guess.'
'One gun?' asked Carter. 'Only one gun?'
'I don't see any others.'
'I heard rifle fire,' said Carter.
'Yeah, they did some shooting at us. Wounded a couple of the boys. But they've pulled back now. Deeper into the brush. No shooting now.'
'O.K.,' said Carter, 'go ahead and start the fires.'
Webster started forward. 'Ask him, ask him-'
But Carter clicked the switch and the radio went dead.
'What was it you wanted to ask?'
'Nothing,' said Webster. 'Nothing that amounted to anything.'
He couldn't tell Carter that Gramp had been the one who knew about firing big guns. Couldn't tell him that when the gun exploded Gramp had been there.
He'd have to get out of here, get over to the gun as quickly as possible.
'It was a good bluff, Webster,' Carter was saying. 'A good bluff, but it petered out.'
The mayor turned to the window that faced towards the
'No more firing,' he said. 'They gave up quick.'
'You'll be lucky,' snapped Webster, 'if six of your policemen come back alive. Those men with the rifles are out in the brush and they can pick the eye out of a squirrel at a hundred yards.'
Feet pounded in the corridor outside, two pairs of feet racing towards the door.
The mayor whirled from his window and Webster pivoted around.
'Gramp!' he yelled.
'Hi, Johnny,' puffed Gramp, skidding to a stop. The man behind Gramp was a young man and he was waving something in his hand — a sheaf of papers that rustled as he waved them.
'What do you want?' asked the mayor.
'Plenty,' said Gramp.
He stood for a moment, catching back his breath, and said between puffs:
'Meet my friend, Henry Adams.'
'Adams?' asked the mayor.
'Sure,' said Gramp. 'His granddaddy used to live here. Out on Twenty-seventh Street.'
'Oh,' said the mayor and it was as if someone had smacked him with a brick. 'Oh, you mean F. J. Adams.'
'Bet your boots,' said Gramp. 'Him and me, we were in the war together. Used to keep me awake nights telling me about his boy back home.'
Carter nodded to Henry Adams. 'As mayor of the city,' he said, trying to regain some of his dignity, 'I welcome you to-'
'It's not a particularly fitting welcome,' Adams said. 'I understand you are burning my property.'
'Your property!' The mayor choked and his eyes stared in disbelief at the sheaf of papers Adams waved at him.
'Yeah, his property,' shrilled Gramp. 'He just bought it. We just come from the treasurer's office. Paid all the back taxes and penalties and all the other things you legal thieves thought up to slap against them houses.'
'But, but-' the mayor was grasping for words, gasping for breath. 'Not all of it. Perhaps just the old Adams property.'
'Lock, stock and barrel,' said Gramp triumphantly. 'And now,' said Adams to the mayor, 'if you would kindly tell your men to stop destroying my property.'
Carter bent over the desk and fumbled at the radio, his hands suddenly all thumbs.
'Maxwell,' he shouted. 'Maxwell, Maxwell.'
'What do you want?' Maxwell yelled back.
'Stop setting those fires,' yelled Carter. 'Start putting them out. Call out the fire department. Do anything. But stop those fires.'
'Cripes,' said Maxwell, 'I wish you'd make up your mind.'
'You do what I tell you,' screamed the mayor. 'You put out those fires.'
'All right,' said Maxwell. 'All right. Keep your shirt on. But the boys won't like it. They won't like getting shot at to do something you changed your mind about.'
Carter straightened from the radio.
'Let me assure you, Mr. Adams,' he said, 'that this is all a big mistake.'
'It is,' Adams declared solemnly. 'A very great mistake, mayor. The biggest one you ever made.'
For a moment the two of them stood there, looking across the room at one another.
'Tomorrow,' said Adams, 'I shall file a petition with the courts asking dissolution of the city charter. As owner of the greatest portion of the land included in the corporate limits, both from the standpoint of area and valuation, I understand I have a perfect legal right to do that.'
The mayor gulped, finally brought out some words.
'Upon what grounds?' he asked.
'Upon the grounds,' said Adams, 'that there is no further need of it. I do not believe I shall have too hard a time to prove my case.'
'But… but… that means…'
'Yeah,' said Gramp, 'you know what it means. It means you are out right on your car.'
'A park,' said Gramp, waving his arm over the wilderness that once had been the residential section of the city. 'A park so that people can remember how their old folks lived.'
The three of them stood on Tower Hill, with the rusty old water tower looming above them, its sturdy steel legs planted in a sea of waist-high grass.
'Not a park, exactly,' explained Henry Adams. 'A memorial, rather. A memorial to an era of communal life that will be forgotten in another hundred years. A preservation of a number of peculiar types of construction that arose to suit certain conditions and each man's particular tastes. No slavery to any architectural concepts, but an effort made to achieve better living. In another hundred years men will walk through those houses down there with the same feeling of respect and awe they have when they go into a museum today. It will be to them something out of what amounts to a primeval age, a stepping-stone on the way to the better, fuller life. Artists will spend their lives transferring those old houses to their canvases. Writers of historical novels will come here for the breath of authenticity.'
'But you said you meant to restore all the houses, make the lawns and gardens exactly like they were before,' said Webster. 'That will take a fortune. And, after that, another fortune to keep them in shape.'
'I have too much money,' said Adams. 'Entirely too much money. Remember, my grandfather and father got into atomics on the ground floor.'
'Best crap player I ever knew, your granddaddy was,' said Gramp. 'Used to take me for a cleaning every pay day.'
'In the old days,' said Adams, 'when a man had too much money, there were other things he could do with it. Organized charities, for example. Or medical research or something like that. But there are no organized charities today. Not enough business to keep them going. And since the World Committee has hit its stride, there is ample money for all the research, medical or otherwise, anyone might wish to do.
'I didn't plan this thing when I came back to see my grandfather's old house. Just wanted to see it, that was all. He'd told me so much about it. How be planted the tree in the front lawn. And the rose garden he had out back.
'And then I saw it. And it was a mocking ghost. It was something that had been left behind. Something that had meant a lot to someone and had been left behind. Standing there in front of that house with Gramp that day, it came to me that I could do nothing better than preserve for posterity a cross section of the life their ancestors lived.'
