THE TURMOIL

A NOVEL

By Booth Tarkington

1915. 

To Laurel. 

CHAPTER I

There is a midland city in the heart of fair, open country, a dirty andwonderful city nesting dingily in the fog of its own smoke. The strangermust feel the dirt before he feels the wonder, for the dirt will be uponhim instantly. It will be upon him and within him, since he must breatheit, and he may care for no further proof that wealth is here betterloved than cleanliness; but whether he cares or not, the negligentlytended streets incessantly press home the point, and so do the fleckedand grimy citizens. At a breeze he must smother in the whirlpools ofdust, and if he should decline at any time to inhale the smoke he hasthe meager alternative of suicide. 

The smoke is like the bad breath of a giant panting for more and moreriches. He gets them and pants the fiercer, smelling and swellingprodigiously. He has a voice, a hoarse voice, hot and rapacious trainedto one tune: "Wealth! I will get Wealth! I will make Wealth! I will sellWealth for more Wealth! My house shall be dirty, my garment shall bedirty, and I will foul my neighbor so that he cannot be clean--but Iwill get Wealth! There shall be no clean thing about me: my wife shallbe dirty and my child shall be dirty, but I will get Wealth!" And yet itis not wealth that he is so greedy for: what the giant really wants ishasty riches. To get these he squanders wealth upon the four winds, forwealth is in the smoke. 

Not so long ago as a generation, there was no panting giant here, noheaving, grimy city; there was but a pleasant big town of neighborlypeople who had understanding of one another, being, on the whole, muchof the same type. It was a leisurely and kindly place--"homelike, " itwas called--and when the visitor had been taken through the State Asylumfor the Insane and made to appreciate the view of the cemetery from alittle hill, his host's duty as Baedeker was done. The good burgherswere given to jogging comfortably about in phaetons or in surreys fora family drive on Sunday. No one was very rich; few were very poor; theair was clean, and there was time to live. 

But there was a spirit abroad in the land, and it was strong here aselsewhere--a spirit that had moved in the depths of the American soiland labored there, sweating, till it stirred the surface, rove themountains, and emerged, tangible and monstrous, the god of all goodAmerican hearts--Bigness. And that god wrought the panting giant. 

In the souls of the burghers there had always been the profoundlonging for size. Year by year the longing increased until it becamean accumulated force: We must Grow! We must be Big! We must be Bigger!Bigness means Money! And the thing began to happen; their longing becamea mighty Will. We must be Bigger! Bigger! Bigger! Get people here! Coaxthem here! Bribe them! Swindle them into coming, if you must, but getthem! Shout them into coming! Deafen them into coming! Any kind ofpeople; all kinds of people! We must be Bigger! Blow! Boost! Brag!Kill the fault-finder! Scream and bellow to the Most High: Bigness ispatriotism and honor! Bigness is love and life and happiness! Bigness isMoney! We want Bigness!

They got it. From all the states the people came; thinly at first, andslowly, but faster and faster in thicker and thicker swarms as the quickyears went by. White people came, and black people and brown peopleand yellow people; the negroes came from the South by the thousands andthousands, multiplying by other thousands and thousands faster thanthey could die. From the four quarters of the earth the people came, the broken and the unbroken, the tame and the wild--Germans, Irish, Italians, Hungarians, Scotch, Welsh, English, French, Swiss, Swedes, Norwegians, Greeks, Poles, Russian Jews, Dalmatians, Armenians, Rumanians, Servians, Persians, Syrians, Japanese, Chinese, Turks, andevery hybrid that these could propagate. And if there were no Eskimosnor Patagonians, what other human strain that earth might furnish failedto swim and bubble in this crucible?

With Bigness came the new machinery and the rush; the streets began toroar and rattle, the houses to tremble; the pavements were worn underthe tread of hurrying multitudes. The old, leisurely, quizzical look ofthe faces was lost in something harder and warier; and a cockneytype began to emerge discernibly--a cynical young mongrel barbaricof feature, muscular and cunning; dressed in good fabrics fashionedapparently in imitation of the sketches drawn by newspaper comedians. The female of his kind came with him--a pale girl, shoddy and a littlerouged; and they communicated in a nasal argot, mainly insolences andelisions. Nay, the common speech of the people showed change: inplace of the old midland vernacular, irregular but clean, and notunwholesomely drawling, a jerky dialect of coined metaphors began tobe heard, held together by GUNNAS and GOTTAS and much fostered by thepublic journals. 

The city piled itself high in the center, tower on tower for a nucleus, and spread itself out over the plain, mile after mile; and in itsvitals, like benevolent bacilli contending with malevolent in the bodyof a man, missions and refuges offered what resistance they might to thesaloons and all the hells that cities house and shelter. Temptationand ruin were ready commodities on the market for purchase by theventuresome; highwaymen walked the streets at night and sometimeskilled; snatching thieves were busy everywhere in the dusk; whilehouse-breakers were a common apprehension and frequent reality. Lifeitself was somewhat safer from intentional destruction than it was inmedieval Rome during a faction war--though the Roman murderer was morelike to pay for his deed--but death or mutilation beneath the wheels layin ambush at every crossing. 

The politicians let the people make all the laws they liked; it didnot matter much, and the taxes went up, which is good for politicians. Law-making was a pastime of the people; nothing pleased them more. Singular fermentation of their humor, they even had laws forbiddingdangerous speed. More marvelous still, they had a law forbidding smoke!They forbade chimneys to smoke and they forbade cigarettes to smoke. They made laws for all things and forgot them immediately; thoughsometimes they would remember after a while, and hurry to make new lawsthat the old laws should be enforced--and then forget both new and old. Wherever enforcement threatened Money or Votes--or wherever it was toomuch to bother--it became a joke. Influence was the law. 

So the place grew. And it grew strong. 

Straightway when he came, each man fell to the same worship:

 Give me of thyself, O Bigness: Power to get more power! Riches to get more riches! Give me of thy sweat that I may sweat more! Give me Bigness to get more Bigness to myself, O Bigness, for Thine is the Power and the Glory! And there is no end but Bigness, ever and for ever!

CHAPTER II

The Sheridan Building was the biggest skyscraper; the Sheridan TrustCompany was the biggest of its kind, and Sheridan himself had been thebiggest builder and breaker and truster and buster under the smoke. Hehad come from a country cross-roads, at the beginning of the growth, andhe had gone up and down in the booms and relapses of that period; buteach time he went down he rebounded a little higher, until finally, after a year of overwork and anxiety--the latter not decreased by achance, remote but possible, of recuperation from the former in thepenitentiary--he found himself on top, with solid substance underhis feet; and thereafter "played it safe. " But his hunger to get wasunabated, for it was in the very bones of him and grew fiercer. 

He was the city incarnate. He loved it, calling it God's country, as hecalled the smoke Prosperity, breathing the dingy cloud with relish. Andwhen soot fell upon his cuff he chuckled; he could have kissed it. "It'sgood! It's good!" he said, and smacked his lips in gusto. "Good, cleansoot; it's our life-blood, God bless it!" The smoke was one of hisgreat enthusiasms; he laughed at a committee of plaintive housewives whocalled to beg his aid against it. "Smoke's what brings your husbands'money home on Saturday night, " he told them, jovially. "Smoke may hurtyour little shrubberies in the front yard some, but it's the catarrhalclimate and the adenoids that starts your chuldern coughing. Smoke makesthe climate better. Smoke means good health: it makes the people washmore. They have to wash so much they wash off the microbes. You gohome and ask your husbands what smoke puts in their pockets out o' thepay-roll--and you'll come around next time to get me to turn out moresmoke instead o' chokin' it off!"

It was Narcissism in him to love the city so well; he saw his reflectionin it; and, like it, he was grimy, big, careless, rich, strong, andunquenchably optimistic. From the deepest of his inside all the way outhe believed it was the finest city in the world. "Finest" was his word. He thought of it as his city as he thought of his family as his family;and just as profoundly believed his city to be the finest city inthe world, so did he believe his family to be--in spite of his sonBibbs--the finest family in the world. As a matter of fact, he knewnothing worth knowing about either. 

Bibbs Sheridan was a musing sort of boy, poor in health, and consideredthe failure--the "odd one"--of the family. Born during that mostdangerous and anxious of the early years, when the mother fretted andthe father took his chance, he was an ill-nourished baby, andgrew meagerly, only lengthwise, through a feeble childhood. At hischristening he was committed for life to "Bibbs" mainly through lack ofimagination on his mother's part, for though it was her maiden name, shehad no strong affection for it; but it was "her turn" to name the baby, and, as she explained later, she "couldn't think of anything else sheliked AT ALL!" She offered this explanation one day when the sickly boywas nine and after a long fit of brooding had demanded some reason forhis name's being Bibbs. He requested then with unwonted vehemence tobe allowed to exchange names with his older brother, Roscoe ConklingSheridan, or with the oldest, James Sheridan, Junior, and upon beingrefused went down into the cellar and remained there the rest ofthat day. And the cook, descending toward dusk, reported that he hadvanished; but a search revealed that he was in the coal-pile, completelycovered and still burrowing. Removed by force and carried upstairs, he maintained a cryptic demeanor, refusing to utter a syllable ofexplanation, even under the lash. This obvious thing was wholly amystery to both parents; the mother was nonplussed, failed to trace andconnect; and the father regarded his son as a stubborn and mysteriousfool, an impression not effaced as the years went by. 

At twenty-two, Bibbs was physically no more than the outer scaffoldingof a man, waiting for the building to begin inside--a long-shanked, long-faced, rickety youth, sallow and hollow and haggard, dark-hairedand dark-eyed, with a peculiar expression of countenance; indeed, atfirst sight of Bibbs Sheridan a stranger might well be solicitous, forhe seemed upon the point of tears. But to a slightly longer gaze, notgrief, but mirth, was revealed as his emotion; while a more searchingscrutiny was proportionately more puzzling--he seemed about to burst outcrying or to burst out laughing, one or the other, inevitably, but itwas impossible to decide which. And Bibbs never, on any occasion of hislife, either laughed aloud or wept. 

He was a "disappointment" to his father. At least that was the parent'sword--a confirmed and established word after his first attempt to makea "business man" of the boy. He sent Bibbs to "begin at the bottom andlearn from the ground up" in the machine-shop of the Sheridan AutomaticPump Works, and at the end of six months the family physician sent Bibbsto begin at the bottom and learn from the ground up in a sanitarium. 

"You needn't worry, mamma, " Sheridan told his wife. "There's nothin' thematter with Bibbs except he hates work so much it makes him sick. I puthim in the machine-shop, and I guess I know what I'm doin' about as wellas the next man. Ole Doc Gurney always was one o' them nutty alarmists. Does he think I'd do anything 'd be bad for my own flesh and blood? Hemakes me tired!"

Anything except perfectly definite health or perfectly definite diseasewas incomprehensible to Sheridan. He had a genuine conviction that lackof physical persistence in any task involving money must be due to somesubtle weakness of character itself, to some profound shiftlessness orslyness. He understood typhoid fever, pneumonia, and appendicitis--onehad them, and either died or got over them and went back to work--butwhen the word "nervous" appeared in a diagnosis he became honestlysuspicious: he had the feeling that there was something contemptibleabout it, that there was a nigger in the wood-pile somewhere. 

"Look at me, " he said. "Look at what I did at his age! Why, when I wastwenty years old, wasn't I up every morning at four o'clock choppin'wood--yes! and out in the dark and the snow--to build a fire in acountry grocery store? And here Bibbs has to go and have a DOCTORbecause he can't--Pho! it makes me tired! If he'd gone at it like a manhe wouldn't be sick. "

He paced the bedroom--the usual setting for such parentaldiscussions--in his nightgown, shaking his big, grizzled head andgesticulating to his bedded spouse. "My Lord!" he said. "If a little, teeny bit o' work like this is too much for him, why, he ain't fit foranything! It's nine-tenths imagination, and the rest of it--well, Iwon't say it's deliberate, but I WOULD like to know just how much ofit's put on!"

"Bibbs didn't want the doctor, " said Mrs. Sheridan. "It was when he washere to dinner that night, and noticed how he couldn't eat anything. Honey, you better come to bed. "

"Eat!" he snorted. "Eat! It's work that makes men eat! And it'simagination that keeps people from eatin'. Busy men don't get time forthat kind of imagination; and there's another thing you'll noticeabout good health, if you'll take the trouble to look around you Mrs. Sheridan: busy men haven't got time to be sick and they don't GET sick. You just think it over and you'll find that ninety-nine per cent. Of thesick people you know are either women or loafers. Yes, ma'am!"

"Honey, " she said again, drowsily, "you better come to bed. "

"Look at the other boys, " her husband bade her. "Look at Jim and Roscoe. Look at how THEY work! There isn't a shiftless bone in their bodies. Work never made Jim or Roscoe sick. Jim takes half the load off myshoulders already. Right now there isn't a harder-workin', brighterbusiness man in this city than Jim. I've pushed him, but he give mesomething to push AGAINST. You can't push 'nervous dyspepsia'! And lookat Roscoe; just LOOK at what that boy's done for himself, and barelytwenty-seven years old--married, got a fine wife, and ready to buildfor himself with his own money, when I put up the New House for you andEdie. "

"Papa, you'll catch cold in your bare feet, " she murmured. "You bettercome to bed. "

"And I'm just as proud of Edie, for a girl, " he continued, emphatically, "as I am of Jim and Roscoe for boys. She'll make some man a mighty goodwife when the time comes. She's the prettiest and talentedest girl inthe United States! Look at that poem she wrote when she was in schooland took the prize with; it's the best poem I ever read in my life, andshe'd never even tried to write one before. It's the finest thing Iever read, and R. T. Bloss said so, too; and I guess he's a good enoughliterary judge for me--turns out more advertisin' liter'cher than anyman in the city. I tell you she's smart! Look at the way she worked meto get me to promise the New House--and I guess you had your fingerin that, too, mamma! This old shack's good enough for me, but you andlittle Edie 'll have to have your way. I'll get behind her and push herthe same as I will Jim and Roscoe. I tell you I'm mighty proud o' themthree chuldern! But Bibbs--" He paused, shaking his head. "Honest, mamma, when I talk to men that got ALL their boys doin' well and worththeir salt, why, I have to keep my mind on Jim and Roscoe and forgetabout Bibbs. "

Mrs. Sheridan tossed her head fretfully upon the pillow. "You did thebest you could, papa, " she said, impatiently, "so come to bed and quitreproachin' yourself for it. "

He glared at her indignantly. "Reproachin' myself!" he snorted. "I ain'tdoin' anything of the kind! What in the name o' goodness would I wantto reproach myself for? And it wasn't the 'best I could, ' either. It wasthe best ANYBODY could! I was givin' him a chance to show what wasin him and make a man of himself--and here he goes and gets 'nervousdyspepsia' on me!"

He went to the old-fashioned gas-fixture, turned out the light, andmuttered his way morosely into bed. 

"What?" said his wife, crossly, bothered by a subsequent mumbling. 

"More like hook-worm, I said, " he explained, speaking louder. "I don'tknow what to do with him!"

CHAPTER III

Beginning at the beginning and learning from the ground up was a longcourse for Bibbs at the sanitarium, with milk and "zwieback" as thebasis of instruction; and the months were many and tiresome before hewas considered near enough graduation to go for a walk leaning on anurse and a cane. These and subsequent months saw the planning, thebuilding, and the completion of the New House; and it was to that abodeof Bigness that Bibbs was brought when the cane, without the nurse, wasfound sufficient to his support. 

Edith met him at the station. "Well, well, Bibbs!" she said, as he cameslowly through the gates, the last of all the travelers from that train. She gave his hand a brisk little shake, averting her eyes after a quickglance at him, and turning at once toward the passage to the street. "Doyou think they ought to've let you come? You certainly don't look well!"

"But I certainly do look better, " he returned, in a voice as slow ashis gait; a drawl that was a necessity, for when Bibbs tried to speakquickly he stammered. "Up to about a month ago it took two people to seeme. They had to get me in a line between 'em!"

Edith did not turn her eyes directly toward him again, after her firstquick glance; and her expression, in spite of her, showed a faint, troubled distaste, the look of a healthy person pressed by someobligation of business to visit a "bad" ward in a hospital. She wasnineteen, fair and slim, with small, unequal features, but a prettinessof color and a brilliancy of eyes that created a total impression closeupon beauty. Her movements were eager and restless: there was somethingabout her, as kind old ladies say, that was very sweet; and there wassomething that was hurried and breathless. This was new to Bibbs; it wasa perceptible change since he had last seen her, and he bent upon hera steady, whimsical scrutiny as they stood at the curb, waiting for anautomobile across the street to disengage itself from the traffic. 

"That's the new car, " she said. "Everything's new. We've got four now, besides Jim's. Roscoe's got two. "

"Edith, you look--" he began, and paused. 

"Oh, WE're all well, " she said, briskly; and then, as if something inhis tone had caught her as significant, "Well, HOW do I look, Bibbs?"

"You look--" He paused again, taking in the full length of her--her trimbrown shoes, her scant, tapering, rough skirt, and her coat of brownand green, her long green tippet and her mad little rough hat in the madmode--all suited to the October day. 

"How do I look?" she insisted. 

"You look, " he answered, as his examination ended upon an incrustedwatch of platinum and enamel at her wrist, "you look--expensive!" Thatwas a substitute for what he intended to say, for her constraint andpreoccupation, manifested particularly in her keeping her directglance away from him, did not seem to grant the privilege of impulsiveintimacies. 

"I expect I am!" she laughed, and sidelong caught the direction of hisglance. "Of course I oughtn't to wear it in the daytime--it's an eveningthing, for the theater--but my day wrist-watch is out of gear. BobbyLamhorn broke it yesterday; he's a regular rowdy sometimes. Do you wantClaus to help you in?"

"Oh no, " said Bibbs. "I'm alive. " And after a fit of panting subsequentto his climbing into the car unaided, he added, "Of course, I have toTELL people!"

"We only got your telegram this morning, " she said, as they began tomove rapidly through the "wholesale district" neighboring the station. "Mother said she'd hardly expected you this month. "

"They seemed to be through with me up there in the country, " heexplained, gently. "At least they said they were, and they wouldn't keepme any longer, because so many really sick people wanted to get in. Theytold me to go home--and I didn't have any place else to go. It'll be allright, Edith; I'll sit in the woodshed until after dark every day. "

"Pshaw!" She laughed nervously. "Of course we're all of us glad to haveyou back. "

"Yes?" he said. "Father?"

"Of course! Didn't he write and tell you to come home?" She did not turnto him with the question. All the while she rode with her face directlyforward. 

"No, " he said; "father hasn't written. "

She flushed a little. "I expect I ought to've written sometime, or oneof the boys--"

"Oh no; that was all right. "

"You can't think how busy we've all been this year, Bibbs. I oftenplanned to write--and then, just as I was going to, something would turnup. And I'm sure it's been just the same way with Jim and Roscoe. Ofcourse we knew mamma was writing often and--"

"Of course!" he said, readily. "There's a chunk of coal fallen on yourglove, Edith. Better flick it off before it smears. My word! I'd almostforgotten how sooty it is here. "

"We've been having very bright weather this month--for us. " She blew theflake of soot into the air, seeming relieved. 

He looked up at the dingy sky, wherein hung the disconsolate sun likea cold tin pan nailed up in a smoke-house by some lunatic, for adecoration. "Yes, " said Bibbs. "It's very gay. " A few moments later, asthey passed a corner, "Aren't we going home?" he asked. 

"Why, yes! Did you want to go somewhere else first?"

"No. Your new driver's taking us out of the way, isn't he?"

"No. This is right. We're going straight home. "

"But we've passed the corner. We always turned--"

"Good gracious!" she cried. "Didn't you know we'd moved? Didn't you knowwe were in the New House?"

"Why, no!" said Bibbs. "Are you?"

"We've been there a month! Good gracious! Didn't you know--" She brokeoff, flushing again, and then went on hastily: "Of course, mamma's neverbeen so busy in her life; we ALL haven't had time to do anything butkeep on the hop. Mamma couldn't even come to the station to-day. Papa'sgot some of his business friends and people from around theOLD-house neighborhood coming to-night for a big dinner and'house-warming'--dreadful kind of people--but mamma's got it all on herhands. She's never sat down a MINUTE; and if she did, papa would haveher up again before--"

"Of course, " said Bibbs. "Do you like the new place, Edith?"

