"Baby," said Gadsby, kindly, "that's only a billboard, and billboards don't put a man in City Hall. It's ballots, darling; thousands of ballots, that fill Council chairs."
"But, Daddy, I'm going to root for Bill. I'll stand up on a stump, or in a tip-cart, or——"
"Whoa! Wait a bit!" and Gadsby sat down by his "baby girl," saying: "You can't go on a stumping campaign without knowing a lot about municipal affairs; which you don't. Any antagonist who knows about such things would out-talk you without half trying. No, darling, this political stuff is too big for you. You just look out for things in that small bungalow of yours, and allow Branton Hills to fight to put Bill in. You know my old slogan:—'Man at a city's front; woman at a cabin door.'"
And Nancy, fondly stroking his hand, said:
"Man at a city's front! What a grand post for a man! A city, a big, rushing, dashing, slamming, banging, boiling mass of humanity! A city; with its bright, happy, sunny parks; and its sad, dark slums; its rich mansions and its shanty-town shacks; its shops, inns, shows, courts, airports, railway stations, hospitals, schools, church groups, social clubs, and,—and,—Oh! What a magic visualization of human thought it is! But it is as a small child. It looks for a strong arm to support its first toddlings; for adult minds to pilot it around many pitfalls; and onward, onward!! To a shining goal!!" and Nancy's crown of rich brown hair sank lovingly in Gadsby's lap.
During this outburst Gadsby had sat dumb; but finally saying, proudly:—
"So, ho! My baby girl has grown up! Dolls and sand-digging tools don't call, as of old. And small, dirty paws, and a tiny smudgy chin, transform, almost in a twinkling into charming hands and a chin of maturity. My, my! It was but a month or two ago that you, in pig-tails and gingham——"
"No, Daddy! It was a mighty long month or two ago; and it's not pig-tails and gingham, now, but a husband and a baby."
"All right, kid; but as you grow old, you'll find that, in glancing backwards, months look mighty short; and small tots grow up, almost in a night. A month from now looks awfully far off; but last month? Pff! That was only last night!"
Thus did Nancy and His Honor talk, until a vigorous honking at his curb told of Frank, "looking for a cook," for it was six o'clock.