is not a possibility. So, Marian is now half grown up. Now that big airport, as you also know, was just back of Marian’s back yard; and as that yard was much too big for anything that Marian’s Dad could do with it, it was put up for disposal. But nobody would go to look at it; to say nothing of buying it. But Old Bill Simpkins, past antagonist of Gadsby’s Organization of Youth, did go out to look at it; but said, with his customary growl:—
“Too many aircraft always roaring and zooming. Too far out of town. And you ask too much for it, anyway.”
But Marian thought that Branton Hills, as a municipality, should own it; figuring that that airport would grow, and that yard was practically a part of it, anyway. So Marian, going to His Honor, as about anybody in town did, without an instant’s dallying, “told him,” (!) what his Council should do.
“But,” said Gadsby, “what a City Council should do, and what it will do, don’t always match up.”
“Can’t I go and talk to it?”
“What! To our Council? No; that is, not as a body. But if you can run across a Councilman out of City Hall you can say what you wish. A Councilman is just an ordinary man, you know.”
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