XXV
Along in April, Gadsby sat finishing his morning toast as a boy, rushing in, put a “Post” on his lap with a wild, boyish gasp of:—“My gosh, Mayor Gadsby, Look!!” and Gadsby saw a word about a foot high. It was W—A—R. Lady Gadsby saw it also, slowly sinking into a chair. At that instant both Nancy and Kathlyn burst frantically in, Nancy lugging Baby Lillian, now almost two, and a big load for so small a woman, Nancy gasping out:—
“Daddy!! Must Bill and Julius and Frank and John,”
Gadsby put down his “Post” and, pulling Nancy down onto his lap, said:—
“Nancy darling, Bill and Julius and Frank and John must. Old Glory is calling, baby, and no Branton Hills boy will balk at that call. It’s awful, but it’s a fact, now.”
Lady Gadsby said nothing, but Nancy and Kathlyn saw an ashy pallor on that matronly brow; and Gadsby going out without waiting for his customary kiss.
For what you might call an instant, Branton Hills, in blank, black gloom, stood stock still. But
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