"I don't like some of the things father WOULD have in it, but it's thefinest house in town, and that ought to be good enough for me! Papabought one thing I like--a view of the Bay of Naples in oil that'sperfectly beautiful; it's the first thing you see as you come in thefront hall, and it's eleven feet long. But he would have that oldfruit picture we had in the Murphy Street house hung up in the newdining-room. You remember it--a table and a watermelon sliced open, and a lot of rouged-looking apples and some shiny lemons, with two deadprairie-chickens on a chair? He bought it at a furniture-store years andyears ago, and he claims it's a finer picture than any they saw in themuseums, that time he took mamma to Europe. But it's horribly out ofdate to have those things in dining-rooms, and I caught Bobby Lamhorngiggling at it; and Sibyl made fun of it, too, with Bobby, and then toldpapa she agreed with him about its being such a fine thing, and said hedid just right to insist on having it where he wanted it. She makes metired! Sibyl!"

Edith's first constraint with her brother, amounting almost toawkwardness, vanished with this theme, though she still kept her fullgaze always to the front, even in the extreme ardor of her denunciationof her sister-in-law. 

"SIBYL!" she repeated, with such heat and vigor that the name seemedto strike fire on her lips. "I'd like to know why Roscoe couldn't havemarried somebody from HERE that would have done us some good! He couldhave got in with Bobby Lamhorn years ago just as well as now, andBobby'd have introduced him to the nicest girls in town, but instead ofthat he had to go and pick up this Sibyl Rink! I met some awfullynice people from her town when mamma and I were at Atlantic City, lastspring, and not one had ever heard of the Rinks! Not even HEARD of 'em!"

"I thought you were great friends with Sibyl, " Bibbs said. 

"Up to the time I found her out!" the sister returned, with continuingvehemence. "I've found out some things about Mrs. Roscoe Sheridanlately--"

"It's only lately?"

"Well--" Edith hesitated, her lips setting primly. "Of course, Ialways did see that she never cared the snap of her little finger aboutROSCOE!"

"It seems, " said Bibbs, in laconic protest, "that she married him. "

The sister emitted a shrill cry, to be interpreted as contemptuouslaughter, and, in her emotion, spoke too impulsively: "Why, she'd havemarried YOU!"

"No, no, " he said; "she couldn't be that bad!"

"I didn't mean--" she began, distressed. "I only meant--I didn't mean--"

"Never mind, Edith, " he consoled her. "You see, she couldn't havemarried me, because I didn't know her; and besides, if she's asmercenary as all that she'd have been too clever. The head doctor evenhad to lend me the money for my ticket home. "

"I didn't mean anything unpleasant about YOU, " Edith babbled. "I onlymeant I thought she was the kind of girl who was so simply crazy tomarry somebody she'd have married anybody that asked her. "

"Yes, yes, " said Bibbs, "it's all straight. " And, perceiving thathis sister's expression was that of a person whose adroitness has setmatters perfectly to rights, he chuckled silently. 

"Roscoe's perfectly lovely to her, " she continued, a moment later. "Toolovely! If he'd wake up a little and lay down the law, some day, like aMAN, I guess she'd respect him more and learn to behave herself!"

"'Behave'?"

"Oh, well, I mean she's so insincere, " said Edith, characteristicallyevasive when it came to stating the very point to which she had led, andin this not unique of her sex. 

Bibbs contented himself with a non-committal gesture. "Businessis crawling up the old streets, " he said, his long, tremulous handindicating a vasty structure in course of erection. "The boarding-housescome first and then the--"

"That isn't for shops, " she informed him. "That's a new investment ofpapa's--the 'Sheridan Apartments. '"

"Well, well, " he murmured. "I supposed 'Sheridan' was almost well enoughknown here already. "

"Oh, we're well enough known ABOUT!" she said, impatiently. "I guessthere isn't a man, woman, child, or nigger baby in town that doesn'tknow who we are. But we aren't in with the right people. "

"No!" he exclaimed. "Who's all that?"

"Who's all what?"

"The 'right people. '"

"You know what I mean: the best people, the old families--the peoplethat have the real social position in this town and that know they'vegot it. "

Bibbs indulged in his silent chuckle again; he seemed greatly amused. "Ithought that the people who actually had the real what-you-may-call-itdidn't know it, " he said. "I've always understood that it was veryunsatisfactory, because if you thought about it you didn't have it, andif you had it you didn't know it. "

"That's just bosh, " she retorted. "They know it in this town, all right!I found out a lot of things, long before we began to think of buildingout in this direction. The right people in this town aren't always thesociety-column ones, and they mix around with outsiders, and they don'tall belong to any one club--they're taken in all sorts into all theirclubs--but they're a clan, just the same; and they have the clan feelingand they're just as much We, Us and Company as any crowd you read aboutanywhere in the world. Most of 'em were here long before papa came, andthe grandfathers of the girls of my age knew each other, and--"

"I see, " Bibbs interrupted, gravely. "Their ancestors fled togetherfrom many a stricken field, and Crusaders' blood flows in their veins. Ialways understood the first house was built by an old party of the nameof Vertrees who couldn't get along with Dan'l Boone, and hurried away tothese parts because Dan'l wanted him to give back a gun he'd lent him. "

Edith gave a little ejaculation of alarm. "You mustn't repeat thatstory, Bibbs, even if it's true. The Vertreeses are THE best family, andof course the very oldest here; they were an old family even beforeMary Vertrees's great-great-grandfather came west and founded thissettlement. He came from Lynn, Massachusetts, and they have relativesthere YET--some of the best people in Lynn!"

"No!" exclaimed Bibbs, incredulously. 

"And there are other old families like the Vertreeses, " she went on, not heeding him; "the Lamhorns and the Kittersbys and the J. PalmerstonSmiths--"

"Strange names to me, " he interrupted. "Poor things! None of them havemy acquaintance. "

"No, that's just it!" she cried. "And papa had never even heard the nameof Vertrees! Mrs. Vertrees went with some anti-smoke committee to seehim, and he told her that smoke was what made her husband bring home hiswages from the pay-roll on Saturday night! HE told us about it, and Ithought I just couldn't live through the night, I was so ashamed! Mr. Vertrees has always lived on his income, and papa didn't know him, ofcourse. They're the stiffist, most elegant people in the whole town. Andto crown it all, papa went and bought the next lot to the old Vertreescountry mansion--it's in the very heart of the best new residencedistrict now, and that's where the New House is, right next door tothem--and I must say it makes their place look rather shabby! I met MaryVertrees when I joined the Mission Service Helpers, but she never didany more than just barely bow to me, and since papa's break I doubt ifshe'll do that! They haven't called. "

"And you think if I spread this gossip about Vertrees the First stealingDan'l Boone's gun, the chances that they WILL call--"

"Papa knows what a break he made with Mrs. Vertrees. I made himunderstand that, " said Edith, demurely, "and he's promised to try andmeet Mr. Vertrees and be nice to him. It's just this way: if we don'tknow THEM, it's practically no use in our having build the New House;and if we DO know them and they're decent to us, we're right with theright people. They can do the whole thing for us. Bobby Lamhorn toldSibyl he was going to bring his mother to call on her and on mamma, butit was weeks ago, and I notice he hasn't done it; and if Mrs. Vertreesdecides not to know us, I'm darn sure Mrs Lamhorn'll never come. That'sONE thing Sibyl didn't manage! She SAID Bobby offered to bring hismother--"

"You say he is a friend of Roscoe's?" Bibbs asked. 

"Oh, he's a friend of the whole family, " she returned, with a petulancewhich she made an effort to disguise. "Roscoe and he got acquaintedsomewhere, and they take him to the theater about every other night. Sibyl has him to lunch, too, and keeps--" She broke off with an angrylittle jerk of the head. "We can see the New House from the secondcorner ahead. Roscoe has built straight across the street from us, youknow. Honestly, Sibyl makes me think of a snake, sometimes--the wayshe pulls the wool over people's eyes! She honeys up to papa and getsanything in the world she wants out of him, and then makes fun of himbehind his back--yes, and to his face, but HE can't see it! She gothim to give her a twelve-thousand-dollar porch for their house after itwas--"

"Good heavens!" said Bibbs, staring ahead as they reached the corner andthe car swung to the right, following a bend in the street. "Is that theNew House?"

"Yes. What do you think of it?"

"Well, " he drawled, "I'm pretty sure the sanitarium's about half a sizebigger; I can't be certain till I measure. "

And a moment later, as they entered the driveway, he added, seriously:"But it's beautiful!"

CHAPTER IV

It was gray stone, with long roofs of thick green slate. An architectwho loved the milder "Gothic motives" had built what he liked: it was tobe seen at once that he had been left unhampered, and he had wrought apicture out of his head into a noble and exultant reality. At the sametime a landscape-designer had played so good a second, with ready-madeaccessories of screen, approach and vista, that already whatever lookof newness remained upon the place was to its advantage, as showing atleast one thing yet clean under the grimy sky. For, though the smoke wasthinner in this direction, and at this long distance from the heartof the town, it was not absent, and under tutelage of wind and weathercould be malignant even here, where cows had wandered in the meadows andcorn had been growing not ten years gone. 

Altogether, the New House was a success. It was one of those architects'successes which leave the owners veiled in privacy; it revealed nothingof the people who lived in it save that they were rich. There are housesthat cannot be detached from their own people without protesting: everyinch of mortar seems to mourn the separation, and such a house--nomatter what be done to it--is ever murmurous with regret, whispering theold name sadly to itself unceasingly. But the New House was of a kindto change hands without emotion. In our swelling cities, great placesof its type are useful as financial gauges of the business tides;rich families, one after another, take title and occupy such houses asfortunes rise and fall--they mark the high tide. It was impossible toimagine a child's toy wagon left upon a walk or driveway of the NewHouse, and yet it was--as Bibbs rightly called it--"beautiful. "

What the architect thought of the "Golfo di Napoli, " which hung in itsvast gold revel of rococo frame against the gray wood of the hall, is tobe conjectured--perhaps he had not seen it. 

"Edith, did you say only eleven feet?" Bibbs panted, staring at it, asthe white-jacketed twin of a Pullman porter helped him to get out of hisovercoat. 

"Eleven without the frame, " she explained. "It's splendid, don't youthink? It lightens things up so. The hall was kind of gloomy before. "

"No gloom now!" said Bibbs. 

"This statue in the corner is pretty, too, " she remarked. "Mamma and Ibought that. " And Bibbs turned at her direction to behold, amid agrove of tubbed palms, a "life-size, " black-bearded Moor, of a plasticcomposition painted with unappeasable gloss and brilliancy. Upon hischocolate head he wore a gold turban; in his hand he held a gold-tippedspear; and for the rest, he was red and yellow and black and silver. 

"Hallelujah!" was the sole comment of the returned wanderer, and Edith, saying she would "find mamma, " left him blinking at the Moor. Presently, after she had disappeared, he turned to the colored man who stoodwaiting, Bibbs's traveling-bag in his hand. "What do YOU think of it?"Bibbs asked, solemnly. 

"Gran'!" replied the servitor. "She mighty hard to dus'. Dus' git in all'em wrinkles. Yessuh, she mighty hard to dus'. "

"I expect she must be, " said Bibbs, his glance returning reflectivelyto the black bull beard for a moment. "Is there a place anywhere I couldlie down?"

"Yessuh. We got one nem spare rooms all fix up fo' you, suh. Right upstaihs, suh. Nice room. "

He led the way, and Bibbs followed slowly, stopping at intervals torest, and noting a heavy increase in the staff of service since theexodus from the "old" house. Maids and scrubwomen were at work under thepatently nominal direction of another Pullman porter, who was profoundlyenjoying his own affectation of being harassed with care. 

"Ev'ything got look spick an' span fo' the big doin's to-night, " Bibbs'sguide explained, chuckling. "Yessuh, we got big doin's to-night! Bigdoin's!"

The room to which he conducted his lagging charge was furnished inevery particular like a room in a new hotel; and Bibbs found itpleasant--though, indeed, any room with a good bed would haveseemed pleasant to him after his journey. He stretched himself flatimmediately, and having replied "Not now" to the attendant's offer tounpack the bag, closed his eyes wearily. 

White-jacket, racially sympathetic, lowered the window-shades and madean exit on tiptoe, encountering the other white-jacket--the harassedoverseer--in the hall without. Said the emerging one: "He mighty shaky, Mist' Jackson. Drop right down an' shet his eyes. Eyelids all black. Rich folks gotta go same as anybody else. Anybody ast me if I change'ith 'at ole boy--No, suh! Le'm keep 'is money; I keep my black skin an'keep out the ground!"

Mr. Jackson expressed the same preference. "Yessuh, he look tuh me likesomebody awready laid out, " he concluded. And upon the stairway landing, near by, two old women, on all-fours at their work, were likewisepessimistic. 

"Hech!" said one, lamenting in a whisper. "It give me a turn to see himgo by--white as wax an' bony as a dead fish! Mrs. Cronin, tell me: d'itmake ye kind o' sick to look at um?"

"Sick? No more than the face of a blessed angel already in heaven!"

"Well, " said the other, "I'd a b'y o' me own come home t' die once--"She fell silent at a rustling of skirts in the corridor above them. 

It was Mrs. Sheridan hurrying to greet her son. 

She was one of those fat, pink people who fade and contract with agelike drying fruit; and her outside was a true portrait of her. Herhusband and her daughter had long ago absorbed her. What intelligenceshe had was given almost wholly to comprehending and serving thosetwo, and except in the presence of one of them she was nearly alwaysabsent-minded. Edith lived all day with her mother, as daughters do; andSheridan so held his wife to her unity with him that she had long agobecome unconscious of her existence as a thing separate from his. Sheinvariably perceived his moods, and nursed him through them when shedid not share them; and she gave him a profound sympathy with the inmostspirit and purpose of his being, even though she did not comprehend itand partook of it only as a spectator. They had known but one actualaltercation in their lives, and that was thirty years past, in the earlydays of Sheridan's struggle, when, in order to enhance the favorableimpression he believed himself to be making upon some capitalists, hehad thought it necessary to accompany them to a performance of "TheBlack Crook. " But she had not once referred to this during the last tenyears. 

Mrs. Sheridan's manner was hurried and inconsequent; her clothes rustledmore than other women's clothes; she seemed to wear too many at a timeand to be vaguely troubled by them, and she was patting a skirt downover some unruly internal dissension at the moment she opened Bibbs'sdoor. 

At sight of the recumbent figure she began to close the door softly, withdrawing, but the young man had heard the turning of the knob and therustling of skirts, and he opened his eyes. 

"Don't go, mother, " he said. "I'm not asleep. " He swung his long legsover the side of the bed to rise, but she set a hand on his shoulder, restraining him; and he lay flat again. 

"No, " she said, bending over to kiss his cheek, "I just come for aminute, but I want to see how you seem. Edith said--"

"Poor Edith!" he murmured. "She couldn't look at me. She--"

"Nonsense!" Mrs. Sheridan, having let in the light at a window, cameback to the bedside. "You look a great deal better than what you didbefore you went to the sanitarium, anyway. It's done you good; a bodycan see that right away. You need fatting up, of course, and you haven'tgot much color--"

"No, " he said, "I haven't much color. "

"But you will have when you get your strength back. "

"Oh yes!" he responded, cheerfully. "THEN I will. "

"You look a great deal better than what I expected. "

"Edith must have a great vocabulary!" he chuckled. 

"She's too sensitive, " said Mrs. Sheridan, "and it makes her exaggeratea little. What about your diet?"

"That's all right. They told me to eat anything. "

"Anything at all?"

"Well--anything I could. "

"That's good, " she said, nodding. "They mean for you just to build upyour strength. That's what they told me the last time I went to see youat the sanitarium. You look better than what you did then, and that'sonly a little time ago. How long was it?"

"Eight months, I think. "

"No, it couldn't be. I know it ain't THAT long, but maybe it waslonger'n I thought. And this last month or so I haven't had scarcelyeven time to write more than just a line to ask how you were gettin'along, but I told Edith to write, the weeks I couldn't, and I askedJim to, too, and they both said they would, so I suppose you've kept uppretty well on the home news. "

"Oh yes. "

"What I think you need, " said the mother, gravely, "is to liven up alittle and take an interest in things. That's what papa was sayin' thismorning, after we got your telegram; and that's what'll stimilate yourappetite, too. He was talkin' over his plans for you--"

"Plans?" Bibbs, turning on his side, shielded his eyes from the lightwith his hand, so that he might see her better. "What--" He paused. "What plans is he making for me, mother?"

She turned away, going back to the window to draw down the shade. "Well, you better talk it over with HIM, " she said, with perceptiblenervousness. "He better tell you himself. I don't feel as if I had anycall, exactly, to go into it; and you better get to sleep now, anyway. "She came and stood by the bedside once more. "But you must remember, Bibbs, whatever papa does is for the best. He loves his chuldern andwants to do what's right by ALL of 'em--and you'll always find he'sright in the end. "

He made a little gesture of assent, which seemed to content her; andshe rustled to the door, turning to speak again after she had opened it. "You get a good nap, now, so as to be all rested up for to-night. "

"You--you mean--he--" Bibbs stammered, having begun to speak tooquickly. Checking himself, he drew a long breath, then asked, quietly, "Does father expect me to come down-stairs this evening?"

"Well, I think he does, " she answered. "You see, it's the'house-warming, ' as he calls it, and he said he thinks all our chuldernought to be around us, as well as the old friends and other folks. It'sjust what he thinks you need--to take an interest and liven up. Youdon't feel too bad to come down, do you?"

"Mother?"

"Well?"

"Take a good look at me, " he said. 

"Oh, see here!" she cried, with brusque cheerfulness. "You're not so badoff as you think you are, Bibbs. You're on the mend; and it won't do youany harm to please your--"

"It isn't that, " he interrupted. "Honestly, I'm only afraid it mightspoil somebody's appetite. Edith--"

"I told you the child was too sensitive, " she interrupted, in turn. "You're a plenty good-lookin' enough young man for anybody! You looklike you been through a long spell and begun to get well, and that's allthere is to it. "

"All right. I'll come to the party. If the rest of you can stand it, Ican!"

"It 'll do you good, " she returned, rustling into the hall. "Now takea nap, and I'll send one o' the help to wake you in time for you to getdressed up before dinner. You go to sleep right away, now, Bibbs!"

Bibbs was unable to obey, though he kept his eyes closed. Somethingshe had said kept running in his mind, repeating itself over and overinterminably. "His plans for you--his plans for you--his plans foryou--his plans for you--" And then, taking the place of "his plans foryou, " after what seemed a long, long while, her flurried voice cameback to him insistently, seeming to whisper in his ear: "He loves hischuldern--he loves his chuldern--he loves his chuldern"--"you'll findhe's always right--you'll find he's always right--" Until at last, as hedrifted into the state of half-dreams and distorted realities, the voiceseemed to murmur from beyond a great black wing that came out of thewall and stretched over his bed--it was a black wing within the room, and at the same time it was a black cloud crossing the sky, bridging thewhole earth from pole to pole. It was a cloud of black smoke, and outof the heart of it came a flurried voice whispering over and over, "Hisplans for you--his plans for you--his plans for you--" And then therewas nothing. 

He woke refreshed, stretched himself gingerly--as one might have a careagainst too quick or too long a pull upon a frayed elastic--and, gettingto his feet, went blinking to the window and touched the shade so thatit flew up, letting in a pale sunset. 

He looked out into the lemon-colored light and smiled wanly at thenext house, as Edith's grandiose phrase came to mind, "the old Vertreescountry mansion. " It stood in a broad lawn which was separated from theSheridans' by a young hedge; and it was a big, square, plain old boxof a house with a giant salt-cellar atop for a cupola. Paint had beenspared for a long time, and no one could have put a name to the color ofit, but in spite of that the place had no look of being out at heel, andthe sward was as neatly trimmed as the Sheridans' own. 

The separating hedge ran almost beneath Bibbs's window--for this wing ofthe New House extended here almost to the edge of the lot--and, directlyopposite the window, the Vertreeses' lawn had been graded so as to makea little knoll upon which stood a small rustic "summer-house. " It wasalmost on a level with Bibbs's window and not thirty feet away; andit was easy for him to imagine the present dynasty of Vertreesesin grievous outcry when they had found this retreat ruined by thejuxtaposition of the parvenu intruder. Probably the "summer-house" waspleasant and pretty in summer. It had the look of a place wherein littlegirls had played for a generation or so with dolls and "housekeeping, "or where a lovely old lady might come to read something dull on warmafternoons; but now in the thin light it was desolate, the color ofdust, and hung with haggard vines which had lost their leaves. 

Bibbs looked at it with grave sympathy, probably feeling some kinshipwith anything so dismantled; then he turned to a cheval-glass beside thewindow and paid himself the dubious tribute of a thorough inspection. Helooked the mirror up and down, slowly, repeatedly, but came in the endto a long and earnest scrutiny of the face. Throughout this crypticseance his manner was profoundly impersonal; he had the air of anentomologist intent upon classifying a specimen, but finally he appearedto become pessimistic. He shook his head solemnly; then gazed againand shook his head again, and continued to shake it slowly, in completedisapproval. 

"You certainly are one horrible sight!" he said, aloud. 

