous backs straining; thick, full tails standing straight out. Coming, sir! Coming, sir!! Just as fast as brain and brawn can! And that gong-clanging, air-splitting, whistling, shining, sizzling, smoking four tons of apparatus roars past, grinding and hanging on Broadway's paving! You saw all that, Bill."

"Uh-huh," said Simpkins, "but a motor don't hurt our paving so much."

As Nancy took His Honor's arm again, Gadsby said:— "Poor, cranky old Bill! Always running things down."

But how about Clancy and Dowd? On moving out from that big park, that happy pair, if Knighthood was in bloom today, would bow low, and kiss fair Lady Standish's hand.

OH HUM. Now that Nancy's baby is gurgling or squalling, according to a full tummy, or tooth conditions; and Nancy is looking, as Gadsby says, "as good as a million dollars," I find that that busy young son-of-a-gun, Dan Cupid, is still snooping around Branton Hills And now who do you think is hit? Try to think of a lot of girls in Gadsby's old Organization Youth. No, it's not Sarah Young, nor Lucy Donaldson, nor Virginia Adams. It was brought to your historian in this way: —

Lady Gadsby and His Honor sat around his parlor lamp, His Honor noticing that Lady G. was smiling, finally saying:—

"John."

"Uh-huh."

"Kathlyn and John Smith —"

"What?"

"I said that Kathlyn and John Smith want to —"

"Oho! Aha!! I'll call up Pastor Brown to start right off dolling up his big church!"

"No, no! Not now! Wait about six months. This is only a troth. Folks don't jump into matrimony, that way."

"Hm-m-m! I don't know about that," said Gadsby, laughing; and thinking way back to that captivating lassoo!

John Smith was Branton Hills' famous church organist; and, at a small, dainty lunch, Kathlyn told of this troth. In a day or two about all Branton Hills' young girlhood had, on rushing in, told Kathlyn what a grand chap John was; and all that town's young manhood had told John similar things about Kathlyn. So, as this is a jumpy sort of a story, anyway, why not skip months of happy ardor, and find how this tying of an additional knot in our Mayor's family will turn out? You know that Kathlyn don't think much of pomp or show, and such a big church ritual as Nancy had is all right if you want it, but Kathlyn had fond thoughts of just a small, parlor affair, with only a group of old chums; and no throwing of old boots, and "sharp food-grains," which work downward, to scratch your back, or stick in your hair as stubbornly as burrs.

"Such crazy doings," said Kathlyn, "always look foolish. It's odd how anybody can follow up such antiquarian customs."

As Kathlyn's big night was drawing nigh, Lady Gadsby and Nancy had constantly thought of a word synonymous with "woman", and that word is "scrub." Which is saying that Gadsby's mansion was about to submit to a gigantic scrubbing, painting, dusting, and so forth, so that Kathlyn should start out on that ship of matrimony from a spic-span wharf. Just why a woman thinks that a grain of dust in a totally inconspicuous spot is such a catastrophic abnormality is hard to say; but if you simply broach a thought that a grain of it might lurk in back of a piano, or up back of an oil painting, a flood of soap-suds will instantly burst forth; and any man who can find any of his things for four days is a clairvoyant, or a magician!

As Gadsby sat watching all this his thoughts took this form: —

"Isn't it surprising what an array of things a woman can drag forth, burrowing into attics, rooms and nooks! Things long out of mind; an old thing; a worn-out thing; but it has lain in that room, nook or bag until just such a riot of soap and scrubbing brush brings it out. And, as I think of it, a human mind could, and should go through just such a ransacking, occasionally; for you don't know half of what an accumulation of rubbish is kicking about, in its dark, musty corridors. Old fashions in thoughts; bigotry; vanity; all lying stagnant.

So why not drag out and sort all that stuff, discarding all which is of no valuation? About half of us will find, in our minds, a room, having on its door a card, saying: "It Was Not So In My Day." Go at that room, right off. That "My Day" is long past. "Today" is boss, now.

If that "My Day" could crawl up on "Today," what a mix-up in World affairs would occur! Ox cart against aircraft; oil lamps against arc lights! Slow, mail information against radio! But, as all this stuff is laid out, what will you do with it? Nobody wants it. So I say, burn it, and tomorrow morning, how happy you will find that musty old mind!"

