XLI
Christmas, gay and happy in Gadsby’s mansion, was soon far, far back. A robin or two was hopping about on His Honor’s lawn, looking for a squirming lunch; Lady was taking short walks with Nancy; Kathlyn having to go back to work in our big hospital. Lilac, syringa, narcissus, tulips, hyacinths burst out in a riot of bloom; and a bright warm Sun brought joy to all. And so this history found His Honor on his porch with his “Post” as a young lad, coming up, said;—“Good morning, sir. I’m soliciting funds for a big stadium for Branton Hills, which will furnish an opportunity for football, polo,”
“Whoa!” said Gadsby, putting down his “Post” and looking critically at his young visitor. “You look a bit familiar, boy. Oho! If it isn’t kid Banks; oh, pardon!—Allan Banks; son of Councilman Banks! You young folks grow up so fast I don’t know half of you. Now what about this soliciting. Who is back of you?”
“Branton Hills’ Organization of Youth; Part Two, sir.”
“Branton Hills OrgHa, ha! Upon my word! Who is starting this group?”
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