And at that he was instantly aware of an observer. Turning quickly, he was vouchsafed the picture of a charming lady, framed in arustic aperture of the "summer-house" and staring full into hiswindow--straight into his eyes, too, for the infinitesimal fraction ofa second before the flashingly censorious withdrawal of her own. Composedly, she pulled several dead twigs from a vine, the manner of heraction conveying a message or proclamation to the effect that she was inthe summer-house for the sole purpose of such-like pruning and tending, and that no gentleman could suppose her presence there to be due to anyother purpose whatsoever, or that, being there on that account, shehad allowed her attention to wander for one instant in the direction ofthings of which she was in reality unconscious. 

Having pulled enough twigs to emphasize her unconsciousness--and at thesame time her disapproval--of everything in the nature of a Sheridanor belonging to a Sheridan, she descended the knoll with maintainedcomposure, and sauntered toward a side-door of the country mansion ofthe Vertreeses. An elderly lady, bonneted and cloaked, opened the doorand came to meet her. 

"Are you ready, Mary? I've been looking for you. What were you doing?"

"Nothing. Just looking into one of Sheridans' windows, " said MaryVertrees. "I got caught at it. "

"Mary!" cried her mother. "Just as we were going to call! Good heavens!"

"We'll go, just the same, " the daughter returned. "I suppose those womenwould be glad to have us if we'd burned their house to the ground. "

"But WHO saw you?" insisted Mrs. Vertrees. 

"One of the sons, I suppose he was. I believe he's insane, or something. At least I hear they keep him in a sanitarium somewhere, and never talkabout him. He was staring at himself in a mirror and talking to himself. Then he looked out and caught me. "

"What did he--"

"Nothing, of course. "

"How did he look?"

"Like a ghost in a blue suit, " said Miss Vertrees, moving toward thestreet and waving a white-gloved hand in farewell to her father, whowas observing them from the window of his library. "Rather tragic andaltogether impossible. Do come on, mother, and let's get it over!"

And Mrs. Vertrees, with many misgivings, set forth with her daughter fortheir gracious assault upon the New House next door. 

CHAPTER V

Mr. Vertrees, having watched their departure with the air of a man whohad something at hazard upon the expedition, turned from the window andbegan to pace the library thoughtfully, pending their return. He wasabout sixty; a small man, withered and dry and fine, a trim littlesketch of an elderly dandy. His lambrequin mustache--relic of aforgotten Anglomania--had been profoundly black, but now, like hissmooth hair, it was approaching an equally sheer whiteness; and thoughhis clothes were old, they had shapeliness and a flavor of mode. And forgreater spruceness there were some jaunty touches; gray spats, a narrowblack ribbon across the gray waistcoat to the eye-glasses in a pocket, a fleck of color from a button in the lapel of the black coat, labelinghim the descendant of patriot warriors. 

The room was not like him, being cheerful and hideous, whereas Mr. Vertrees was anxious and decorative. Under a mantel of imitation blackmarble a merry little coal-fire beamed forth upon high and narrow"Eastlake" bookcases with long glass doors, and upon comfortable, incongruous furniture, and upon meaningless "woodwork" everywhere, and upon half a dozen Landseer engravings which Mr. And Mrs. Vertreessometimes mentioned to each other, after thirty years of possession, as"very fine things. " They had been the first people in town to possessLandseer engravings, and there, in art, they had rested, but they stillhad a feeling that in all such matters they were in the van; and whenMr. Vertrees discovered Landseers upon the walls of other people'shouses he thawed, as a chieftain to a trusted follower; and if hefound an edition of Bulwer Lytton accompanying the Landseers as a finalcorroboration of culture, he would say, inevitably, "Those people knowgood pictures and they know good books. "

The growth of the city, which might easily have made him a millionaire, had ruined him because he had failed to understand it. When towns beginto grow they have whims, and the whims of a town always ruin somebody. Mr. Vertrees had been most strikingly the somebody in this case. Atabout the time he bought the Landseers, he owned, through inheritance, an office-building and a large house not far from it, where he spent thewinter; and he had a country place--a farm of four hundred acres--wherehe went for the summers to the comfortable, ugly old house that was hishome now, perforce, all the year round. If he had known how to sitstill and let things happen he would have prospered miraculously; but, strangely enough, the dainty little man was one of the first to falldown and worship Bigness, the which proceeded straightway to enact therole of Juggernaut for his better education. He was a true prophet ofthe prodigious growth, but he had a fatal gift for selling good andbuying bad. He should have stayed at home and looked at his Landseersand read his Bulwer, but he took his cow to market, and the trainedmilkers milked her dry and then ate her. He sold the office-building andthe house in town to buy a great tract of lots in a new suburb; thenhe sold the farm, except the house and the ground about it, to pay thetaxes on the suburban lots and to "keep them up. " The lots refused tostay up; but he had to do something to keep himself and his family up, so in despair he sold the lots (which went up beautifully the next year)for "traction stock" that was paying dividends; and thereafter he ceasedto buy and sell. Thus he disappeared altogether from the commercialsurface at about the time James Sheridan came out securely on top; andSheridan, until Mrs. Vertrees called upon him with her "anti-smoke"committee, had never heard the name. 

Mr. Vertrees, pinched, retired to his Landseers, and Mrs. Vertrees"managed somehow" on the dividends, though "managing" became more andmore difficult as the years went by and money bought less and less. Butthere came a day when three servitors of Bigness in Philadelphia tookgreedy counsel with four fellow-worshipers from New York, and not longafter that there were no more dividends for Mr. Vertrees. In fact, therewas nothing for Mr. Vertrees, because the "traction stock" henceforthwas no stock at all, and he had mortgaged his house long ago to help"manage somehow" according to his conception of his "position inlife"--one of his own old-fashioned phrases. Six months before thecompletion of the New House next door, Mr. Vertrees had sold his horsesand the worn Victoria and "station-wagon, " to pay the arrears of his twoservants and re-establish credit at the grocer's and butcher's--and apair of elderly carriage-horses with such accoutrements are not veryample barter, in these days, for six months' food and fuel and service. Mr. Vertrees had discovered, too, that there was no salary for him inall the buzzing city--he could do nothing. 

It may be said that he was at the end of his string. Such times do comein all their bitterness, finally, to the man with no trade or craft, ifhis feeble clutch on that slippery ghost, Property, shall fail. 

The windows grew black while he paced the room, and smoky twilightclosed round about the house, yet not more darkly than what closed roundabout the heart of the anxious little man patrolling the fan-shaped zoneof firelight. But as the mantel clock struck wheezily six there was therattle of an outer door, and a rich and beautiful peal of laughter wentringing through the house. Thus cheerfully did Mary Vertrees herald herreturn with her mother from their expedition among the barbarians. 

She came rushing into the library and threw herself into a deep chair bythe hearth, laughing so uncontrollably that tears were in her eyes. Mrs. Vertrees followed decorously, no mirth about her; on the contrary, she looked vaguely disturbed, as if she had eaten something not quitecertain to agree with her, and regretted it. 

"Papa! Oh, oh!" And Miss Vertrees was fain to apply a handkerchief uponher eyes. "I'm SO glad you made us go! I wouldn't have missed it--"

Mrs. Vertrees shook her head. "I suppose I'm very dull, " she said, gently. "I didn't see anything amusing. They're most ordinary, and thehouse is altogether in bad taste, but we anticipated that, and--"

"Papa!" Mary cried, breaking in. "They asked us to DINNER!"

"What!"

"And I'm GOING!" she shouted, and was seized with fresh paroxysms. "Think of it! Never in their house before; never met any of them but thedaughter--and just BARELY met her--"

"What about you?" interrupted Mr. Vertrees, turning sharply upon hiswife. 

She made a little face as if positive now that what she had eaten wouldnot agree with her. "I couldn't!" she said. "I--"

"Yes, that's just--just the way she--she looked when they asked her!"cried Mary, choking. "And then she--she realized it, and tried to turnit into a cough, and she didn't know how, and it sounded like--like asqueal!"

"I suppose, " said Mrs. Vertrees, much injured, "that Mary will have anuproarious time at my funeral. She makes fun of--"

Mary jumped up instantly and kissed her; then she went to the manteland, leaning an elbow upon it, gazed thoughtfully at the buckle of hershoe, twinkling in the firelight. 

"THEY didn't notice anything, " she said. "So far as they were concerned, mamma, it was one of the finest coughs you ever coughed. "

"Who were 'they'?" asked her father. "Whom did you see?"

"Only the mother and daughter, " Mary answered. "Mrs. Sheridan is dumpyand rustly; and Miss Sheridan is pretty and pushing--dresses by thefashion magazines and talks about New York people that havetheir pictures in 'em. She tutors the mother, but not verysuccessfully--partly because her own foundation is too flimsy and partlybecause she began too late. They've got an enormous Moor of paintedplaster or something in the hall, and the girl evidently thought it wasto her credit that she selected it!"

"They have oil-paintings, too, " added Mrs. Vertrees, with a glance ofgentle price at the Landseers. "I've always thought oil-paintings in aprivate house the worst of taste. "

"Oh, if one owned a Raphael or a Titian!" said Mr. Vertrees, finishingthe implication, not in words, but with a wave of his hand. "Go on, Mary. None of the rest of them came in? You didn't meet Mr. Sheridanor--" He paused and adjusted a lump of coal in the fire delicately withthe poker. "Or one of the sons?"

Mary's glance crossed his, at that, with a flash of utter comprehension. He turned instantly away, but she had begun to laugh again. 

"No, " she said, "no one except the women, but mamma inquired about thesons thoroughly!"

"Mary!" Mrs. Vertrees protested. 

"Oh, most adroitly, too!" laughed the girl. "Only she couldn't helpunconsciously turning to look at me--when she did it!"

"Mary Vertrees!"

"Never mind, mamma! Mrs. Sheridan and Miss Sheridan neither of THEMcould help unconsciously turning to look at me--speculatively--at thesame time! They all three kept looking at me and talking about theoldest son, Mr. James Sheridan, Junior. Mrs. Sheridan said his father isvery anxious 'to get Jim to marry and settle down, ' and she assured methat 'Jim is right cultivated. ' Another of the sons, the youngest one, caught me looking in the window this afternoon; but they didn't seemto consider him quite one of themselves, somehow, though Mrs. Sheridanmentioned that a couple of years or so ago he had been 'right sick, 'and had been to some cure or other. They seemed relieved to bring thesubject back to 'Jim' and his virtues--and to look at me! The otherbrother is the middle one, Roscoe; he's the one that owns the new houseacross the street, where that young black-sheep of the Lamhorns, Robert, goes so often. I saw a short, dark young man standing on the porch withRobert Lamhorn there the other day, so I suppose that was Roscoe. 'Jim'still lurks in the mists, but I shall meet him to-night. Papa--" Shestepped nearer to him so that he had to face her, and his eyes weretroubled as he did. There may have been a trouble deep within her own, but she kept their surface merry with laughter. "Papa, Bibbs is theyoungest one's name, and Bibbs--to the best of our information--is alunatic. Roscoe is married. Papa, does it have to be Jim?"

"Mary!" Mrs. Vertrees cried, sharply. "You're outrageous! That's aperfectly horrible way of talking!"

"Well, I'm close to twenty-four, " said Mary, turning to her. "I haven'tbeen able to like anybody yet that's asked me to marry him, and maybe Inever shall. Until a year or so ago I've had everything I ever wanted inmy life--you and papa gave it all to me--and it's about time I beganto pay back. Unfortunately, I don't know how to do anything--butsomething's got to be done. "

"But you needn't talk of it like THAT!" insisted the mother, plaintively. "It's not--it's not--"

"No, it's not, " said Mary. "I know that!"

"How did they happen to ask you to dinner?" Mr. Vertrees inquired, uneasily. "'Stextrawdn'ry thing!"

"Climbers' hospitality, " Mary defined it. "We were so very cordial andeasy! I think Mrs. Sheridan herself might have done it just as any kindold woman on a farm might ask a neighbor, but it was Miss Sheridan whodid it. She played around it awhile; you could see she wanted to--she'sin a dreadful hurry to get into things--and I fancied she had an idea itmight impress that Lamhorn boy to find us there to-night. It's a sort ofhouse-warming dinner, and they talked about it and talked about it--andthen the girl got her courage up and blurted out the invitation. Andmamma--" Here Mary was once more a victim to incorrigible merriment. "Mamma tried to say yes, and COULDN'T! She swallowed and squealed--Imean you coughed, dear! And then, papa, she said that you and she hadpromised to go to a lecture at the Emerson Club to-night, but that herdaughter would be delighted to come to the Big Show! So there I am, and there's Mr. Jim Sheridan--and there's the clock. Dinner's atseven-thirty!"

And she ran out of the room, scooping up her fallen furs with a gestureof flying grace as she sped. 

When she came down, at twenty minutes after seven, her father stood inthe hall, at the foot of the stairs, waiting to be her escort throughthe dark. He looked up and watched her as she descended, and his gazewas fond and proud--and profoundly disturbed. But she smiled and noddedgaily, and, when she reached the floor, put a hand on his shoulder. 

"At least no one could suspect me to-night, " she said. "I LOOK rich, don't I, papa?"

She did. She had a look that worshipful girl friends bravely called"regal. " A head taller than her father, she was as straight and jauntilypoised as a boy athlete; and her brown hair and her brown eyes werelike her mother's, but for the rest she went back to some stronger andlivelier ancestor than either of her parents. 

"Don't I look too rich to be suspected?" she insisted. 

"You look everything beautiful, Mary, " he said, huskily. 

"And my dress?" She threw open her dark velvet cloak, showing a splendorof white and silver. "Anything better at Nice next winter, do youthink?" She laughed, shrouding her glittering figure in the cloak again. "Two years old, and no one would dream it! I did it over. "

"You can do anything, Mary. "

There was a curious humility in his tone, and something more--asignificance not veiled and yet abysmally apologetic. It was as ifhe suggested something to her and begged her forgiveness in the samebreath. 

And upon that, for the moment, she became as serious as he. She liftedher hand from his shoulder and then set it back more firmly, so that heshould feel the reassurance of its pressure. 

"Don't worry, " she said, in a low voice and gravely. "I know exactlywhat you want me to do. "

CHAPTER VI

It was a brave and lustrous banquet; and a noisy one, too, because therewas an orchestra among some plants at one end of the long dining-room, and after a preliminary stiffness the guests were impelled toconverse--necessarily at the tops of their voices. The whole companyof fifty sat at a great oblong table, improvised for the occasion bycarpenters; but, not betraying itself as an improvisation, it seemeda permanent continent of damask and lace, with shores of crystal andsilver running up to spreading groves of orchids and lilies andwhite roses--an inhabited continent, evidently, for there were threemarvelous, gleaming buildings: one in the center and one at each end, white miracles wrought by some inspired craftsman in sculptural icing. They were models in miniature, and they represented the SheridanBuilding, the Sheridan Apartments, and the Pump Works. Nearly all theguests recognized them without having to be told what they were, andpronounced the likenesses superb. 

The arrangement of the table was visibly baronial. At the head sat thegreat Thane, with the flower of his family and of the guests about him;then on each side came the neighbors of the "old" house, grading down tovassals and retainers--superintendents, cashiers, heads of departments, and the like--at the foot, where the Thane's lady took her place as aconsolation for the less important. Here, too, among the thralls andbondmen, sat Bibbs Sheridan, a meek Banquo, wondering how anybody couldlook at him and eat. 

Nevertheless, there was a vast, continuous eating, for these werewholesome folk who understood that dinner meant something intendedfor introduction into the system by means of an aperture in the face, devised by nature for that express purpose. And besides, nobody lookedat Bibbs. 

He was better content to be left to himself; his voice was not strongenough to make itself heard over the hubbub without an exhaustingeffort, and the talk that went on about him was too fast and toofragmentary for his drawl to keep pace with it. So he felt relieved wheneach of his neighbors in turn, after a polite inquiry about his health, turned to seek livelier responses in other directions. For the talkwent on with the eating, incessantly. It rose over the throbbing of theorchestra and the clatter and clinking of silver and china and glass, and there was a mighty babble. 

"Yes, sir! Started without a dollar. ". .. "Yellow flounces on theoverskirt--". .. "I says, 'Wilkie, your department's got to go biggerthis year, ' I says. ". .. "Fifteen per cent. Turnover in thirty-oneweeks. ". .. "One of the biggest men in the biggest--". .. "The wife saysshe'll have to let out my pants if my appetite--". .. "Say, did you seethat statue of a Turk in the hall? One of the finest things I ever--". .. "Not a dollar, not a nickel, not one red cent do you get out o' me, ' Isays, and so he ups and--". .. "Yes, the baby makes four, they've lostnow. ". .. "Well, they got their raise, and they went in big. ". .. "Yes, sir! Not a dollar to his name, and look at what--". .. "You wait! Thepopulation of this town's goin' to hit the million mark before shestops. ". .. "Well, if you can show me a bigger deal than--"

And through the interstices of this clamoring Bibbs could hear thecontinual booming of his father's heavy voice, and once he caught thesentence, "Yes, young lady, that's just what did it for me, and that'sjust what'll do it for my boys--they got to make two blades o' grassgrow where one grew before!" It was his familiar flourish, an oldstory to Bibbs, and now jovially declaimed for the edification of MaryVertrees. 

It was a great night for Sheridan--the very crest of his wave. He satthere knowing himself Thane and master by his own endeavor; and his big, smooth, red face grew more and more radiant with good will and with thesimplest, happiest, most boy-like vanity. He was the picture of health, of good cheer, and of power on a holiday. He had thirty teeth, nonebought, and showed most of them when he laughed; his grizzled hair wasthick, and as unruly as a farm laborer's; his chest was deep and bigbeneath its vast facade of starched white linen, where little diamondstwinkled, circling three large pearls; his hands were stubby and strong, and he used them freely in gestures of marked picturesqueness; and, though he had grown fat at chin and waist and wrist, he had not lost thelook of readiness and activity. 

He dominated the table, shouting jocular questions and railleries atevery one. His idea was that when people were having a good time theywere noisy; and his own additions to the hubbub increased his pleasure, and, of course, met the warmest encouragement from his guests. Edith haddiscovered that he had very foggy notions of the difference between aband and an orchestra, and when it was made clear to him he had held outfor a band until Edith threatened tears; but the size of the orchestrathey hired consoled him, and he had now no regrets in the matter. 

He kept time to the music continually--with his feet, or pounding on thetable with his fist, and sometimes with spoon or knife upon his plateor a glass, without permitting these side-products to interfere with thereal business of eating and shouting. 

"Tell 'em to play 'Nancy Lee'!" he would bellow down the length ofthe table to his wife, while the musicians were in the midst of the"Toreador" song, perhaps. "Ask that fellow if they don't know 'NancyLee'!" And when the leader would shake his head apologetically in answerto an obedient shriek from Mrs. Sheridan, the "Toreador" continuingvehemently, Sheridan would roar half-remembered fragments of "NancyLee, " naturally mingling some Bizet with the air of that uxorioustribute. 

"Oh, there she stands and waves her hands while I'm away! A sail-er'swife a sail-er's star should be! Yo ho, oh, oh! Oh, Nancy, Nancy, NancyLee! Oh, Na-hancy Lee!"

"HAY, there, old lady!" he would bellow. "Tell 'em to play 'In theGloaming. ' In the gloaming, oh, my darling, la-la-lum-tee--Well, if theydon't know that, what's the matter with 'Larboard Watch, Ahoy'? THAT'Sgood music! That's the kind o' music I like! Come on, now! Mrs. Callin, get 'em singin' down in your part o' the table. What's the matter youfolks down there, anyway? Larboard watch, ahoy!"

"What joy he feels, as--ta-tum-dum-tee-dee-dum steals. La-a-r-boardwatch, ahoy!"

No external bubbling contributed to this effervescence; the Sheridans'table had never borne wine, and, more because of timidity about it thanconviction, it bore none now; though "mineral waters" were copiouslypoured from bottles wrapped, for some reason, in napkins, and provedwholly satisfactory to almost all of the guests. And certainly no winecould have inspired more turbulent good spirits in the host. Not evenBibbs was an alloy in this night's happiness, for, as Mrs. Sheridan hadsaid, he had "plans for Bibbs"--plans which were going to straighten outsome things that had gone wrong. 

So he pounded the table and boomed his echoes of old songs, and then, forgetting these, would renew his friendly railleries, or perhaps, turning to Mary Vertrees, who sat near him, round the corner of thetable at his right, he would become autobiographical. Gentlemen lessnaive than he had paid her that tribute, for she was a girl who inspiredthe autobiographical impulse in every man who met her--it needed but thesight of her. 

