ing 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
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