Poor old Bill Simpkins! Nothing in this world was worth anything;
nobody was right; all wrong, all wrong! Simpkins had no kin; and, not
marrying, was "just plodding along," living in a small room, with no
fun, no constant company, no social goal to which to look forward; and
had, thus, grown into what boys call "a big, old grouch." But it wasn't
all Simpkins' fault. A human mind was built for contact with similar
minds. It should,--in fact,--it _must_ think about what is going on
around it; for, if it is shut up in a thick, dark, bony box of a skull,
it will always stay in that condition known as "status quo;" and grow
up, antagonistic to all surroundings. But Simpkins didn't _want_ to
growl and grunt. It was practically as annoying to him as to folks
around him. But, as soon as that shut-up, solitary mind found anybody
wanting it to do anything in confirmation of public opinion,--no! that
mind would contract, as a snail in its spiral armor--and balk.
Lady Gadsby and His Honor, in talking about this, had thought of
improving such a condition; but Simpkins was not a man to whom you
could broach such a thought. It would only bring forth an outburst
of sarcasm about "trying it on your own brain, first." So Branton
Hills' Council always had so to word a "motion" as to, in a way, blind
Simpkins as to its import. Many such a motion had a hard fight showing
him its valuation as a municipal law; such as our big Hall of Natural
History, our Zoo, and so on.
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_?"
"My!! Don't you know how to play that? All right; I'll show you. Now
just stick out your foot. That's it. Now I'll sit on it, so. Now you
bump it up and down. Ha, ha! Ho, ho! That's it! This is a lady, a-going
to town, a-going to town, a-going to town!" and as that tiny lady sang
that baby song gaily and happily, Old Bill was actually laughing; and
laughing _uproariously_, too!
As this sight was occurring, His Honor and Lady Gadsby, looking out
from a parlor window, Gadsby said, happily:--
"A lady physician is working on Old Bill," causing Lady Gadsby to add:--
"And a mighty good doctor, too."