The dinner seemed, somehow, to center about Mary Vertrees and thejocund host as a play centers about its hero and heroine; they were therubicund king and the starry princess of this spectacle--they paid courtto each other, and everybody paid court to them. Down near thesugar Pump Works, where Bibbs sat, there was audible speculation andadmiration. "Wonder who that lady is--makin' such a hit with the oldman. " "Must be some heiress. " "Heiress? Golly, I guess I could stand itto marry rich, then!"

Edith and Sibyl were radiant: at first they had watched Miss Vertreeswith an almost haggard anxiety, wondering what disasterous effectSheridan's pastoral gaieties--and other things--would have upon her, but she seemed delighted with everything, and with him most of all. She treated him as if he were some delicious, foolish old joke thatshe understood perfectly, laughing at him almost violently when hebragged--probably his first experience of that kind in his life. Itenchanted him. 

As he proclaimed to the table, she had "a way with her. " She had, indeed, as Roscoe Sheridan, upon her right, discovered just after thefeast began. Since his marriage three years before, no lady had bestowedupon him so protracted a full view of brilliant eyes; and, with thelook, his lovely neighbor said--and it was her first speech to him--

"I hope you're very susceptible, Mr. Sheridan!"

Honest Roscoe was taken aback, and "Why?" was all he managed to say. 

She repeated the look deliberately, which was noted, with amystification equal to his own, by his sister across the table. No one, reflected Edith, could image Mary Vertrees the sort of girl who would"really flirt" with married men--she was obviously the "opposite of allthat. " Edith defined her as a "thoroughbred, " a "nice girl"; and thelook given to Roscoe was astounding. Roscoe's wife saw it, too, andshe was another whom it puzzled--though not because its recipient wasmarried. 

"Because!" said Mary Vertrees, replying to Roscoe's monosyllable. "Andalso because we're next-door neighbors at table, and it's dull timesahead for both of us if we don't get along. "

Roscoe was a literal young man, all stocks and bonds, and he had beenbrought up to believe that when a man married he "married and settleddown. " It was "all right, " he felt, for a man as old as his father topay florid compliments to as pretty a girl as this Miss Vertrees, butfor himself--"a young married man"--it wouldn't do; and it wouldn'teven be quite moral. He knew that young married people might havefriendships, like his wife's for Lamhorn; but Sibyl and Lamhorn never"flirted"--they were always very matter-of-fact with each other. Roscoewould have been troubled if Sibyl had ever told Lamhorn she hoped he wassusceptible. 

"Yes--we're neighbors, " he said, awkwardly. 

"Next-door neighbors in houses, too, " she added. 

"No, not exactly. I live across the street. "

"Why, no!" she exclaimed, and seemed startled. "Your mother told me thisafternoon that you lived at home. "

"Yes, of course I live at home. I built that new house across thestreet. "

"But you--" she paused, confused, and then slowly a deep color came intoher cheek. "But I understood--"

"No, " he said; "my wife and I lived with the old folks the first year, but that's all. Edith and Jim live with them, of course. "

"I--I see, " she said, the deep color still deepening as she turned fromhim and saw, written upon a card before the gentleman at her left thename, "Mr. James Sheridan, Jr. " And from that moment Roscoe had littleenough cause for wondering what he ought to reply to her disturbingcoquetries. 

Mr. James Sheridan had been anxiously waiting for the dazzling visitorto "get through with old Roscoe, " as he thought of it, and give abachelor a chance. "Old Roscoe" was the younger, but he had always beenthe steady wheel-horse of the family. Jim was "steady" enough, but wasconsidered livelier than Roscoe, which in truth is not saying much forJim's liveliness. As their father habitually boasted, both brothers were"capable, hard-working young business men, " and the principal differencebetween them was merely that which resulted from Jim's being still abachelor. Physically they were of the same type: dark of eyes and ofhair, fresh-colored and thick-set, and though Roscoe was several inchestaller than Jim, neither was of the height, breadth, or depth of thefather. Both wore young business men's mustaches, and either could havesat for the tailor-shop lithographs of young business men wearing "richsuitings in dark mixtures. "

Jim, approving warmly of his neighbor's profile, perceived her access ofcolor, which increased his approbation. "What's that old Roscoe sayingto you, Miss Vertrees?" he asked. "These young married men are mightyforward nowadays, but you mustn't let 'em make you blush. "

"Am I blushing?" she said. "Are you sure?" And with that she gave himample opportunity to make sure, repeating with interest the look wastedupon Roscoe. "I think you must be mistaken, " she continued. "I thinkit's your brother who is blushing. I've thrown him into confusion. "

"How?"

She laughed, and then, leaning to him a little, said in a tone asconfidential as she could make it, under cover of the uproar. "By tryingto begin with him a courtship I meant for YOU!"

This might well be a style new to Jim; and it was. He supposed it anonsensical form of badinage, and yet it took his breath. He realizedthat he wished what she said to be the literal truth, and he wasinstantly snared by that realization. 

"By George!" he said. "I guess you're the kind of girl that can sayanything--yes, and get away with it, too!"

She laughed again--in her way, so that he could not tell whether she waslaughing at him or at herself or at the nonsense she was talking; andshe said: "But you see I don't care whether I get away with it or not. I wish you'd tell me frankly if you think I've got a change to get awaywith YOU?"

"More like if you've got a chance to get away FROM me!" Jim was inspiredto reply. "Not one in the world, especially after beginning by makingfun of me like that. "

"I mightn't be so much in fun as you think, " she said, regarding himwith sudden gravity. 

"Well, " said Jim, in simple honesty, "you're a funny girl!"

Her gravity continued an instant longer. "I may not turn out to be funnyfor YOU. "

"So long as you turn out to be anything at all for me, I expect I canmanage to be satisfied. " And with that, to his own surprise, it was histurn to blush, whereupon she laughed again. 

"Yes, " he said, plaintively, not wholly lacking intuition, "I can seeyou're the sort of girl that would laugh the minute you see a man reallymeans anything!"

"'Laugh'!" she cried, gaily. "Why, it might be a matter of life anddeath! But if you want tragedy, I'd better put the question at once, considering the mistake I made with your brother. "

Jim was dazed. She seemed to be playing a little game of mockery andnonsense with him, but he had glimpses of a flashing danger in it;he was but too sensible of being outclassed, and had somewhere aconsciousness that he could never quite know this giddy and alluringlady, no matter how long it pleased her to play with him. But hemightily wanted her to keep on playing with him. 

"Put what question?" he said, breathlessly. 

"As you are a new neighbor of mine and of my family, " she returned, speaking slowly and with a cross-examiner's severity, "I think it wouldbe well for me to know at once whether you are already walking out withany young lady or not. Mr. Sheridan, think well! Are you spoken for?"

"Not yet, " he gasped. "Are you?"

"NO!" she cried, and with that they both laughed again; and the pastimeproceeded, increasing both in its gaiety and in its gravity. 

Observing its continuance, Mr. Robert Lamhorn, opposite, turned from alively conversation with Edith and remarked covertly to Sibyl that MissVertrees was "starting rather picturesquely with Jim. " And he added, languidly, "Do you suppose she WOULD?"

For the moment Sibyl gave no sign of having heard him, but seemedinterested in the clasp of a long "rope" of pearls, a loop of which shewas allowing to swing from her fingers, resting her elbow upon the tableand following with her eyes the twinkle of diamonds and platinum in theclasp at the end of the loop. She wore many jewels. She was pretty, but hers was not the kind of prettiness to be loaded with too sumptuousaccessories, and jeweled head-dresses are dangerous--they may emphasizethe wrongness of the wearer. 

"I said Miss Vertrees seems to be starting pretty strong with Jim, "repeated Mr. Lamhorn. 

"I heard you. " There was a latent discontent always somewhere in hereyes, no matter what she threw upon the surface of cover it, and justnow she did not care to cover it; she looked sullen. "Starting anystronger than you did with Edith?" she inquired. 

"Oh, keep the peace!" he said, crossly. "That's off, of course. "

"You haven't been making her see it this evening--precisely, " saidSibyl, looking at him steadily. "You've talked to her for--"

"For Heaven's sake, " he begged, "keep the peace!"

"Well, what have you just been doing?"

"SH!" he said. "Listen to your father-in-law. "

Sheridan was booming and braying louder than ever, the orchestra havingbegun to play "The Rosary, " to his vast content. 

"I COUNT THEM OVER, LA-LA-TUM-TEE-DUM, " he roared, beating the measureswith his fork. "EACH HOUR A PEARL, EACH PEARL TEE-DUM-TUM-DUM--What'sthe matter with all you folks? Why'n't you SING? Miss Vertrees, I bet athousand dollars YOU sing! Why'n't--"

"Mr. Sheridan, " she said, turning cheerfully from the ardent Jim, "youdon't know what you interrupted! Your son isn't used to my rough ways, and my soldier's wooing frightens him, but I think he was about to saysomething important. "

"I'll say something important to him if he doesn't!" the fatherthreatened, more delighted with her than ever. "By gosh! if I was hisage--or a widower right NOW--"

"Oh, wait!" cried Mary. "If they'd only make less noise! I want Mrs. Sheridan to hear. "

"She'd say the same, " he shouted. "She'd tell me I was mighty slow if Icouldn't get ahead o' Jim. Why, when I was his age--"

"You must listen to your father, " Mary interrupted, turning to Jim, whohad grown red again. "He's going to tell us how, when he was your age, he made those two blades of grass grow out of a teacup--and you couldsee for yourself he didn't get them out of his sleeve!"

At that Sheridan pounded the table till it jumped. "Look here, younglady!" he roared. "Some o' these days I'm either goin' to slap you--orI'm goin' to kiss you!"

Edith looked aghast; she was afraid this was indeed "too awful, " butMary Vertrees burst into ringing laughter. 

"Both!" she cried. "Both! The one to make me forget the other!"

"But which--" he began, and then suddenly gave forth such stentoriantrumpetings of mirth that for once the whole table stopped to listen. "Jim, " he roared, "if you don't propose to that girl to-night I'll sendyou back to the machine-shop with Bibbs!"

And Bibbs--down among the retainers by the sugar Pump Works, andwatching Mary Vertrees as a ragged boy in the street might watch a richlittle girl in a garden--Bibbs heard. He heard--and he knew what hisfather's plans were now. 

CHAPTER VII

Mrs. Vertrees "sat up" for her daughter, Mr. Vertrees having retiredafter a restless evening, not much soothed by the society of hisLandseers. Mary had taken a key, insisting that he should not come forher and seeming confident that she would not lack for escort; nor didthe sequel prove her confidence unwarranted. But Mrs. Vertrees had along vigil of it. 

She was not the woman to make herself easy--no servant had ever seen herin a wrapper--and with her hair and dress and her shoes just what theyhad been when she returned from the afternoon's call, she sat throughthe slow night hours in a stiff little chair under the gaslight in herown room, which was directly over the "front hall. " There, book in hand, she employed the time in her own reminiscences, though it was her beliefthat she was reading Madame de Remusat's. 

Her thoughts went backward into her life and into her husband's; and thedeeper into the past they went, the brighter the pictures they broughther--and there is tragedy. Like her husband, she thought backwardbecause she did not dare think forward definitely. What thinking forwardthis troubled couple ventured took the form of a slender hope whichneither of them could have borne to hear put in words, and yet theyhad talked it over, day after day, from the very hour when they heardSheridan was to build his New House next door. For--so quickly doesany ideal of human behavior become an antique--their youth was of theinnocent old days, so dead! of "breeding" and "gentility, " and no crafthad been more straitly trained upon them than that of talking aboutthings without mentioning them. Herein was marked the most vitaldifference between Mr. And Mrs. Vertrees and their big new neighbor. Sheridan, though his youth was of the same epoch, knew nothing of suchmatters. He had been chopping wood for the morning fire in the countrygrocery while they were still dancing. 

It was after one o'clock when Mrs. Vertrees heard steps and the delicateclinking of the key in the lock, and then, with the opening of the door, Mary's laugh, and "Yes--if you aren't afraid--to-morrow!"

The door closed, and she rushed up-stairs, bringing with her a breathof cold and bracing air into her mother's room. "Yes, " she said, beforeMrs. Vertrees could speak, "he brought me home!"

She let her cloak fall upon the bed, and, drawing an old red-velvetrocking-chair forward, sat beside her mother after giving her a lightpat upon the shoulder and a hearty kiss upon the cheek. 

"Mamma!" Mary exclaimed, when Mrs. Vertrees had expressed a hope thatshe had enjoyed the evening and had not caught cold. "Why don't you askme?"

This inquiry obviously made her mother uncomfortable. "I don't--" shefaltered. "Ask you what, Mary?"

"How I got along and what he's like. "

"Mary!"

"Oh, it isn't distressing!" said Mary. "And I got along so fast--" Shebroke off to laugh; continuing then, "But that's the way I went at it, of course. We ARE in a hurry, aren't we?"

"I don't know what you mean, " Mrs. Vertrees insisted, shaking her headplaintively. 

"Yes, " said Mary, "I'm going out in his car with him to-morrowafternoon, and to the theater the next night--but I stopped it there. You see, after you give the first push, you must leave it to them whileYOU pretend to run away!"

"My dear, I don't know what to--"

"What to make of anything!" Mary finished for her. "So that's allright! Now I'll tell you all about it. It was gorgeous and deafening andtee-total. We could have lived a year on it. I'm not good at figures, but I calculated that if we lived six months on poor old Charlie and Nedand the station-wagon and the Victoria, we could manage at least twiceas long on the cost of the 'house-warming. ' I think the orchids alonewould have lasted us a couple of months. There they were, before me, butI couldn't steal 'em and sell 'em, and so--well, so I did what I could!"

She leaned back and laughed reassuringly to her troubled mother. "Itseemed to be a success--what I could, " she said, clasping her handsbehind her neck and stirring the rocker to motion as a rhythmicaccompaniment to her narrative. "The girl Edith and her sister-in-law, Mrs. Roscoe Sheridan, were too anxious about the effect of things on me. The father's worth a bushel of both of them, if they knew it. He'swhat he is. I like him. " She paused reflectively, continuing, "Edith's'interested' in that Lamhorn boy; he's good-looking and not stupid, butI think he's--" She interrupted herself with a cheery outcry: "Oh! Imustn't be calling him names! If he's trying to make Edith like him, Iought to respect him as a colleague. "

"I don't understand a thing you're talking about, " Mrs. Vertreescomplained. 

"All the better! Well, he's a bad lot, that Lamhorn boy; everybody'salways known that, but the Sheridans don't know the everybodies thatknow. He sat between Edith and Mrs. Roscoe Sheridan. SHE'S like thosepeople you wondered about at the theater, the last time we went--dressedin ball-gowns; bound to show their clothes and jewels SOMEwhere! Sheflatters the father, and so did I, for that matter--but not that way. Itreated him outrageously!"

"Mary!"

"That's what flattered him. After dinner he made the whole regiment ofus follow him all over the house, while he lectured like a guide on thePalatine. He gave dimensions and costs, and the whole b'ilin' of 'emlistened as if they thought he intended to make them a present of thehouse. What he was proudest of was the plumbing and that Bay of Naplespanorama in the hall. He made us look at all the plumbing--bath-roomsand everywhere else--and then he made us look at the Bay of Naples. Hesaid it was a hundred and eleven feet long, but I think it's more. Andhe led us all into the ready-made library to see a poem Edith had takena prize with at school. They'd had it printed in gold letters and framedin mother-of-pearl. But the poem itself was rather simple and wistfuland nice--he read it to us, though Edith tried to stop him. She wasmodest about it, and said she'd never written anything else. And then, after a while, Mrs. Roscoe Sheridan asked me to come across the streetto her house with them--her husband and Edith and Mr. Lamhorn and JimSheridan--"

Mrs. Vertrees was shocked. "'Jim'!" she exclaimed. "Mary, PLEASE--"

"Of course, " said Mary. "I'll make it as easy for you as I can, mamma. Mr. James Sheridan, Junior. We went over there, and Mrs. Roscoeexplained that 'the men were all dying for a drink, ' though I noticedthat Mr. Lamhorn was the only one near death's door on that account. Edith and Mrs. Roscoe said they knew I'd been bored at the dinner. Theywere objectionably apologetic about it, and they seemed to think NOW wewere going to have a 'good time' to make up for it. But I hadn't beenbored at the dinner, I'd been amused; and the 'good time' at Mrs. Roscoe's was horribly, horribly stupid. "

"But, Mary, " her mother began, "is--is--" And she seemed unable tocomplete the question. 

"Never mind, mamma. I'll say it. Is Mr. James Sheridan, Junior, stupid?I'm sure he's not at all stupid about business. Otherwise--Oh, whatright have I to be calling people 'stupid' because they're not exactlymy kind? On the big dinner-table they had enormous icing models of theSheridan Building--"

"Oh, no!" Mrs. Vertrees cried. "Surely not!"

"Yes, and two other things of that kind--I don't know what. But, afterall, I wondered if they were so bad. If I'd been at a dinner at a palacein Italy, and a relief or inscription on one of the old silver pieceshad referred to some great deed or achievement of the family, Ishouldn't have felt superior; I'd have thought it picturesque andstately--I'd have been impressed. And what's the real difference? Theicing is temporary, and that's much more modest, isn't it? And why isit vulgar to feel important more on account of something you've doneyourself than because of something one of your ancestors did? Besides, if we go back a few generations, we've all got such hundreds ofancestors it seems idiotic to go picking out one or two to be proud ofourselves about. Well, then, mamma, I managed not to feel superior toMr. James Sheridan, Junior, because he didn't see anything out of placein the Sheridan Building in sugar. "

Mrs. Vertrees's expression had lost none of its anxiety pending theconclusion of this lively bit of analysis, and she shook her headgravely. "My dear, dear child, " she said, "it seems to me--It looks--I'mafraid--"

"Say as much of it as you can, mamma, " said Mary, encouragingly. "I canget it, if you'll just give me one key-word. "

"Everything you say, " Mrs. Vertrees began, timidly, "seems to have theair of--it is as if you were seeking to--to make yourself--"

"Oh, I see! You mean I sound as if I were trying to force myself to likehim. "

"Not exactly, Mary. That wasn't quite what I meant, " said Mrs. Vertrees, speaking direct untruth with perfect unconsciousness. "But you saidthat--that you found the latter part of the evening at young Mrs. Sheridan's unentertaining--"

"And as Mr. James Sheridan was there, and I saw more of him than atdinner, and had a horribly stupid time in spite of that, you think I--"And then it was Mary who left the deduction unfinished. 

Mrs. Vertrees nodded; and though both the mother and the daughterunderstood, Mary felt it better to make the understanding definite. 

"Well, " she asked, gravely, "is there anything else I can do? You andpapa don't want me to do anything that distresses me, and so, as this isthe only thing to be done, it seems it's up to me not to let it distressme. That's all there is about it, isn't it?"

"But nothing MUST distress you!" the mother cried. 

"That's what I say!" said Mary, cheerfully. "And so it doesn't. It's allright. " She rose and took her cloak over her arm, as if to go to her ownroom. But on the way to the door she stopped, and stood leaning againstthe foot of the bed, contemplating a threadbare rug at her feet. "Mother, you've told me a thousand times that it doesn't really matterwhom a girl marries. "

"No, no!" Mrs. Vertrees protested. "I never said such a--"

"No, not in words; I mean what you MEANT. It's true, isn't it, thatmarriage really is 'not a bed of roses, but a field of battle'? To getright down to it, a girl could fight it out with anybody, couldn't she?One man as well as another?"

"Oh, my dear! I'm sure your father and I--"

"Yes, yes, " said Mary, indulgently. "I don't mean you and papa. Butisn't it propinquity that makes marriages? So many people say so, theremust be something in it. "

"Mary, I can't bear for you to talk like that. " And Mrs. Vertreeslifted pleading eyes to her daughter--eyes that begged to be spared. "Itsounds--almost reckless!"

Mary caught the appeal, came to her, and kissed her gaily. "Never fret, dear! I'm not likely to do anything I don't want to do--I've always beentoo thorough-going a little pig! And if it IS propinquity that does ourchoosing for us, well, at least no girl in the world could ask for morethan THAT! How could there be any more propinquity than the very housenext door?"

She gave her mother a final kiss and went gaily all the way to the doorthis time, pausing for her postscript with her hand on the knob. "Oh, the one that caught me looking in the window, mamma, the youngest one--"

"Did he speak of it?" Mrs. Vertrees asked, apprehensively. 

