"No. Our young folks of today think such things too much work;" and, as that old factory was but a mass of ruins now, and midnight was approaching, Gadsby's family was soon in that mythical Land of Nod, in which no horns blow, no sparks fall; only occasionally a soft gurgling from a crib in Nancy's bungalow.
XIX
It is an odd kink of humanity which cannot find any valuation in spots of natural glory. But such kinks do run riot in Man's mind, occasionally, and Branton Hills ran up against such, on a Council night; for a bill was brought up by Old Bill Simpkins for disposal of City Park to a land company, for building lots! At first word of such a thought, Gadsby was totally dumb, from an actual impossibility of thinking that any man, bringing up such a bill, wasn't plumb crazy!
"What! Our main Park; including our Zoo?"
"Just that," said Simpkins. "Just a big patch of land, and a foolish batch of animals that do nobody any good. You can't hitch a lion up to a city dump cart, you know; nor a hippopotamus to a patrol wagon. What good is that bunch of hair and horns, anyway? And that park! Bah!! Just grass, grass, grass! Branton Hills pays for planting that grass, pays for sprinkling it, pays for cutting it—and throws it away! So I say, put it into building lots, and draw good, solid cash from it."
An Italian Councilman, Tony Bandamita, was actually boiling during this outburst; and, in a flash, as Simpkins quit, was up, shouting:—
"I gotta four bambinos. My bambinos playa in thatta park: run, jumpa and rolla. Grow bigga an' strong. My woman say no coulda do thatta if playa all day on bricka walks. I say no buncha land sharks buya thatta Park!! How many you guys go to it, anyway? Huh? Notta many! But go!! Walk around; sniffa its blossoms; look at grand busha; sit on softa grass! You do thatta, an' I know you not stick no building on it!!"
So, at Mayor Gadsby's instigation, Council did not ballot on Simpkins' bill; and said it would go, as Tony thought only right, and "look atta gooda busha."
In a day or two this pompous body of solons was strolling about that big park. No man with half a mind could fail to thrill at its vistas of shrubs, ponds, lawns, arbors, fancy fowl, small pavilions and curving shady pathways. As Gadsby was "takinga his owna looka," Old Bill Simpkins, coming a-snorting and a-fussing along, sang out, gruffly:—
"All right; this is it! This is that grand patch of grass that pays Branton Hills no tax!"