But His Honor's mansion finally got back to normal as clouds of dust and swats and slaps from dusting cloths had shown Lady Gadsby and Kathlyn that "that parlor was simply awful" though Gadsby, Julius and Bill always had thought that "It looks all right," causing Kathlyn to say: —

"A man thinks all dust stays outdoors."

Though marrying off a girl in church is a big proposition, it can't discount, in important data, doing a similar act in a parlor; for, as a parlor is a mighty small room in comparison with a church, you can't point to an inch of it that won't do its small part on such an occasion; so a woman will find about a thousand spots in which to put tacks from which to run strings holding floral chains, sprays, or small lights. So Gadsby, Bill and Julius, with armfuls of string and mouthfuls of tacks, not only put in hours at pounding said tacks, but an occasional vigorous word told that a thumb was substituting! But what man wouldn't gladly bang his thumb, or bark his shins on a wobbly stool, to aid so charming a girl as Kathlyn? And, on that most romantically important of all days!!

Anyway, that day's night finally cast its soft shadows on Branton Hills. Night, with its twinkling stars, its lightning-bugs, and its call for girls' most glorious wraps; and youths' "swallowtails", and tall silk hats,—is Cupid's own; lacking but organ music to turn it into Utopia.

And was Gadsby's mansion lit up from porch to roof? No. Only that parlor and a room or two upstairs, for wraps, mascarra, a final hair-quirk, a dab of lip-stick; for Kathlyn, against all forms of "vain display," said: — "I'm only going to marry a man; not put on a circus for all Branton Hills."

"All right, darling," said Gadsby, "you shall marry in a pitch dark room if you wish; for, as you say, a small, parlor affair is just as binding as a big church display. It's only your vows that count."

So but a small group stood lovingly in Gadsby's parlor, as Parson Brown brought into unity Kathlyn and John. Kathlyn was radiantly happy; and John, our famous organist, was as happy with only charming Sarah Young at an upright piano, as any organist in a big choir loft.

But to Lady Gadsby and His Honor, this was, in a way, a sad affair; for that big mansion now had lost two of its inhabitants; and, as many old folks know, a vast gap, or chasm thus forms, backward across which flit happy visions of laughing, romping, happy girlhood; happy hours around a sitting room lamp; and loving trips in night's small hours to a room or two, just to know that a small girl was all right, or that a big girl was not in a draft. But, though marrying off a girl will bring such a vacancy, that happy start out into a world throbbing with vitality and joy, can allay a bit of that void in a big mansion, or a small cabin. A birth, a tooth, a growth, a mating; and, again a birth, a tooth, and so on. Such is that mighty Law, which was laid down on that first of all days; and which will control Man, animal, and plant until that last of all nights.

So it was first Nancy, and now Kathlyn; and Branton Hills' gossips thought of Bill and Julius, with whom many a young, romantic maid would gladly sit in a wistaria-drooping arbor on a warm, moon-lit night; flighty maids with Bill, adoring his high class social gossip; studious maids with Julius, finding much to think about in his practical talks on physics, zoology, and natural history. Tho Bill and Julius had shown no liability of biting at any alluring bait on any matrimonial hook; and Gadsby, winking knowingly, would say: — "Bill is too frivolous, just now; and Julius too busy at our Hall of Natural History. But just wait until Dan Cupid starts shooting again, and watch things whiz!"

SARAH, WALKING ALONG past City Park on a raw, cold night, found a tiny,— oh so tiny,—puppy, whining, shaking and crying with cold. Picking up that small bunch of babyhood, Sarah was in quandary as just what to do; but Priscilla Standish, coming along, said:— "Oh! Poor baby!! Who owns him, Sarah?"

"I don't know; but say! Wouldn't your Ma —?"

"My Ma would!! Bring him along, and wrap your cloak around him. It's awfully cold for so young a puppy."

So Lady Standish, with that "back-yard zoo" soon had his quaking babyship lapping good warm milk, and a stumpy tail wagging as only a tiny puppy's stumpy tail can wag. Along towards six o'clock a vigorous pounding on Lady Standish's front door brought Priscilla, to find Old Bill Simpkins with a tiny, wildly sobbing girl of about four. Walking into Lady Standish's parlor, Simpkins said:

"This kid has lost a-a-a-crittur; I think it was a pup, wasn't it, kid?"

A vigorous up and down bobbing of a small shock of auburn hair.

"So," said Simpkins, "I thought it might show up in your back-yard gang."