"No. He didn't speak at all, that I saw, to any one. I didn't meet him. But he isn't insane, I'm sure; or if he is, he has long intervals whenhe's not. Mr. James Sheridan mentioned that he lived at home when he was'well enough'; and it may be he's only an invalid. He looks dreadfullyill, but he has pleasant eyes, and it struck me that if--if one werein the Sheridan family"--she laughed a little ruefully--"he might beinteresting to talk to sometimes, when there was too much stocks andbonds. I didn't see him after dinner. "

"There must be something wrong with him, " said Mrs. Vertrees. "They'dhave introduced him if there wasn't. "

"I don't know. He's been ill so much and away so much--sometimes peoplelike that just don't seem to 'count' in a family. His father spoke ofsending him back to a machine-shop or some sort; I suppose he meantwhen the poor thing gets better. I glanced at him just then, when Mr. Sheridan mentioned him, and he happened to be looking straight at me;and he was pathetic-looking enough before that, but the most tragicchange came over him. He seemed just to die, right there at the table!"

"You mean when his father spoke of sending him to the shop place?"

"Yes. "

"Mr. Sheridan must be very unfeeling. "

"No, " said Mary, thoughtfully, "I don't think he is; but he might beuncomprehending, and certainly he's the kind of man to do anything heonce sets out to do. But I wish I hadn't been looking at that poor boyjust then! I'm afraid I'll keep remembering--"

"I wouldn't. " Mrs. Vertrees smiled faintly, and in her smile therewas the remotest ghost of a genteel roguishness. "I'd keep my mind onpleasanter things, Mary. "

Mary laughed and nodded. "Yes, indeed! Plenty pleasant enough, andprobably, if all were known, too good--even for me!"

And when she had gone Mrs. Vertrees drew a long breath, as if a burdenwere off her mind, and, smiling, began to undress in a gentle reverie. 

CHAPTER VIII

Edith, glancing casually into the "ready-made" library, stoppedabruptly, seeing Bibbs there alone. He was standing before thepearl-framed and golden-lettered poem, musingly inspecting it. He readit:

 FUGITIVE

 I will forget the things that sting: The lashing look, the barbed word. I know the very hands that fling The stones at me had never stirred To anger but for their own scars. They've suffered so, that's why they strike. I'll keep my heart among the stars Where none shall hunt it out. Oh, like These wounded ones I must not be, For, wounded, I might strike in turn! So, none shall hurt me. Far and free Where my heart flies no one shall learn. 

"Bibbs!" Edith's voice was angry, and her color deepened suddenly as shecame into the room, preceded by a scent of violets much more powerfulthan that warranted by the actual bunch of them upon the lapel of hercoat. 

Bibbs did not turn his head, but wagged it solemnly, seeming depressedby the poem. "Pretty young, isn't it?" he said. "There must have beensomething about your looks that got the prize, Edith; I can't believethe poem did it. "

She glanced hurriedly over her shoulder and spoke sharply, but in alow voice: "I don't think it's very nice of you to bring it up at all, Bibbs. I'd like a chance to forget the whole silly business. I didn'twant them to frame it, and I wish to goodness papa'd quit talking aboutit; but here, that night, after the dinner, didn't he go and read italoud to the whole crowd of 'em! And then they all wanted to know whatother poems I'd written and why I didn't keep it up and write some more, and if I didn't, why didn't I, and why this and why that, till I thoughtI'd die of shame!"

"You could tell 'em you had writer's cramp, " Bibbs suggested. 

"I couldn't tell 'em anything! I just choke with mortification everytime anybody speaks of the thing. "

Bibbs looked grieved. "The poem isn't THAT bad, Edith. You see, you wereonly seventeen when you wrote it. "

"Oh, hush up!" she snapped. "I wish it had burnt my fingers the firsttime I touched it. Then I might have had sense enough to leave it whereit was. I had no business to take it, and I've been ashamed--"

"No, no, " he said, comfortingly. "It was the very most flattering thingever happen to me. It was almost my last flight before I went to themachine-shop, and it's pleasant to think somebody liked it enough to--"

"But I DON'T like it!" she exclaimed. "I don't even understand it--andpapa made so much fuss over its getting the prize, I just hate it! Thetruth is I never dreamed it'd get the prize. "

"Maybe they expected father to endow the school, " Bibbs murmured. 

"Well, I had to have something to turn in, and I couldn't write a LINE!I hate poetry, anyhow; and Bobby Lamhorn's always teasing me about howI 'keep my heart among the stars. ' He makes it seem such a mushy kind ofthing, the way he says it. I hate it!"

"You'll have to live it down, Edith. Perhaps abroad and under anothername you might find--"

"Oh, hush up! I'll hire some one to steal it and burn it the firstchance I get. " She turned away petulantly, moving to the door. "I'd liketo think I could hope to hear the last of it before I die!"

"Edith!" he called, as she went into the hall. 

"What's the matter?"

"I want to ask you: Do I really look better, or have you just got usedto me?"

"What on earth do you mean?" she said, coming back as far as thethreshold. 

"When I first came you couldn't look at me, " Bibbs explained, in hisimpersonal way. "But I've noticed you look at me lately. I wondered ifI'd--"

"It's because you look so much better, " she told him, cheerfully. "Thismonth you've been here's done you no end of good. It's the change. "

"Yes, that's what they said at the sanitarium--the change. "

"You look worse than 'most anybody I ever saw, " said Edith, with supremecandor. "But I don't know much about it. I've never seen a corpse in mylife, and I've never even seen anybody that was terribly sick, so youmustn't judge by me. I only know you do look better, I'm glad to say. But you're right about my not being able to look at you at first. Youhad a kind of whiteness that--Well, you're almost as thin, I suppose, but you've got more just ordinarily pale; not that ghastly look. Anybodycould look at you now, Bibbs, and no--not get--"

"Sick?"

"Well--almost that!" she laughed. "And you're getting a better colorevery day, Bibbs; you really are. You're getting along splendidly. "

"I--I'm afraid so, " he said, ruefully. 

"'Afraid so'! Well, if you aren't the queerest! I suppose you meanfather might send you back to the machine-shop if you get well enough. I heard him say something about it the night of the--" The jingle ofa distant bell interrupted her, and she glanced at her watch. "BobbyLamhorn! I'm going to motor him out to look at a place in the country. Afternoon, Bibbs!"

When she had gone, Bibbs mooned pessimistically from shelf to shelf, his eye wandering among the titles of the books. The library consistedalmost entirely of handsome "uniform editions": Irving, Poe, Cooper, Goldsmith, Scott, Byron, Burns, Longfellow, Tennyson, Hume, Gibbon, Prescott, Thackeray, Dickens, De Musset, Balzac, Gautier, Flaubert, Goethe, Schiller, Dante, and Tasso. There were shelves and shelvesof encyclopedias, of anthologies, of "famous classics, " of "Orientalmasterpieces, " of "masterpieces of oratory, " and more shelves of"selected libraries" of "literature, " of "the drama, " and of "modernscience. " They made an effective decoration for the room, all thesebig, expensive books, with a glossy binding here and there twinkling areflection of the flames that crackled in the splendid Gothic fireplace;but Bibbs had an impression that the bookseller who selected themconsidered them a relief, and that white-jacket considered them aburden of dust, and that nobody else considered them at all. Himself, hedisturbed not one. 

There came a chime of bells from a clock in another part of the house, and white-jacket appeared beamingly in the doorway, bearing furs. "Awready, Mist' Bibbs, " he announced. "You' ma say wrap up wawm f' you'ride, an' she cain' go with you to-day, an' not f'git go see you' pa atfo' 'clock. Aw ready, suh. "

He equipped Bibbs for the daily drive Dr. Gurney had commanded; and inthe manner of a master of ceremonies unctuously led the way. In thehall they passed the Moor, and Bibbs paused before it while white-jacketopened the door with a flourish and waved condescendingly to thechauffeur in the car which stood waiting in the driveway. 

"It seems to me I asked you what you thought about this 'statue' when Ifirst came home, George, " said Bibbs, thoughtfully. "What did you tellme?"

"Yessuh!" George chuckled, perfectly understanding that for some unknownreason Bibbs enjoyed hearing him repeat his opinion of the Moor. "Youast me when you firs' come home, an' you ast me nex' day, an' mightynear ev'y day all time you been here; an' las' Sunday you ast metwicet. " He shook his head solemnly. "Look to me mus' be somep'm mightlamiDAL 'bout 'at statue!"

"Mighty what?"

"Mighty lamiDAL!" George, burst out laughing. "What DO 'at word mean, Mist' Bibbs?"

"It's new to me, George. Where did you hear it?"

"I nev' DID hear it!" said George. "I uz dess sittin' thinkum to myse'fan' she pop in my head--'lamiDAL, ' dess like 'at! An' she soun' so good, seem like she GOTTA mean somep'm!"

"Come to think of it, I believe she does mean something. Why, yes--"

"Do she?" cried George. "WHAT she mean?"

"It's exactly the word for the statue, " said Bibbs, with conviction, ashe climbed into the car. "It's a lamiDAL statue. "

"Hiyi!" George exulted. "Man! Man! Listen! Well, suh, she mighty lamiDALstatue, but lamiDAL statue heap o' trouble to dus'!" "I expect she is!"said Bibbs, as the engine began to churn; and a moment later he wasswept from sight. 

George turned to Mist' Jackson, who had been listening benevolently inthe hallway. "Same he aw-ways say, Mist' Jackson--'I expec' she is!'Ev'y day he try t' git me talk 'bout 'at lamiDAL statue, an' aw-ways, las' thing HE say, 'I expec' she is!' You know, Mist' Jackson, if he gitwell, 'at young man go' be pride o' the family, Mist' Jackson. Yes-suh, right now I pick 'im fo' firs' money!"

"Look out with all 'at money, George!" Jackson warned the enthusiast. "White folks 'n 'is house know 'im heap longer'n you. You the on'y manbettin' on 'im!"

"I risk it!" cried George, merrily. "I put her all on now--ev'y cent!'At boy's go' be flower o' the flock!"

This singular prophecy, founded somewhat recklessly upon gratitude forthe meaning of "lamiDAL, " differed radically from another predictionconcerning Bibbs, set forth for the benefit of a fair auditor sometwenty minutes later. 

Jim Sheridan, skirting the edges of the town with Mary Vertreesbeside him, in his own swift machine, encountered the invalid uponthe highroad. The two cars were going in opposite directions, and theoccupants of Jim's had only a swaying glimpse of Bibbs sitting alone onthe back seat--his white face startlingly white against cap and collarof black fur--but he flashed into recognition as Mary bowed to him. 

Jim waved his left hand carelessly. "It's Bibbs, taking hisconstitutional, " he explained. 

"Yes, I know, " said Mary. "I bowed to him, too, though I've never methim. In fact, I've only seen him once--no, twice. I hope he won't thinkI'm very bold, bowing to him. "

"I doubt if he noticed it, " said honest Jim. 

"Oh, no!" she cried. 

"What's the trouble?"

"I'm almost sure people notice it when I bow to them. "

"Oh, I see!" said Jim. "Of course they would ordinarily, but Bibbs isfunny. "

"Is he? How?" she asked. "He strikes me as anything but funny. "

"Well, I'm his brother, " Jim said, deprecatingly, "but I don't know whathe's like, and, to tell the truth, I've never felt exactly like I WAShis brother, the way I do Roscoe. Bibbs never did seem more than halfalive to me. Of course Roscoe and I are older, and when we were boys wewere too big to play with him, but he never played anyway, with boys hisown age. He'd rather just sit in the house and mope around by himself. Nobody could ever get him to DO anything; you can't get him to doanything now. He never had any LIFE in him; and honestly, if he is mybrother, I must say I believe Bibbs Sheridan is the laziest man God evermade! Father put him in the machine-shop over at the Pump Works--bestthing in the world for him--and he was just plain no account. It madehim sick! If he'd had the right kind of energy--the kind father's got, for instance, or Roscoe, either--why, it wouldn't have made him sick. And suppose it was either of them--yes, or me, either--do you think anyof us would have stopped if we WERE sick? Not much! I hate to say it, but Bibbs Sheridan'll never amount to anything as long as he lives. "

Mary looked thoughtful. "Is there any particular reason why he should?"she asked. 

"Good gracious!" he exclaimed. "You don't mean that, do you? Don't youbelieve in a man's knowing how to earn his salt, no matter how muchmoney his father's got? Hasn't the business of this world got to becarried on by everybody in it? Are we going to lay back on what we'vegot and see other fellows get ahead of us? If we've got big thingsalready, isn't it every man's business to go ahead and make 'em bigger?Isn't it his duty? Don't we always want to get bigger and bigger?"

"Ye-es--I don't know. But I feel rather sorry for your brother. Helooked so lonely--and sick. "

"He's gettin' better every day, " Jim said. "Dr. Gurney says so. There'snothing much the matter with him, really--it's nine-tenths imaginary. 'Nerves'! People that are willing to be busy don't have nervousdiseases, because they don't have time to imagine 'em. "

"You mean his trouble is really mental?"

"Oh, he's not a lunatic, " said Jim. "He's just queer. Sometimes he'llsay something right bright, but half the time what he says is 'way offthe subject, or else there isn't any sense to it at all. For instance, the other day I heard him talkin' to one of the darkies in the hall. Thedarky asked him what time he wanted the car for his drive, and anybodyelse in the world would have just said what time they DID want it, andthat would have been all there was to it; but here's what Bibbs says, and I heard him with my own ears. 'What time do I want the car?' hesays. 'Well, now, that depends--that depends, ' he says. He talks slowlike that, you know. 'I'll tell you what time I want the car, George, 'he says, 'if you'll tell ME what you think of this statue!' That'sexactly his words! Asked the darky what he thought of that Arab Edithand mother bought for the hall!"

Mary pondered upon this. "He might have been in fun, perhaps, " shesuggested. 

"Askin' a darky what he thought of a piece of statuary--of a workof art! Where on earth would be the fun of that? No, you're justkind-hearted--and that's the way you OUGHT to be, of course--"

"Thank you, Mr. Sheridan!" she laughed. 

"See here!" he cried. "Isn't there any way for us to get over thisMister and Miss thing? A month's got thirty-one days in it; I've managedto be with you a part of pretty near all the thirty-one, and I think youknow how I feel by this time--"

She looked panic-stricken immediately. "Oh, no, " she protested, quickly. "No, I don't, and--"

"Yes, you do, " he said, and his voice shook a little. "You couldn't helpknowing. "

"But I do!" she denied, hurriedly. "I do help knowing. I mean--Oh, wait!"

"What for? You do know how I feel, and you--well, you've certainlyWANTED me to feel that way--or else pretended--"

"Now, now!" she lamented. "You're spoiling such a cheerful afternoon!"

"'Spoilin' it!'" He slowed down the car and turned his face to hersquarely. "See here, Miss Vertrees, haven't you--"

"Stop! Stop the car a minute. " And when he had complied she faced him assquarely as he evidently desired her to face him. "Listen. I don't wantyou to go on, to-day. "

"Why not?" he asked, sharply. 

"I don't know. "

"You mean it's just a whim?"

"I don't know, " she repeated. Her voice was low and troubled and honest, and she kept her clear eyes upon his. 

"Will you tell me something?"

"Almost anything. "

"Have you ever told any man you loved him?"

And at that, though she laughed, she looked a little contemptuous. "No, "she said. "And I don't think I ever shall tell any man that--or everknow what it means. I'm in earnest, Mr. Sheridan. "

"Then you--you've just been flirting with me!" Poor Jim looked bothfurious and crestfallen. 

"Not one bit!" she cried. "Not one word! Not one syllable! I've meantevery single thing!"

"I don't--"

"Of course you don't!" she said. "Now, Mr. Sheridan, I want you to startthe car. Now! Thank you. Slowly, till I finish what I have to say. Ihave not flirted with you. I have deliberately courted you. One thingmore, and then I want you to take me straight home, talking about theweather all the way. I said that I do not believe I shall ever 'care'for any man, and that is true. I doubt the existence of the kind of'caring' we hear about in poems and plays and novels. I think it must bejust a kind of emotional TALK--most of it. At all events, I don't feelit. Now, we can go faster, please. "

"Just where does that let me out?" he demanded. "How does that excuseyou for--"

"It isn't an excuse, " she said, gently, and gave him one final look, wholly desolate. "I haven't said I should never marry. "

"What?" Jim gasped. 

She inclined her head in a broken sort of acquiescence, very humble, unfathomably sorrowful. 

"I promise nothing, " she said, faintly. 

"You needn't!" shouted Jim, radiant and exultant. "You needn't! ByGeorge! I know you're square; that's enough for me! You wait and promisewhenever you're ready!"

"Don't forget what I asked, " she begged him. 

"Talk about the weather? I will! God bless the old weather!" cried thehappy Jim. 

CHAPTER IX

Through the open country Bibbs was borne flying between brown fieldsand sun-flecked groves of gray trees, to breathe the rushing, cleanair beneath a glorious sky--that sky so despised in the city, and somaltreated there, that from early October to mid-May it was impossiblefor men to remember that blue is the rightful color overhead. 

Upon each of Bibbs's cheeks there was a hint of something almostresembling a pinkishness; not actual color, but undeniably its phantom. How largely this apparition may have been the work of the wind upon hisface it is difficult to calculate, for beyond a doubt it was partly theresult of a lady's bowing to him upon no more formal introduction thanthe circumstance of his having caught her looking into his window amonth before. She had bowed definitely; she had bowed charmingly. And itseemed to Bibbs that she must have meant to convey her forgiveness. 

There had been something in her recognition of him unfamiliar tohis experience, and he rode the warmer for it. Nor did he lack theimpression that he would long remember her as he had just seen her: herveil tumultuously blowing back, her face glowing in the wind--and thatlook of gay friendliness tossed to him like a fresh rose in carnival. 

By and by, upon a rising ground, the driver halted the car, then backedand tacked, and sent it forward again with its nose to the south and thesmoke. Far before him Bibbs saw the great smudge upon the horizon, that nest of cloud in which the city strove and panted like an engineshrouded in its own steam. But to Bibbs, who had now to go to the veryheart of it, for a commanded interview with his father, the distantcloud was like an implacable genius issuing thunderously in smoke fromhis enchanted bottle, and irresistibly drawing Bibbs nearer and nearer. 

They passed from the farm lands, and came, in the amber light ofNovember late afternoon, to the farthermost outskirts of the city; andhere the sky shimmered upon the verge of change from blue to gray;the smoke did not visibly permeate the air, but it was there, nevertheless--impalpable, thin, no more than the dust of smoke. Andthen, as the car drove on, the chimneys and stacks of factories cameswimming up into view like miles of steamers advancing abreast, everyfunnel with its vast plume, savage and black, sweeping to the horizon, dripping wealth and dirt and suffocation over league on league alreadyrich and vile with grime. 

The sky had become only a dingy thickening of the soiled air; and a roarand clangor of metals beat deafeningly on Bibbs's ears. And now the carpassed two great blocks of long brick buildings, hideous in all wayspossible to make them hideous; doorways showing dark one moment andlurid the next with the leap of some virulent interior flame, revealingblackened giants, half naked, in passionate action, struggling withformless things in the hot illumination. And big as these shops were, they were growing bigger, spreading over a third block, where two newstructures were mushrooming to completion in some hasty cement processof a stability not over-reassuring. Bibbs pulled the rug closer abouthim, and not even the phantom of color was left upon his cheeks as hepassed this place, for he knew it too well. Across the face of one ofthe buildings there was an enormous sign: "Sheridan Automatic Pump Co. , Inc. "

Thence they went through streets of wooden houses, all grimed, andadding their own grime from many a sooty chimney; flimsey wooden housesof a thousand flimsy whimsies in the fashioning, built on narrow lotsand nudging one another crossly, shutting out the stingy sunlight fromone another; bad neighbors who would destroy one another root and branchsome night when the right wind blew. They were only waiting for thatwind and a cigarette, and then they would all be gone together--a pinchof incense burned upon the tripod of the god. 

Along these streets there were skinny shade-trees, and here and therea forest elm or walnut had been left; but these were dying. Some peoplesaid it was the scale; some said it was the smoke; and some were surethat asphalt and "improving" the streets did it; but Bigness was intoo Big a hurry to bother much about trees. He had telegraph-polesand telephone-poles and electric-light-poles and trolley-poles by thethousand to take their places. So he let the trees die and put up hispoles. They were hideous, but nobody minded that; and sometimes thewires fell and killed people--but not often enough to matter at all. 

Thence onward the car bore Bibbs through the older parts of thetown where the few solid old houses not already demolished were intransition: some, with their fronts torn away, were being made intosegments of apartment-buildings; others had gone uproariously intotrade, brazenly putting forth "show-windows" on their first floors, seeming to mean it for a joke; one or two with unaltered facades peepedhumorously over the tops of temporary office buildings of one storyerected in the old front yards. Altogether, the town here was like aboarding-house hash the Sunday after Thanksgiving; the old ingredientswere discernible. 

