In almost any big town, around Autumn, you will annually run across
that famous agricultural show known as a County Fair; and, as Branton
Hills had a big park, which you know all about, right in front of
Nancy's and Frank's small bungalow, it was a most natural spot for
holding it. And so, as this happy pair's third Autumn got around,
stirring activity in that big park also got a-going; for railings for
stockyards don't grow all built; yards and yards of brown canvas don't
just blow into a park; nor do "hot dog" and popcorn stands jump up from
nothing. And Nancy, rocking on that bungalow porch, could watch all
this work going on. And rocking was about all that Nancy could, or, I
should say, _should_ do, just now.
What a sight it was! Trucks; small cars; wagons; a gang with a tractor
plowing up hard spots; a gang picking up rocks, grading humpy spots,
and laying out ground plans. Masons building walls, and all kinds
of goods arriving, by tons. But out of all that confusion and ado a
canvas town will grow, strung from top to bottom with gaily flapping
flags and hanging bunting, and that customary "mid-way" with its long
rows of gaudy billboards, in front of which circus ballyhoo artists
will continuously bawl and shout out claims about sword-swallowing,
tattooing, hula-hula dancing, boa constrictor charming, or a Punch and
Judy show.
At a County Fair two things stand out as most important: farm stock
and that oval track around which swiftly trotting colts will thrill
thousands; and, I'll say, shrink a bank account or two! But, of all
sights, I don't know of any with such drawing ability for kids as just
such a carnival lot. So, daily, as soon as school was out, throngs
of happy, shouting, hopping, jumping boys and girls would dash for
that big park; looking, pointing, and climbing up on auto tops, into
lofty oaks, onto tall rocks, or a pal's back; for if anything is
difficult for a boy to obtain a sight of, nothing in climbing that an
orang-outang can do, will balk him!
So Nancy sat calmly rocking, rocking, rocking, and,--but, pardon! I'll
go on with this story. All I know is that Frank, arriving from work
at Radio Station KBH, wouldn't so much as look at that big carnival
lot, but would rush in, in a most loving, solicitous way which always
brought a kiss and a blush from Nancy. Now if I don't quit talking
about this young pair you won't know anything about that big show
going up in front of that happy bungalow. Almost daily Lady Gadsby
would drop in on Nancy, bringing all sorts of dainty foods; and His
Honor, with Kathlyn, Julius and Bill, paid customary visits.
"But that fair!" you say. "How about that fair?"
Ah! It _was_ a fair, I'll say! What mobs on that first day! And what a
din!! Bands playing, ballyhoos shouting, popcorn a-popping, "hot dogs"
a-sizzling, ducks squawking, cows lowing, pigs grunting, an occasional
baby squalling; and 'midst it all, a choking cloud of dust, a hot
Autumn wind, panting, fanning matrons, cussing husbands; all working
toward that big oval track at which all had a flimsy possibility of
winning a million or two (or a dollar or two!). Oh, you County Fairs!
You bloom in your canvas glory, annually. You draw vast crowds; you
show high quality farm stock, gigantic pumpkins, thousands of poultry,
including our "Thanksgiving National Bird". You fill coops with fancy
squabs, fat rabbits, and day-old chicks. You show many forms of
incubators, churns, farming apparatus, pumps, plows, lighting plants
for small farms, windmills, "bug" poisons, and poultry foods. And you
always add a big balloon, which you anchor, so that kids may soar
aloft until a windlass pulls it down. You fill us with food that
would kill a wild goat, but you still last! And may you always do so;
for, within your flapping, bulging canvas walls, city man rubs against
town man, rich and poor girls bump, snobs attain no right of way, and
a proud, happy boy or girl shows a "First Class" satin ribbon which a
lovingly brought-up calf or poultry brood has won.
Only a satin ribbon, but, displaying it to a group of admiring young
pals brings to a child that natural thrill from accomplishing anything
worthy of public acclaim. Such thrills will not crowd in as Maturity
supplants Youth; and so I say, "a trio of our customary huzzas" for any
child who can carry away a satin ribbon from a County Fair.
But what about our good Mayor during all this circus hullabaloo? Did
important thoughts for still improving Branton Hills pass through his
busy mind? Not just now; but fond, anxious thoughts did; for his mind
was constantly on Nancy; tiny, darling Nancy, his baby girl. For,
during that noisy carnival, folks saw (or _thought_ so, you know), a
big bird with long shanks and a monstrous bill, circling round and
round that small bungalow's roof, plainly looking for a spot to land
on. Lady Gadsby and old Doctor Wilkins saw it, too, and told Nancy that
that big hospital which our old Organization had built, was holding
a room for instant occupancy; and, as that big bird daily swung down,
down, down, almost grazing that small roof, Frank, poor chap, as shaky
as at his church ritual, thirty months ago, staid away from Radio
Station KBH, and stuck to that small bungalow as a fly sticks around a
sugar bowl.
Finally, on a crisp Autumn night, that soaring bird shot straight down
with such an assuring swoop, that old Doc Wilkins, indoors with Nancy,
saw it and said, quickly:--
"On your way, Nancy girl!!" and that part of Branton Hills saw his
car racing hospitalwards, with Lady Gadsby fondly patting Nancy's
tiny, cold hands, and saying just such loving things as a woman would,
naturally, to a young girl on such a trip. But Gadsby and Frank? Ah!
Poor, half-crazy things! No car would do at all! _No, sir!!_ A car
was far too slow! And so, across lots, down into many a man's yard,
and jumping high walls, shot two shadowy forms, arriving at that big
hospital, badly blown, just as Lady Gadsby and old Doc Wilkins took
Nancy's arms, and got slowly to that big door with its waiting rolling
chair.
Now this stork's visit is nothing out of ordinary in World affairs.
Millions and billions of visits has it, and its kind, flown--to king's
mansion or a black Zulu woman's hut. But _this_ flight was poor
Frank's initiation to that awful hour of blank panic, during which a
young husband is boiling hot or icy cold in turn. God!! How still a
hospital corridor is!! How doctors and assistants do float past without
as much sound as falling snow! Oh! _How_ long Frank and His Honor
sat, stood, or trod up and down, watching that room door!! What was
going on? Was Nancy all right? Oh!! Why this prolonging of agonizing
inactivity? Can't anybody say anything? _Isn't anybody around, at all?_
But hospital doctors and nursing staffs, though pitying a young chap,
must pass him up for that tiny lady, who now was but a tool in God's
hands; in God's magic laboratory. And so---- _Ah!!_ Doctor Wilkins is
coming--_and smiling!!_
"A baby girl--and with a ripping good pair of lungs!" but has to jump
quick to catch Frank, who has sunk in a swoon. And Mayor Gadsby's
collar is as limp as a dish-rag!
Ah! Man, man, man! and woman, woman, woman! Just you two! God's only
parts in His mighty plan for living actuality. Not only with Man and
animals, but also down,--way, _way_ down amongst plants. Just two
parts. Only two!! And Baby, you tiny bunch of wriggling, gurgling
humanity, by that slowly ticking clock is _your_ turn in this mighty
World, unavoidably arriving. Mama, Papa, and all of us will go on, for
a bit, growing old and gray, but you, now so young and frail, will
stand sturdily, and willingly, in our vacancy; and carry on God's will!