Now nothing can so light up such a mind as a good laugh. Start a man laughing, good, long and loud, and his mind's grimy windows will slowly inch upward; snappy, invigorating air will rush in, and--lo! that old snarling, ugly grouch will vanish as hoar-frost in a warm Spring thaw! And so it got around, on a bright Spring day, to Old Bill sitting on Gadsby's front porch; outwardly calm, and smoking a good cigar (which didn't blow up!), but, inwardly just full of snarls and growls about Branton Hills' Youth. "Silly half-grown young animals, found out that two plus two is four, and thinking that _all_ things will fit, just that way!" Now that small girl, "of about six," who had had Nancy's baby out in City Park, was passing Gadsby's mansion, and saw Old Bill. A kid of six has, as you probably know, no formally laid-out plan for its daily activity; anything bobbing up will attract. So, with this childish instability of thought, this tiny miss ran up onto Gadsby's porch and stood in front of Old Bill, looking up at him, but saying not a word. "Huh!" Bill just _had_ to snort. "Looking at anything?" "No, sir." "_What!!_ Oh, that is, you think 'not much,' probably. What do you want, anyway?" "I want to play." "All right; run along and play." "No; I want to play with _you_." "_Pooh!!_ That's silly. I'm an old man. An old man can't play." "Can, too. My Grandpa can." "But I'm not your Grandpa, thank my lucky stars. Run along now; I'm thinking." "So am I." "You? Huh! A kid can't think." "Ooo-o! _I_ can!" "About what?" "About playing with you." Now Simpkins saw that this was a condition which wouldn't pass with scowling or growling, but didn't know what to do about it. Play with a kid? _What?_ Councilman Simpkins pl---- But into that shut-up mind, through a partially,--_only_ partially,--rising window, was wafting a back thought of May Day in City Park; and that happy, singing, marching ring of tots around that ribbon-wound mast. Councilman Simpkins was in that ring. So this thought got to tramping round and round many a musty corridor in his mind; throwing up a window, "busting in" a door, and shoving a lot of dust and rubbish down a back stairway. Round and round it ran, until, (!!) Old Bill, slowly and surprisingly softly, said:-- "What do you want to play?" Oh! Oh! what a victory for that tot!! What a victory for _Youth!!_ And what a _fall_ for grouchy, snarling Maturity!! I think that Simpkins, right at that instant, _saw_ that bright sunlight coming in through that rising window; rising by baby hands; and from that "bust in" door. I think that Old Bill cast off, in that instant, that hard, gloomy coating of dissatisfaction which was gripping his shut-up mind. And I think,--in fact, I _know_,--that Old Bill Simpkins was now,--that is, was--was--was, oh, just plain _happy!_ "What do you want to play?" "This is a lady, a-going to town." "Play _what_?"