This was the fringe of Bigness's own sanctuary, and now Bibbs reachedthe roaring holy of holies itself. The car must stop at every crossingwhile the dark-garbed crowds, enveloped in maelstroms of dust, hurriedbefore it. Magnificent new buildings, already dingy, loomed hundreds offeet above him; newer ones, more magnificent, were rising beside them, rising higher; old buildings were coming down; middle-aged buildingswere coming down; the streets were laid open to their entrails and menworked underground between palisades, and overhead in metal cobwebslike spiders in the sky. Trolley-cars and long interurban cars, built tosplit the wind like torpedo-boats, clanged and shrieked their wayround swarming corners; motor-cars of every kind and shape known toman babbled frightful warnings and frantic demands; hospital ambulancesclamored wildly for passage; steam-whistles signaled the swinging oftitanic tentacle and claw; riveters rattled like machine-guns; theground shook to the thunder of gigantic trucks; and the conglomeratesound of it all was the sound of earthquake playing accompaniments forbattle and sudden death. On one of the new steel buildings no workwas being done that afternoon. The building had killed a man in themorning--and the steel-workers always stop for the day when that"happens. "

And in the hurrying crowds, swirling and sifting through thebrobdingnagian camp of iron and steel, one saw the camp-followers andthe pagan women--there would be work to-day and dancing to-night. Forthe Puritan's dry voice is but the crackling of a leaf underfoot in therush and roar of the coming of the new Egypt. 

Bibbs was on time. He knew it must be "to the minute" or his fatherwould consider it an outrage; and the big chronometer in Sheridan'soffice marked four precisely when Bibbs walked in. Coincidentally withhis entrance five people who had been at work in the office, underSheridan's direction, walked out. They departed upon no visible oraudible suggestion, and with a promptness that seemed ominous tothe new-comer. As the massive door clicked softly behind the elderlystenographer, the last of the procession, Bibbs had a feeling thatthey all understood that he was a failure as a great man's son, adisappointment, the "queer one" of the family, and that he had beensummoned to judgment--a well-founded impression, for that was exactlywhat they understood. 

"Sit down, " said Sheridan. 

It is frequently an advantage for deans, school-masters, and worriedfathers to place delinquents in the sitting-posture. Bibbs sat. 

Sheridan, standing, gazed enigmatically upon his son for a period ofsilence, then walked slowly to a window and stood looking out of it, hisbig hands, loosely hooked together by the thumbs, behind his back. Theywere soiled, as were all other hands down-town, except such as might bestill damp from a basin. 

"Well, Bibbs, " he said at last, not altering his attitude, "do you knowwhat I'm goin' to do with you?"

Bibbs, leaning back in his chair, fixed his eyes contemplatively uponthe ceiling. "I heard you tell Jim, " he began, in his slow way. "Yousaid you'd send him to the machine-shop with me if he didn't propose toMiss Vertrees. So I suppose that must be your plan for me. But--"

"But what?" said Sheridan, irritably, as the son paused. 

"Isn't there somebody you'd let ME propose to?"

That brought his father sharply round to face him. "You beat the devil!Bibbs, what IS the matter with you? Why can't you be like anybody else?"

"Liver, maybe, " said Bibbs, gently. 

"Boh! Even ole Doc Gurney says there's nothin' wrong with youorganically. No. You're a dreamer, Bibbs; that's what's the matter, and that's ALL the matter. Oh, not one o' these BIG dreamers that putthrough the big deals! No, sir! You're the kind o' dreamer that justsets out on the back fence and thinks about how much trouble there mustbe in the world! That ain't the kind that builds the bridges, Bibbs;it's the kind that borrows fifteen cents from his wife's uncle'sbrother-in-law to get ten cent's worth o' plug tobacco and a nickel'sworth o' quinine!"

He put the finishing touch on this etching with a snort, and turnedagain to the window. 

"Look out there!" he bade his son. "Look out o' that window! Look at thelife and energy down there! I should think ANY young man's blood wouldtingle to get into it and be part of it. Look at the big things youngmen are doin' in this town!" He swung about, coming to the mahogany deskin the middle of the room. "Look at what I was doin' at your age! Lookat what your own brothers are doin'! Look at Roscoe! Yes, and lookat Jim! I made Jim president o' the Sheridan Realty Company lastNew-Year's, with charge of every inch o' ground and every brick andevery shingle and stick o' wood we own; and it's an example to any youngman--or ole man, either--the way he took ahold of it. Last July we foundout we wanted two more big warehouses at the Pump Works--wanted 'emquick. Contractors said it couldn't be done; said nine or ten monthsat the soonest; couldn't see it any other way. What'd Jim do? Took thecontract himself; found a fellow with a new cement and concrete process;kept men on the job night and day, and stayed on it night and dayhimself--and, by George! we begin to USE them warehouses next week! Fourmonths and a half, and every inch fireproof! I tell you Jim's one o'these fellers that make miracles happen! Now, I don't say every youngman can be like Jim, because there's mighty few got his ability, butevery young man can go in and do his share. This town is God's owncountry, and there's opportunity for anybody with a pound of energy andan ounce o' gumption. I tell you these young business men I watch justdo my heart good! THEY don't set around on the back fence--no, sir! Theytake enough exercise to keep their health; and they go to a baseballgame once or twice a week in summer, maybe, and they're raisin' nicefamilies, with sons to take their places sometime and carry on thework--because the work's got to go ON! They're puttin' their life-bloodinto it, I tell you, and that's why we're gettin' bigger every minute, and why THEY'RE gettin' bigger, and why it's all goin' to keep ONgettin' bigger!"

He slapped the desk resoundingly with his open palm, and then, observingthat Bibbs remained in the same impassive attitude, with his eyes stillfixed upon the ceiling in a contemplation somewhat plaintive, Sheridanwas impelled to groan. "Oh, Lord!" he said. "This is the way you alwayswere. I don't believe you understood a darn word I been sayin'! Youdon't LOOK as if you did. By George! it's discouraging!"

"I don't understand about getting--about getting bigger, " said Bibbs, bringing his gaze down to look at his father placatively. "I don't seejust why--"

"WHAT?" Sheridan leaned forward, resting his hands upon the desk andstaring across it incredulously at his son. 

"I don't understand--exactly--what you want it all bigger for?"

"Great God!" shouted Sheridan, and struck the desk a blow with hisclenched fist. "A son of mine asks me that! You go out and ask thepoorest day-laborer you can find! Ask him that question--"

"I did once, " Bibbs interrupted; "when I was in the machine-shop. I--"

"Wha'd he say?"

"He said, 'Oh, hell!'" answered Bibbs, mildly. 

"Yes, I reckon he would!" Sheridan swung away from the desk. "I reckonhe certainly would! And I got plenty sympathy with him right now, myself!"

"It's the same answer, then?" Bibbs's voice was serious, almosttremulous. 

"Damnation!" Sheridan roared. "Did you ever hear the word Prosperity, you ninny? Did you ever hear the word Ambition? Did you ever hear theword PROGRESS?"

He flung himself into a chair after the outburst, his big chest surging, his throat tumultuous with gutteral incoherences. "Now then, " he said, huskily, when the anguish had somewhat abated, "what do you want to do?"

"Sir?"

"What do you WANT to do, I said. "

Taken by surprise, Bibbs stammered. "What--what do--I--what--"

"If I'd let you do exactly what you had the whim for, what would youdo?"

Bibbs looked startled; then timidity overwhelmed him--a profoundshyness. He bent his head and fixed his lowered eyes upon the toe of hisshoe, which he moved to and fro upon the rug, like a culprit called tothe desk in school. 

"What would you do? Loaf?"

"No, sir. " Bibbs's voice was almost inaudible, and what little sound itmade was unquestionably a guilty sound. "I suppose I'd--I'd--"

"Well?"

"I suppose I'd try to--to write. "

"Write what?"

"Nothing important--just poems and essays, perhaps. "

"That all?"

"Yes, sir. "

"I see, " said his father, breathing quickly with the restraint he wasputting upon himself. "That is, you want to write, but you don't want towrite anything of any account. "

"You think--"

Sheridan got up again. "I take my hat off to the man that can writea good ad, " he said, emphatically. "The best writin' talent in thiscountry is right spang in the ad business to-day. You buy a magazine forgood writin'--look on the back of it! Let me tell you I pay money forthat kind o' writin'. Maybe you think it's easy. Just try it! I've triedit, and I can't do it. I tell you an ad's got to be written so it makespeople do the hardest thing in this world to GET 'em to do: it's got tomake 'em give up their MONEY! You talk about 'poems and essays. ' I tellyou when it comes to the actual skill o' puttin' words together so as tomake things HAPPEN, R. T. Bloss, right here in this city, knows more ina minute than George Waldo Emerson ever knew in his whole life!"

"You--you may be--" Bibbs said, indistinctly, the last word smothered ina cough. 

"Of COURSE I'm right! And if it ain't just like you to want to take upwith the most out-o'-date kind o' writin' there is! 'Poems and essays'!My Lord, Bibbs, that's WOMEN'S work! You can't pick up a newspaperwithout havin' to see where Mrs. Rumskididle read a paper on 'JaneEyre, ' or 'East Lynne, ' at the God-Knows-What Club. And 'poetry'! Why, look at Edith! I expect that poem o' hers would set a pretty high-watermark for you, young man, and it's the only one she's ever managed towrite in her whole LIFE! When I wanted her to go on and write some moreshe said it took too much time. Said it took months and months. AndEdith's a smart girl; she's got more energy in her little finger thanyou ever give me a chance to see in your whole body, Bibbs. Now lookat the facts: say she could turn out four or five poems a year and youcould turn out maybe two. That medal she got was worth about fifteendollars, so there's your income--thirty dollars a year! That's a finesuccess to make of your life! I'm not sayin' a word against poetry. Iwouldn't take ten thousand dollars right now for that poem of Edith's;and poetry's all right enough in its place--but you leave it to thegirls. A man's got to do a man's work in this world!"

He seated himself in a chair at his son's side and, leaning over, tappedBibbs confidentially on the knee. "This city's got the greatest futurein America, and if my sons behave right by me and by themselves they'regoin' to have a mighty fair share of it--a mighty fair share. I lovethis town. It's God's own footstool, and it's made money for me everyday right along, I don't know how many years. I love it like I do my ownbusiness, and I'd fight for it as quick as I'd fight for my own family. It's a beautiful town. Look at our wholesale district; look at anydistrict you want to; look at the park system we're puttin' through, and the boulevards and the public statuary. And she grows. God! how shegrows!" He had become intensely grave; he spoke with solemnity. "Now, Bibbs, I can't take any of it--nor any gold or silver nor buildings norbonds--away with me in my shroud when I have to go. But I want to leavemy share in it to my boys. I've worked for it; I've been a builder anda maker; and two blades of grass have grown where one grew before, whenever I laid my hand on the ground and willed 'em to grow. I've builtbig, and I want the buildin' to go on. And when my last hour comes Iwant to know that my boys are ready to take charge; that they're fitto take charge and go ON with it. Bibbs, when that hour comes I wantto know that my boys are big men, ready and fit to hold of big things. Bibbs, when I'm up above I want to know that the big share I've mademine, here below, is growin' bigger and bigger in the charge of myboys. "

He leaned back, deeply moved. "There!" he said, huskily. "I've neverspoken more what was in my heart in my life. I do it because I want youto understand--and not think me a mean father. I never had to talk thatway to Jim and Roscoe. They understood without any talk, Bibbs. "

"I see, " said Bibbs. "At least I think I do. But--"

"Wait a minute!" Sheridan raised his hand. "If you see the least bitin the world, then you understand how it feels to me to have my son sethere and talk about 'poems and essays' and such-like fooleries. And youmust understand, too, what it meant to start one o' my boys and havehim come back on me the way you did, and have to be sent to a sanitariumbecause he couldn't stand work. Now, let's get right down to it, Bibbs. I've had a whole lot o' talk with ole Doc Gurney about you, one timeanother, and I reckon I understand your case just about as well as hedoes, anyway! Now here, I'll be frank with you. I started you in harderthan what I did the other boys, and that was for your own good, becauseI saw you needed to be shook up more'n they did. You were always kind ofmoody and mopish--and you needed work that'd keep you on the jump. Now, why did it make you sick instead of brace you up and make a man of youthe way it ought of done? I pinned ole Gurney down to it. I says, 'Lookhere, ain't it really because he just plain hated it?' 'Yes, ' he says, 'that's it. If he'd enjoyed it, it wouldn't 'a' hurt him. He loathes it, and that affects his nervous system. The more he tries it, the more hehates it; and the more he hates it, the more injury it does him. ' Thatain't quite his words, but it's what he meant. And that's about the wayit is. "

"Yes, " said Bibbs, "that's about the way it is. "

"Well, then, I reckon it's up to me not only to make you do it, but tomake you like it!"

Bibbs shivered. And he turned upon his father a look that was almostghostly. "I can't, " he said, in a low voice. "I can't. "

"Can't go back to the shop?"

"No. Can't like it. I can't. "

Sheridan jumped up, his patience gone. To his own view, he had reasonedexhaustively, had explained fully and had pleaded more than a fathershould, only to be met in the end with the unreasoning and mysteriousstubbornness which had been Bibbs's baffling characteristic fromchildhood. "By George, you will!" he cried. "You'll go back there andyou'll like it! Gurney says it won't hurt you if you like it, and hesays it'll kill you if you go back and hate it; so it looks as if itwas about up to you not to hate it. Well, Gurney's a fool! Hatin' workdoesn't kill anybody; and this isn't goin' to kill you, whether you hateit or not. I've never made a mistake in a serious matter in my life, and it wasn't a mistake my sendin' you there in the first place. AndI'm goin' to prove it--I'm goin' to send you back there and vindicate myjudgment. Gurney says it's all 'mental attitude. ' Well, you're goin'to learn the right one! He says in a couple more months this fool thingthat's been the matter with you'll be disappeared completely and you'llbe back in as good or better condition than you were before you everwent into the shop. And right then is when you begin over--right in thatsame shop! Nobody can call me a hard man or a mean father. I do the bestI can for my chuldern, and I take full responsibility for bringin' mysons up to be men. Now, so far, I've failed with you. But I'm not goin'to keep ON failin'. I never tackled a job YET I didn't put through, andI'm not goin' to begin with my own son. I'm goin' to make a MAN of you. By God! I am!"

Bibbs rose and went slowly to the door, where he turned. "You say yougive me a couple of months?" he said. 

Sheridan pushed a bell-button on his desk. "Gurney said two months morewould put you back where you were. You go home and begin to get yourselfin the right 'mental attitude' before those two months are up! Good-by!"

"Good-by, sir, " said Bibbs, meekly. 

CHAPTER X

Bibbs's room, that neat apartment for transients to which the "lamidal"George had shown him upon his return, still bore the appearance oftemporary quarters, possibly because Bibbs had no clear conceptionof himself as a permanent incumbent. However, he had set upon themantelpiece the two photographs that he owned: one, a "group" twentyyears old--his father and mother, with Jim and Roscoe as boys--and theother a "cabinet" of Edith at sixteen. And upon a table were the bookshe had taken from his trunk: Sartor Resartus, Virginibus Puerisque, Huckleberry Finn, and Afterwhiles. There were some other books in thetrunk--a large one, which remained unremoved at the foot of the bed, adding to the general impression of transiency. It contained nearly allthe possessions as well as the secret life of Bibbs Sheridan, and Bibbssat beside it, the day after his interview with his father, raking overa small collection of manuscripts in the top tray. Some of these heglanced through dubiously, finding little comfort in them; but one madehim smile. Then he shook his head ruefully indeed, and ruefully began toread it. It was written on paper stamped "Hood Sanitarium, " and bore thetitle, "Leisure. "

 A man may keep a quiet heart at seventy miles an hour, but not if he is running the train. Nor is the habit of contemplation a useful quality in the stoker of a foundry furnace; it will not be found to recommend him to the approbation of his superiors. For a profession adapted solely to the pursuit of happiness in thinking, I would choose that of an invalid: his money is time and he may spend it on Olympus. It will not suffice to be an amateur invalid. To my way of thinking, the perfect practitioner must be to all outward purposes already dead if he is to begin the perfect enjoyment of life. His serenity must not be disturbed by rumors of recovery; he must lie serene in his long chair in the sunshine. The world must be on the other side of the wall, and the wall must be so thick and so high that he cannot hear the roaring of the furnace fires and the screaming of the whistles. Peace--

Having read so far as the word "peace, " Bibbs suffered an interruptioninteresting as a coincidence of contrast. High voices sounded in thehall just outside his door; and it became evident that a woman's quarrelwas in progress, the parties to it having begun it in Edith's room, andcontinuing it vehemently as they came out into the hall. 

"Yes, you BETTER go home!" Bibbs heard his sister vociferating, shrilly. "You better go home and keep your mind a little more on your HUSBAND!"

"Edie, Edie!" he heard his mother remonstrating, as peacemaker. 

"You see here!" This was Sibyl, and her voice was both acrid andtremulous. "Don't you talk to me that way! I came here to tell MotherSheridan what I'd heard, and to let her tell Father Sheridan if shethought she ought to, and I did it for your own good. "

"Yes, you did!" And Edith's gibing laughter tooted loudly. "Yes, youdid! YOU didn't have any other reason! OH no! YOU don't want to break itup between Bobby Lamhorn and me because--"

"Edie, Edie! Now, now!"

"Oh, hush up, mamma! I'd like to know, then, if she says her new friendstell her he's got such a reputation that he oughtn't to come here, whatabout his not going to HER house. How--"

"I've explained that to Mother Sheridan. " Sibyl's voice indicated thatshe was descending the stairs. "Married people are not the same. Somethings that should be shielded from a young girl--"

This seemed to have no very soothing effect upon Edith. "'Shielded froma young girl'!" she shrilled. "You seem pretty willing to be the shield!You look out Roscoe doesn't notice what kind of a shield you are!"

Sibyl's answer was inaudible, but Mrs. Sheridan's flurried attempts atpacification were renewed. "Now, Edie, Edie, she means it for your good, and you'd oughtn't to--"

"Oh, hush up, mamma, and let me alone! If you dare tell papa--"

"Now, now! I'm not going to tell him to-day, and maybe--"

"You've got to promise NEVER to tell him!" the girl cried, passionately. 

"Well, we'll see. You just come back in your own room, and we'll--"

"No! I WON'T 'talk it over'! Stop pulling me! Let me ALONE!" And Edith, flinging herself violently upon Bibbs's door, jerked it open, swunground it into the room, slammed the door behind her, and threw herself, face down, upon the bed in such a riot of emotion that she had noperception of Bibbs's presence in the room. Gasping and sobbing in apassion of tears, she beat the coverlet and pillows with her clenchedfists. "Sneak!" she babbled aloud. "Sneak! Snake-in-the-grass! Cat!"

Bibbs saw that she did not know he was there, and he went softly towardthe door, hoping to get away before she became aware of him; but somesound of his movement reached her, and she sat up, startled, facing him. 

"Bibbs! I thought I saw you go out awhile ago. "

"Yes. I came back, though. I'm sorry--"

"Did you hear me quarreling with Sibyl?"

"Only what you said in the hall. You lie down again, Edith. I'm goingout. "

"No; don't go. " She applied a handkerchief to her eyes, emitted a sob, and repeated her request. "Don't go. I don't mind you; you're quiet, anyhow. Mamma's so fussy, and never gets anywhere. I don't mind you atall, but I wish you'd sit down. "

"All right. " And he returned to his chair beside the trunk. "Go aheadand cry all you want, Edith, " he said. "No harm in that!"

"Sibyl told mamma--OH!" she began, choking. "Mary Vertrees had mamma andSibyl and I to tea, one afternoon two weeks or so ago, and she had somewomen there that Sibyl's been crazy to get in with, and she just laidherself out to make a hit with 'em, and she's been running after 'emever since, and now she comes over here and says THEY say Bobby Lamhornis so bad that, even though they like his family, none of the nicepeople in town would let him in their houses. In the first place, it'sa falsehood, and I don't believe a word of it; and in the second placeI know the reason she did it, and, what's more, she KNOWS I know it! Iwon't SAY what it is--not yet--because papa and all of you would thinkI'm as crazy as she is snaky; and Roscoe's such a fool he'd probablyquit speaking to me. But it's true! Just you watch her; that's all Iask. Just you watch that woman. You'll see!"

As it happened, Bibbs was literally watching "that woman. " Glancing fromthe window, he saw Sibyl pause upon the pavement in front of the oldhouse next door. She stood a moment, in deep thought, then walkedquickly up the path to the door, undoubtedly with the intentionof calling. But he did not mention this to his sister, who, afterdelivering herself of a rather vague jeremiad upon the subject of hersister-in-law's treacheries, departed to her own chamber, leaving him tohis speculations. The chief of these concerned the social elasticitiesof women. Sibyl had just been a participant in a violent scene; she hadsuffered hot insult of a kind that could not fail to set her quiveringwith resentment; and yet she elected to betake herself to the presenceof people whom she knew no more than "formally. " Bibbs marveled. Surely, he reflected, some traces of emotion must linger upon Sibyl's face or inher manner; she could not have ironed it all quite out in the three orfour minutes it took her to reach the Vertreeses' door. 

