"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. 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."