And in this he was not mistaken, for Mary Vertrees was at that momentwondering what internal excitement Mrs. Roscoe Sheridan was striving tomaster. But Sibyl had no idea that she was allowing herself to exhibitanything except the gaiety which she conceived proper to the manner of acasual caller. She was wholly intent upon fulfilling the sudden purposethat brought her, and she was no more self-conscious than she was finelyintelligent. For Sibyl Sheridan belonged to a type Scriptural in itsantiquity. She was merely the idle and half-educated intriguer who mayand does delude men, of course, and the best and dullest of her own sexas well, finding invariably strong supporters among these latter. It isa type that has wrought some damage in the world and would have wroughtgreater, save for the check put upon its power by intelligent womenand by its own "lack of perspective, " for it is a type that never seesitself. Sibyl followed her impulses with no reflection or question--itwas like a hound on the gallop after a master on horseback. She had noteven the instinct to stop and consider her effect. If she wished to makea certain impression she believed that she made it. She believed thatshe was believed. 

"My mother asked me to say that she was sorry she couldn't come down, "Mary said, when they were seated. 

Sibyl ran the scale of a cooing simulance of laughter, which she hadbeen brought up to consider the polite thing to do after a remarkaddressed to her by any person with whom she was not on familiar terms. It was intended partly as a courtesy and partly as the foundation for animpression of sweetness. 

"Just thought I'd fly in a minute, " she said, continuing the cooing torelieve the last doubt of her gentiality. "I thought I'd just behavelike REAL country neighbors. We are almost out in the country, so farfrom down-town, aren't we? And it seemed such a LOVELY day! I wantedto tell you how much I enjoyed meeting those nice people at tea thatafternoon. You see, coming here a bride and never having lived herebefore, I've had to depend on my husband's friends almost entirely, andI really've known scarcely anybody. Mr. Sheridan has been so engrossedin business ever since he was a mere boy, why, of course--"

She paused, with the air of having completed an explanation. 

"Of course, " said Mary, sympathetically accepting it. 

"Yes. I've been seeing quite a lot of the Kittersbys since thatafternoon, " Sibyl went on. "They're really delightful people. Indeedthey are! Yes--"

She stopped with unconscious abruptness, her mind plainly wandering toanother matter; and Mary perceived that she had come upon a definiteerrand. Moreover, a tensing of Sibyl's eyelids, in that moment ofabstraction as she looked aside from her hostess, indicated that theerrand was a serious one for the caller and easily to be connectedwith the slight but perceptible agitation underlying her assumption ofcheerful ease. There was a restlessness of breathing, a restlessness ofhands. 

"Mrs. Kittersby and her daughter were chatting about some to the peoplehere in town the other day, " said Sibyl, repeating the cooing andprotracting it. "They said something that took ME by surprise! We weretalking about our mutual friend, Mr. Robert Lamhorn--"

Mary interrupted her promptly. "Do you mean 'mutual' to include mymother and me?" she asked. 

"Why, yes; the Kittersbys and you and all of us Sheridans, I mean. "

"No, " said Mary. "We shouldn't consider Mr. Robert Lamhorn a friend ofours. "

To her surprise, Sibyl nodded eagerly, as if greatly pleased. "That'sjust the way Mrs. Kittersby talked!" she cried, with a vehemence thatmade Mary stare. "Yes, and I hear that's the way ALL you old familieshere speak of him!"

Mary looked aside, but otherwise she was able to maintain her composure. "I had the impression he was a friend of yours, " she said; adding, hastily, "and your husband's. "

"Oh yes, " said the caller, absently. "He is, certainly. A man'sreputation for a little gaiety oughtn't to make a great difference tomarried people, of course. It's where young girls are in question. THENit may be very, very dangerous. There are a great many things safe andproper for married people that might be awf'ly imprudent for a younggirl. Don't you agree, Miss Vertrees?"

"I don't know, " returned the frank Mary. "Do you mean that you intendto remain a friend of Mr. Lamhorn's, but disapprove of Miss Sheridan'sdoing so?"

"That's it exactly!" was the naive and ardent response of Sibyl. "WhatI feel about it is that a man with his reputation isn't at all suitablefor Edith, and the family ought to be made to understand it. I tellyou, " she cried, with a sudden access of vehemence, "her father ought toput his foot down!"

Her eyes flashed with a green spark; something seemed to leap out andthen retreat, but not before Mary had caught a glimpse of it, as onemight catch a glimpse of a thing darting forth and then scuttling backinto hiding under a bush. 

"Of course, " said Sibyl, much more composedly, "I hardly need say thatit's entirely on Edith's account that I'm worried about this. I'm asfond of Edith as if she was really my sister, and I can't help frettingabout it. It would break my heart to have Edith's life spoiled. "

This tune was off the key, to Mary's ear. Sibyl tried to sing withpathos, but she flatted. 

And when a lady receives a call from another who suffers under thestress of some feeling which she wishes to conceal, there is notuncommonly developed a phenomenon of duality comparable to the effectobtained by placing two mirrors opposite each other, one clear andthe other flawed. In this case, particularly, Sibyl had an imperfectconsciousness of Mary. The Mary Vertrees that she saw was merelysomething to be cozened to her own frantic purpose--a Mary Vertrees whowas incapable of penetrating that purpose. Sibyl sat there believingthat she was projecting the image of herself that she desired toproject, never dreaming that with every word, every look, and everygesture she was more and more fully disclosing the pitiable truth tothe clear eyes of Mary. And the Sibyl that Mary saw was an overdressedwoman, in manner half rustic, and in mind as shallow as a pan, butpossessed by emotions that appeared to be strong--perhaps even violent. What those emotions were Mary had not guessed, but she began to suspect. 

"And Edith's life WOULD be spoiled, " Sibyl continued. "It would be adreadful thing for the whole family. She's the very apple of FatherSheridan's eye, and he's as proud of her as he is of Jim and Roscoe. Itwould be a horrible thing for him to have her marry a man like RobertLamhorn; but he doesn't KNOW anything about him, and if somebody doesn'ttell him, what I'm most afraid of is that Edith might get his consentand hurry on the wedding before he finds out, and then it would be toolate. You see, Miss Vertrees, it's very difficult for me to decide justwhat it's my duty to do. "

"I see, " said Mary, looking at her thoughtfully, "Does Miss Sheridanseem to--to care very much about him?"

"He's deliberately fascinated her, " returned the visitor, beginning tobreathe quickly and heavily. "Oh, she wasn't difficult! She knew shewasn't in right in this town, and she was crazy to meet the people thatwere, and she thought he was one of 'em. But that was only the startthat made it easy for him--and he didn't need it. He could have doneit, anyway!" Sibyl was launched now; her eyes were furious and her voiceshook. "He went after her deliberately, the way he does everything; he'sas cold-blooded as a fish. All he cares about is his own pleasure, andlately he's decided it would be pleasant to get hold of a piece of realmoney--and there was Edith! And he'll marry her! Nothing on earth canstop him unless he finds out she won't HAVE any money if she marrieshim, and the only person that could make him understand that is FatherSheridan. Somehow, that's got to be managed, because Lamhorn is going tohurry it on as fast as he can. He told me so last night. He said he wasgoing to marry her the first minute he could persuade her to it--andlittle Edith's all ready to be persuaded!" Sibyl's eyes flashed greenagain. "And he swore he'd do it, " she panted. "He swore he'd marry EdithSheridan, and nothing on earth could stop him!"

And then Mary understood. Her lips parted and she stared at the babblingcreature incredulously, a sudden vivid picture in her mind, a canvas ofunconscious Sibyl's painting. Mary beheld it with pity and horror: shesaw Sibyl clinging to Robert Lamhorn, raging, in a whisper, perhaps--forRoscoe might have been in the house, or servants might have heard. She saw Sibyl entreating, beseeching, threatening despairingly, andLamhorn--tired of her--first evasive, then brutally letting her have thetruth; and at last, infuriated, "swearing" to marry her rival. If Sibylhad not babbled out the word "swore" it might have been less plain. 

The poor woman blundered on, wholly unaware of what she had confessed. "You see, " she said, more quietly, "whatever's going to be done ought tobe done right away. I went over and told Mother Sheridan what I'd heardabout Lamhorn--oh, I was open and aboveboard! I told her right beforeEdith. I think it ought all to be done with perfect frankness, becausenobody can say it isn't for the girl's own good and what her best friendwould do. But Mother Sheridan's under Edith's thumb, and she's afraidto ever come right out with anything. Father Sheridan's different. Edithcan get anything she wants out of him in the way of money or ordinaryindulgence, but when it comes to a matter like this he'd be a steelrock. If it's a question of his will against anybody else's he'd makehis will rule if it killed 'em both! Now, he'd never in the world letLamhorn come near the house again if he knew his reputation. So, yousee, somebody's got to tell him. It isn't a very easy position for me, is it, Miss Vertrees?"

"No, " said Mary, gravely. 

"Well, to be frank, " said Sibyl, smiling, "that's why I've come to you. "

"To ME!" Mary frowned. 

Sibyl rippled and cooed again. "There isn't ANYBODY ever made such a hitwith Father Sheridan in his life as you have. And of course we ALLhope you're not going to be exactly an outsider in the affairs of thefamily!" (This sally with another and louder effect of laughter). "Andif it's MY duty, why, in a way, I think it might be thought yours, too. "

"No, no!" exclaimed Mary, sharply. 

"Listen, " said Sibyl. "Now suppose I go to Father Sheridan with thisstory, and Edith says it's not true; suppose she says Lamhorn has agood reputation and that I'm repeating irresponsible gossip, or suppose(what's most likely) she loses her temper and says I invented it, thenwhat am I going to do? Father Sheridan doesn't know Mrs. Kittersby andher daughter, and they're out of the question, anyway. But suppose Icould say: 'All right, if you want proof, ask Miss Vertrees. She camewith me, and she's waiting in the next room right now, to--"

"No, no, " said Mary, quickly. "You mustn't--"

"Listen just a minute more, " Sibyl urged, confidingly. She was on easyground now, to her own mind, and had no doubt of her success. "Younaturally don't want to begin by taking part in a family quarrel, butif YOU take part in it, it won't be one. You don't know yourself whatweight you carry over there, and no one would have the right to say youdid it except out of the purest kindness. Don't you see that Jim andhis father would admire you all the more for it? Miss Vertrees, listen!Don't you see we OUGHT to do it, you and I? Do you suppose RobertLamhorn cares a snap of his finger for her? Do you suppose a man likehim would LOOK at Edith Sheridan if it wasn't for the money?" And againSibyl's emotion rose to the surface. "I tell you he's after nothing onearth but to get his finger in that old man's money-pile, over there, next door! He'd marry ANYBODY to do it. Marry Edith?" she cried. "I tellyou he'd marry their nigger cook for THAT!"

She stopped, afraid--at the wrong time--that she had been too vehement, but a glance at Mary reassured her, and Sibyl decided that she hadproduced the effect she wished. Mary was not looking at her; she wasstaring straight before her at the wall, her eyes wide and shining. Shebecame visibly a little paler as Sibyl looked at her. 

"After nothing on earth but to get his finger in that old man'smoney-pile, over there, next door!" The voice was vulgar, the words werevulgar--and the plain truth was vulgar! How it rang in Mary Vertrees'sears! The clear mirror had caught its own image clearly in the flawedone at last. 

Sibyl put forth her best bid to clench the matter. She offered herbargain. "Now don't you worry, " she said, sunnily, "about this settingEdith against you. She'll get over it after a while, anyway, but if shetried to be spiteful and make it uncomfortable for you when you drop inover there, or managed so as to sort of leave you out, why, I've got ahouse, and Jim likes to come there. I don't THINK Edith WOULD be thatway; she's too crazy to have you take her around with the smart crowd, but if she DID, you needn't worry. And another thing--I guess you won'tmind Jim's own sister-in-law speaking of it. Of course, I don't knowjust how matters stand between you and Jim, but Jim and Roscoe are aboutas much alike as two brothers can be, and Roscoe was very slow making uphis mind; sometimes I used to think he actually never WOULD. Now, whatI mean is, sisters-in-law can do lots of things to help matters on likethat. There's lots of little things can be said, and lots--"

She stopped, puzzled. Mary Vertrees had gone from pale to scarlet, andnow, still scarlet indeed, she rose, without a word of explanation, orany other kind of word, and walked slowly to the open door and out ofthe room. 

Sibyl was a little taken aback. She supposed Mary had rememberedsomething neglected and necessary for the instruction of a servant, andthat she would return in a moment; but it was rather a rude excess ofabsent-mindedness not to have excused herself, especially as her guestwas talking. And, Mary's return being delayed, Sibyl found time to thinkthis unprefaced exit odder and ruder than she had first considered it. There might have been more excuse for it, she thought, had she beenspeaking of matters less important--offering to do the girl all thekindness in her power, too!

Sibyl yawned and swung her muff impatiently; she examined the sole ofher shoe; she decided on a new shape of heel; she made an inventoryof the furniture of the room, of the rugs, of the wall-paper andengravings. Then she looked at her watch and frowned; went to a windowand stood looking out upon the brown lawn, then came back to the chairshe had abandoned, and sat again. There was no sound in the house. 

A strange expression began imperceptibly to alter the planes of herface, and slowly she grew as scarlet as Mary--scarlet to the ears. Shelooked at her watch again--and twenty-five minutes had elapsed since shehad looked at it before. 

She went into the hall, glanced over her shoulder oddly; then she letherself softly out of the front door, and went across the street to herown house. 

Roscoe met her upon the threshold, gloomily. "Saw you from the window, "he explained. "You must find a lot to say to that old lady. "

"What old lady?"

"Mrs. Vertrees. I been waiting for you a long time, and I saw thedaughter come out, fifteen minutes ago, and post a letter, and then walkon up the street. Don't stand out on the porch, " he said, crossly. "Come in here. There's something it's come time I'll have to talk to youabout. Come in!"

But as she was moving to obey he glanced across at his father's houseand started. He lifted his hand to shield his eyes from the setting sun, staring fixedly. "Something's the matter over there, " he muttered, andthen, more loudly, as alarm came into his voice, he said, "What's thematter over there?"

Bibbs dashed out of the gate in an automobile set at its highest speed, and as he saw Roscoe he made a gesture singularly eloquent of calamity, and was lost at once in a cloud of dust down the street. Edith hadfollowed part of the way down the drive, and it could be seen that shewas crying bitterly. She lifted both arms to Roscoe, summoning him. 

"By George!" gasped Roscoe. "I believe somebody's dead!"

And he started for the New House at a run. 

CHAPTER XI

Sheridan had decided to conclude his day's work early that afternoon, and at about two o'clock he left his office with a man of affairs fromforeign parts, who had traveled far for a business conference withSheridan and his colleagues. Herr Favre, in spite of his French name, was a gentleman of Bavaria. It was his first visit to our country, andSheridan took pleasure in showing him the sights of the country's finestcity. They got into an open car at the main entrance of the SheridanBuilding, and were driven first, slowly and momentously, through thewholesale district and the retail district; then more rapidly theyinspected the packing-houses and the stock-yards; then skirmished overthe "park system" and "boulevards"; and after that whizzed through the"residence section" on their way to the factories and foundries. 

"All cray, " observed Herr Favre, smilingly. 

"'Cray'?" echoed Sheridan. "I don't know what you mean. 'Cray'?"

"No white, " said Herr Favre, with a wave of his hand toward thelong rows of houses on both sides of the street. "No white lacewindow-curtains; all cray lace window-curtains. "

"Oh. I see!" Sheridan laughed indulgently. "You mean 'GRAY. ' No, theyain't, they're white. I never saw any gray ones. "

Herr Favre shook his head, much amused. "There are NO white ones, "he said. "There is no white ANYTHING in your city; no whitewindow-curtains, no white house, no white peeble!" He pointed upward. "Smoke!" Then he sniffed the air and clasped his nose between forefingerand thumb. "Smoke! Smoke ef'rywhere. Smoke in your insites. " He tappedhis chest. "Smoke in your lunks!"

"Oh! SMOKE!" Sheridan cried with gusto, drawing in a deep breath andpatently finding it delicious. "You BET we got smoke!"

"Exbensif!" said Herr Favre. "Ruins foliage; ruins fabrics. Maybe insummer it iss not so bad, but I wonder your wifes will bear it. "

Sheridan laughed uproariously. "They know it means new spring hats for'em!"

"They must need many, too!" said the visitor. "New hats, new all things, but nothing white. In Munchen we could not do it; we are a safingpeeble. "

"Where's that?"

"In Munchen. You say 'Munich. '"

"Well, I never been to Munich, but I took in the Mediterranean trip, and I tell you, outside o' some right good scenery, all I saw was mightydirty and mighty shiftless and mighty run-down at the heel. Now comin'right down TO it, Mr. Farver, wouldn't you rather live here in this townthan in Munich? I know you got more enterprise up there than the part ofthe old country I saw, and I know YOU'RE a live business man and you'reassociated with others like you, but when it comes to LIVIN' in a place, wouldn't you heap rather be here than over there?"

"For me, " said Herr Favre, "no. Here I should not think I was living. Itwould be like the miner who goes into the mine to work; nothing else. "

"We got a good many good citizens here from your part o' the world. THEYlike it. "

"Oh yes. " And Herr Favre laughed deprecatingly. "The first generation, they bring their Germany with them; then, after that, they areAmericans, like you. " He tapped his host's big knee genially. "You arepatriot; so are they. "

"Well, I reckon you must be a pretty hot little patriot yourself, Mr. Farver!" Sheridan exclaimed, gaily. "You certainly stand up for yourown town, if you stick to sayin' you'd rather live there than you wouldhere. Yes, SIR! You sure are some patriot to say THAT--after you've seenour city! It ain't reasonable in you, but I must say I kind of admireyou for it; every man ought to stick up for his own, even when he seesthe other fellow's got the goods on him. Yet I expect way down deep inyour heart, Mr. Farver, you'd rather live right here than any place elsein the world, if you had your choice. Man alive! this is God's country, Mr. Farver, and a blind man couldn't help seein' it! You couldn't standwhere you do in a business way and NOT see it. Soho, boy! Here we are. This is the big works, and I'll show you something now that'll make youreyes stick out!"

They had arrived at the Pump Works; and for an hour Mr. Favre waspersonally conducted and personally instructed by the founder andpresident, the buzzing queen bee of those buzzing hives. 

"Now I'll take you for a spin in the country, " said Sheridan, when atlast they came out to the car again. "We'll take a breezer. " But, withhis foot on the step, he paused to hail a neat young man who came outof the office smiling a greeting. "Hello, young fellow!" Sheridan said, heartily. "On the job, are you, Jimmie? Ha! They don't catch you OFF ofit very often, I guess, though I do hear you go automobile-ridin' inthe country sometimes with a mighty fine-lookin' girl settin' up besideyou!" He roared with laughter, clapping his son upon the shoulder. "That's all right with me--if it is with HER! So, Jimmie? Well, when wegoin' to move into your new warehouses? Monday?"

"Sunday, if you want to, " said Jim. 

"No!" cried his father, delighted. "Don't tell me you're goin' to keepyour word about dates! That's no way to do contractin'! Never heard of acontractor yet didn't want more time. "

"They'll be all ready for you on the minute, " said Jim. "I'm going overboth of 'em now, with Links and Sherman, from foundation to roof. Iguess they'll pass inspection, too!"

"Well, then, when you get through with that, " said his father, "you goand take your girl out ridin'. By George! you've earned it! You tellher you stand high with ME!" He stepped into the car, waving a waggishfarewell, and when the wheels were in motion again, he turned upon hiscompanion a broad face literally shining with pride. "That's my boyJimmie!" he said. 

"Fine young man, yes, " said Herr Favre. 

"I got two o' the finest boys, " said Sheridan, "I got two o' the finestboys God ever made, and that's a fact, Mr. Farver! Jim's the oldest, andI tell you they got to get up the day before if they expect to catch HIMin bed! My other boy, Roscoe, he's always to the good, too, but Jim'sa wizard. You saw them two new-process warehouses, just about finished?Well, JIM built 'em. I'll tell you about that, Mr. Farver. " And herecited this history, describing the new process at length; in fact, hehad such pride in Jim's achievement that he told Herr Favre all about itmore than once. 

"Fine young man, yes, " repeated the good Munchner, three-quarters of anhour later. They were many miles out in the open country by this time. 

"He is that!" said Sheridan, adding, as if confidentially: "I got a finefamily, Mr. Farver--fine chuldern. I got a daughter now; you take herand put her anywhere you please, and she'll shine up with ANY of 'em. There's culture and refinement and society in this town by the car-load, and here lately she's been gettin' right in the thick of it--her and mydaughter-in-law, both. I got a mighty fine daughter-in-law, Mr. Farver. I'm goin' to get you up for a meal with us before you leave town, andyou'll see--and, well, sir, from all I hear the two of 'em been holdin'their own with the best. Myself, I and the wife never had time for mucho' that kind o' doin's, but it's all right and good for the chuldern;and my daughter she's always kind of taken to it. I'll read you a poemshe wrote when I get you up at the house. She wrote it in school andtook the first prize for poetry with it. I tell you they don't make 'emany smarter'n that girl, Mr. Farver. Yes, sir; take us all round, we'rea pretty happy family; yes, sir. Roscoe hasn't got any chuldern yet, and I haven't ever spoke to him and his wife about it--it's kind ofa delicate matter--but it's about time the wife and I saw somegran'-chuldern growin' up around us. I certainly do hanker for aboutfour or five little curly-headed rascals to take on my knee. Boys, Ihope, o' course; that's only natural. Jim's got his eye on a mightysplendid-lookin' girl; lives right next door to us. I expect you heardme joshin' him about it back yonder. She's one of the ole blue-bloodshere, and I guess it was a mighty good stock--to raise HER! She's onethese girls that stand right up and look at you! And pretty? She'sthe prettiest thing you ever saw! Good size, too; good health and goodsense. Jim'll be just right if he gets her. I must say it tickles MEto think o' the way that boy took ahold o' that job back yonder. Fourmonths and a half! Yes, sir--"

He expanded this theme once more; and thus he continued to entertainthe stranger throughout the long drive. Darkness had fallen before theyreached the city on their return, and it was after five when Sheridanallowed Herr Favre to descend at the door of his hotel, where boys wereshrieking extra editions of the evening paper. 

"Now, good night, Mr. Farver, " said Sheridan, leaning from the car toshake hands with his guest. "Don't forget I'm goin' to come around andtake you up to--Go on away, boy!"

A newsboy had thrust himself almost between them, yelling, "Extry!Secon' Extry. Extry, all about the horrable acciDENT. Extry!"

"Get out!" laughed Sheridan. "Who wants to read about accidents? Getout!"

The boy moved away philosophically. "Extry! Extry!" he shrilled. "Threemen killed! Extry! Millionaire killed! Two other men killed! Extry!Extry!"

"Don't forget, Mr. Farver, " Sheridan completed his interruptedfarewells. "I'll come by to take you up to our house for dinner. I'll behere for you about half-past five to-morrow afternoon. Hope you 'njoyedthe drive much as I have. Good night--good night!" He leaned back, speaking to the chauffer. "Now you can take me around to the CentralCity barber-shop, boy. I want to get a shave 'fore I go up home. "

"Extry! Extry!" screamed the newsboys, zig-zagging among the crowds likebats in the dusk. "Extry! All about the horrable acciDENT! Extry!" Itstruck Sheridan that the papers sent out too many "Extras"; they printed"Extras" for all sorts of petty crimes and casualties. It was a mistake, he decided, critically. Crying "Wolf!" too often wouldn't sell thegoods; it was bad business. The papers would "make more in the longrun, " he was sure, if they published an "Extra" only when something ofreal importance happened. 

"Extry! All about the hor'ble AX'nt! Extry!" a boy squawked under hisnose, as he descended from the car. 

"Go on away!" said Sheridan, gruffly, though he smiled. He liked to seethe youngsters working so noisily to get on in the world. 

But as he crossed the pavement to the brilliant glass doors of thebarber-shop, a second newsboy grasped the arm of the one who had thuscried his wares. 

"Say, Yallern, " said this second, hoarse with awe, "'n't chew know whothat IS?"

"Who?"

"It's SHERIDAN!"

"Jeest!" cried the first, staring insanely. 

At about the same hour, four times a week--Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday--Sheridan stopped at this shop to be shaved by the headbarber. The barbers were negroes, he was their great man, and it wastheir habit to give him a "reception, " his entrance being always thesignal for a flurry of jocular hospitality, followed by general excessesof briskness and gaiety. But it was not so this evening. 

The shop was crowded. Copies of the "Extra" were being read by menwaiting, and by men in the latter stages of treatment. "Extras" lay uponvacant seats and showed from the pockets of hanging coats. 

There was a loud chatter between the practitioners and their recumbentpatients, a vocal charivari which stopped abruptly as Sheridan openedthe door. His name seemed to fizz in the air like the last sputteringof a firework; the barbers stopped shaving and clipping; lathered menturned their prostrate heads to stare, and there was a moment of amazingsilence in the shop. 

The head barber, nearest the door, stood like a barber in a tableau. Hisleft hand held stretched between thumb and forefinger an elastic sectionof his helpless customer's cheek, while his right hand hung poised aboveit, the razor motionless. And then, roused from trance by the door'sclosing, he accepted the fact of Sheridan's presence. The barberremembered that there are no circumstances in life--or just afterit--under which a man does not need to be shaved. 

He stepped forward, profoundly grave. "I be through with this man in thechair one minute, Mist' Sheridan, " he said, in a hushed tone. "Yessuh. "And of a solemn negro youth who stood by, gazing stupidly, "You goin'RESIGN?" he demanded in a fierce undertone. "You goin' take Mist'Sheridan's coat?" He sent an angry look round the shop, and the barbers, taking his meaning, averted their eyes and fell to work, the murmur ofsubdued conversation buzzing from chair to chair. 

"You sit down ONE minute, Mist' Sheridan, " said the head barber, gently. "I fix nice chair fo' you to wait in. "

"Never mind, " said Sheridan. "Go on get through with your man. "

"Yessuh. " And he went quickly back to his chair on tiptoe, followed bySheridan's puzzled gaze. 

Something had gone wrong in the shop, evidently. Sheridan did not knowwhat to make of it. Ordinarily he would have shouted a hilarious demandfor the meaning of the mystery, but an inexplicable silence had beenimposed upon him by the hush that fell upon his entrance and by the oddlook every man in the shop had bent upon him. 

Vaguely disquieted, he walked to one of the seats in the rear of theshop, and looked up and down the two lines of barbers, catching quicklyshifted, furtive glances here and there. He made this brief survey afterwondering if one of the barbers had died suddenly, that day, or thenight before; but there was no vacancy in either line. 

The seat next to his was unoccupied, but some one had left a copy ofthe "Extra" there, and, frowning, he picked it up and glanced at it. Thefirst of the swollen display lines had little meaning to him:

 Fatally Faulty. New Process Roof Collapses Hurling Capitalist to Death with Inventor. Seven Escape When Crash Comes. Death Claims--

Thus far had he read when a thin hand fell upon the paper, covering theprint from his eyes; and, looking up, he saw Bibbs standing before him, pale and gentle, immeasurably compassionate. 

"I've come for you, father, " said Bibbs. "Here's the boy with your coatand hat. Put them on and come home. "

And even then Sheridan did not understand. So secure was he in thestrength and bigness of everything that was his, he did not know whatcalamity had befallen him. But he was frightened. 

Without a word, he followed Bibbs heavily out throught the still shop, but as they reached the pavement he stopped short and, grasping hisson's sleeve with shaking fingers, swung him round so that they stoodface to face. 

"What--what--" His mouth could not do him the service he asked of it, hewas so frightened. 

"Extry!" screamed a newsboy straight in his face. "Young North Sidemillionaire insuntly killed! Extry!"

"Not--JIM!" said Sheridan. 

Bibbs caught his father's hand in his own. 

"And YOU come to tell me that?"

Sheridan did not know what he said. But in those first words and in thefirst anguish of the big, stricken face Bibbs understood the unutteredcry of accusation:

"Why wasn't it you?"

CHAPTER XII

Standing in the black group under gaunt trees at the cemetery, threedays later, Bibbs unwillingly let an old, old thought become definitein his mind: the sickly brother had buried the strong brother, and Bibbswondered how many million times that had happened since men first made aword to name the sons of one mother. Almost literally he had buried hisstrong brother, for Sheridan had gone to pieces when he saw his deadson. He had nothing to help him meet the shock, neither definitereligion nor "philosophy" definite or indefinite. He could only beat hisforehead and beg, over and over, to be killed with an ax, while his wifewas helpless except to entreat him not to "take on, " herself adding acontinuous lamentation. Edith, weeping, made truce with Sibyl and saw toit that the mourning garments were beyond criticism. Roscoe was dazed, and he shirked, justifying himself curiously by saying he "never hadany experience in such matters. " So it was Bibbs, the shy outsider, whobecame, during this dreadful little time, the master of the house; foras strange a thing as that, sometimes, may be the result of a death. Hemet the relatives from out of town at the station; he set the timefor the funeral and the time for meals; he selected the flowers andhe selected Jim's coffin; he did all the grim things and all the otherthings. Jim had belonged to an order of Knights, who lengthened therites with a picturesque ceremony of their own, and at first Bibbswished to avoid this, but upon reflection he offered no objection--hedivined that the Knights and their service would be not precisely aconsolation, but a satisfaction to his father. So the Knights led theprocession, with their band playing a dirge part of the long way to thecemetery; and then turned back, after forming in two lines, plumedhats sympathetically in hand, to let the hearse and the carriages passbetween. 

"Mighty fine-lookin' men, " said Sheridan, brokenly. "They all--all likedhim. He was--" His breath caught in a sob and choked him. "He was--aGrand Supreme Herald. "

Bibbs had divined aright. 

"Dust to dust, " said the minister, under the gaunt trees; and at thatSheridan shook convulsively from head to foot. All of the black groupshivered, except Bibbs, when it came to "Dust to dust. " Bibbs stoodpassive, for he was the only one of them who had known that thought as afamiliar neighbor; he had been close upon dust himself for a long, longtime, and even now he could prophesy no protracted separation betweenhimself and dust. The machine-shop had brought him very close, and ifhe had to go back it would probably bring him closer still; so close--asDr. Gurney predicted--that no one would be able to tell the differencebetween dust and himself. And Sheridan, if Bibbs read him truly, wouldbe all the more determined to "make a man" of him, now that there wasa man less in the family. To Bibbs's knowledge, no one and nothing hadever prevented his father from carrying through his plans, once he haddetermined upon them; and Sheridan was incapable of believing that anyplan of his would not work out according to his calculations. His natureunfitted him to accept failure. He had the gift of terrible persistence, and with unflecked confidence that his way was the only way he wouldhold to that way of "making a man" of Bibbs, who understood very well, in his passive and impersonal fashion, that it was a way which mightmake, not a man, but dust of him. But he had no shudder for the thought. 

He had no shudder for that thought or for any other thought. Thetruth about Bibbs was in the poem which Edith had adopted: he had sothoroughly formed the over-sensitive habit of hiding his feelings thatno doubt he had forgotten--by this time--where he had put some of them, especially those which concerned himself. But he had not hidden hisfeelings about his father where they could not be found. He was strangeto his father, but his father was not strange to him. He knew thatSheridan's plans were conceived in the stubborn belief that they wouldbring about a good thing for Bibbs himself; and whatever the result wasto be, the son had no bitterness. Far otherwise, for as he looked at thebig, woeful figure, shaking and tortured, an almost unbearable pity laidhands upon Bibbs's throat. Roscoe stood blinking, his lip quivering;Edith wept audibly; Mrs. Sheridan leaned in half collapse against herhusband; but Bibbs knew that his father was the one who cared. 

It was over. Men in overalls stepped forward with their shovels, andBibbs nodded quickly to Roscoe, making a slight gesture toward the lineof waiting carriages. Roscoe understood--Bibbs would stay and see thegrave filled; the rest were to go. The groups began to move away overthe turf; wheels creaked on the graveled drive; and one by one thecarriages filled and departed, the horses setting off at a walk. Bibbsgazed steadfastly at the workmen; he knew that his father kept lookingback as he went toward the carriage, and that was a thing he did notwant to see. But after a little while there were no sounds of wheelsor hoofs on the gravel, and Bibbs, glancing up, saw that every one hadgone. A coupe had been left for him, the driver dozing patiently. 

The workmen placed the flowers and wreaths upon the mound and aboutit, and Bibbs altered the position of one or two of these, then stoodlooking thoughtfully at the grotesque brilliancy of that festal-seeminghillock beneath the darkening November sky. "It's too bad!" he halfwhispered, his lips forming the words--and his meaning was that it wastoo bad that the strong brother had been the one to go. For this washis last thought before he walked to the coupe and saw Mary Vertreesstanding, all alone, on the other side of the drive. 

She had just emerged from a grove of leafless trees that grew on aslope where the tombs were many; and behind her rose a multitude of thebarbaric and classic shapes we so strangely strew about our graveyards:urn-crowned columns and stone-draped obelisks, shop-carved angels andshop-carved children poising on pillars and shafts, all lifting--inunthought pathos--their blind stoniness toward the sky. Against sucha background, Bibbs was not incongruous, with his figure, in black, solong and slender, and his face so long and thin and white; nor was theundertaker's coupe out of keeping, with the shabby driver dozing on thebox and the shaggy horses standing patiently in attitudes withouthope and without regret. But for Mary Vertrees, here was a grotesquesetting--she was a vivid, living creature of a beautiful world. And agraveyard is not the place for people to look charming. 

She also looked startled and confused, but not more startled andconfused than Bibbs. In "Edith's" poem he had declared his intention ofhiding his heart "among the stars"; and in his boyhood one day he hadsuccessfully hidden his body in the coal-pile. He had been no comradeof other boys or of girls, and his acquaintances of a recent period wereonly a few fellow-invalids and the nurses at the Hood Sanitarium. Allhis life Bibbs had kept himself to himself--he was but a shy onlooker inthe world. Nevertheless, the startled gaze he bent upon theunexpected lady before him had causes other than his shyness and herunexpectedness. For Mary Vertrees had been a shining figure in thelittle world of late given to the view of this humble and elusiveoutsider, and spectators sometimes find their hearts beating faster thanthose of the actors in the spectacle. Thus with Bibbs now. He startedand stared; he lifted his hat with incredible awkwardness, his fingersfumbling at his forehead before they found the brim. 

"Mr. Sheridan, " said Mary, "I'm afraid you'll have to take me home withyou. I--" She stopped, not lacking a momentary awkwardness of her own. 

"Why--why--yes, " Bibbs stammered. "I'll--I'll be de--Won't you get in?"

In that manner and in that place they exchanged their first words. ThenMary without more ado got into the coupe, and Bibbs followed, closingthe door. 

"You're very kind, " she said, somewhat breathlessly. "I should have hadto walk, and it's beginning to get dark. It's three miles, I think. "

"Yes, " said Bibbs. "It--it is beginning to get dark. I--I noticed that. "

"I ought to tell you--I--" Mary began, confusedly. She bit her lip, satsilent a moment, then spoke with composure. "It must seem odd, my--"

"No, no!" Bibbs protested, earnestly. "Not in the--in the least. "

"It does, though, " said Mary. "I had not intended to come to thecemetery, Mr. Sheridan, but one of the men in charge at the house cameand whispered to me that 'the family wished me to'--I think your sistersent him. So I came. But when we reached here I--oh, I felt that perhapsI--"

Bibbs nodded gravely. "Yes, yes, " he murmured. 

"I got out on the opposite side of the carriage, " she continued. "I meanopposite from--from where all of you were. And I wandered off over inthe other direction; and I didn't realize how little time it takes. From where I was I couldn't see the carriages leaving--at least I didn'tnotice them. So when I got back, just now, you were the only one here. I didn't know the other people in the carriage I came in, and of coursethey didn't think to wait for me. That's why--"

"Yes, " said Bibbs, "I--" And that seemed all he had to say just then. 

Mary looked out through the dusty window. "I think we'd better be goinghome, if you please, " she said. 

"Yes, " Bibbs agreed, not moving. "It will be dark before we get there. "

She gave him a quick little glance. "I think you must be very tired, Mr. Sheridan; and I know you have reason to be, " she said, gently. "Ifyou'll let me, I'll--" And without explaining her purpose she opened thedoor on her side of the coupe and leaned out. 

Bibbs started in blank perplexity, not knowing what she meant to do. 

"Driver!" she called, in her clear voice, loudly. "Driver! We'd like tostart, please! Driver! Stop at the house just north of Mr. Sheridan's, please. " The wheels began to move, and she leaned back beside Bibbsonce more. "I noticed that he was asleep when we got in, " she said. "Isuppose they have a great deal of night work. "

Bibbs drew a long breath and waited till he could command his voice. "I've never been able to apologize quickly, " he said, with hisaccustomed slowness, "because if I try to I stammer. My brother Roscoewhipped me once, when we were boys, for stepping on his slate-pencil. It took me so long to tell him it was an accident, he finished before Idid. "

Mary Vertrees had never heard anything quite like the drawling, gentlevoice or the odd implication that his not noticing the motionless stateof their vehicle was an "accident. " She had formed a casual impressionof him, not without sympathy, but at once she discovered that he wasunlike any of her cursory and vague imaginings of him. And suddenly shesaw a picture he had not intended to paint for sympathy: a sturdy boyhammering a smaller, sickly boy, and the sickly boy unresentful. Notthat picture alone; others flashed before her. Instantaneously she had aglimpse of Bibbs's life and into his life. She had a queer feeling, newto her experience, of knowing him instantly. It startled her a little;and then, with some surprise, she realized that she was glad he had satso long, after getting into the coupe, before he noticed that it hadnot started. What she did not realize, however, was that she had madeno response to his apology, and they passed out of the cemetery gates, neither having spoken again. 

Bibbs was so content with the silence he did not know that it wassilence. The dusk, gathering in their small inclosure, was filled with arich presence for him; and presently it was so dark that neither of thetwo could see the other, nor did even their garments touch. But neitherhad any sense of being alone. The wheels creaked steadily, rumblingpresently on paved streets; there were the sounds, as from a distance, of the plod-plod of the horses; and sometimes the driver became audible, coughing asthmatically, or saying, "You, JOE!" with a spiritless flap ofthe whip upon an unresponsive back. Oblongs of light from the lampsat street-corners came swimming into the interior of the coupe and, thinning rapidly to lances, passed utterly, leaving greater darkness. And yet neither of these two last attendants at Jim Sheridan's funeralbroke the silence. 

It was Mary who preceived the strangeness of it--too late. Abruptly sherealized that for an indefinite interval she had been thinking of hercompanion and not talking to him. "Mr. Sheridan, " she began, not knowingwhat she was going to say, but impelled to say anything, as she realizedthe queerness of this drive--"Mr. Sheridan, I--"

The coupe stopped. "You, JOE!" said the driver, reproachfully, andclimbed down and opened the door. 

"What's the trouble?" Bibbs inquired. 

"Lady said stop at the first house north of Mr. Sheridan's, sir. "

Mary was incredulous; she felt that it couldn't be true and that itmustn't be true that they had driven all the way without speaking. 

"What?" Bibbs demanded. 

"We're there, sir, " said the driver, sympathetically. "Next house northof Mr. Sheridan's. "

Bibbs descended to the curb. "Why, yes, " he said. "Yes, you seem tobe right. " And while he stood staring at the dimly illuminated frontwindows of Mr. Vertrees's house Mary got out, unassisted. 

"Let me help you, " said Bibbs, stepping toward her mechanically; and shewas several feet from the coupe when he spoke. 

"Oh no, " she murmured. "I think I can--" She meant that she could getout of the coupe without help, but, perceiving that she had alreadyaccomplished this feat, she decided not to complete the sentence. 

"You, JOE!" cried the driver, angrily, climbing to his box. And herumbled away at his team's best pace--a snail's. 

"Thank you for bringing me home, Mr. Sheridan, " said Mary, stiffly. Shedid not offer her hand. "Good night. "

"Good night, " Bibbs said in response, and, turning with her, walkedbeside her to the door. Mary made that a short walk; she almost ran. Realization of the queerness of their drive was growing upon her, beginning to shock her; she stepped aside from the light that fellthrough the glass panels of the door and withheld her hand as it touchedthe old-fashioned bell-handle. 

"I'm quite safe, thank you, " she said, with a little emphasis. "Goodnight. "

"Good night, " said Bibbs, and went obediently. When he reached thestreet he looked back, but she had vanished within the house. 

Moving slowly away, he caromed against two people who were turning outfrom the pavement to cross the street. They were Roscoe and his wife. 

"Where are your eyes, Bibbs?" demanded Roscoe. "Sleep-walking, asusual?"

But Sibyl took the wanderer by the arm. "Come over to our house for alittle while, Bibbs, " she urged. "I want to--"

"No, I'd better--"

"Yes. I want you to. Your father's gone to bed, and they're all quietover there--all worn out. Just come for a minute. "

He yielded, and when they were in the house she repeated herself withreal feeling: "'All worn out!' Well, if anybody is, YOU are, Bibbs! AndI don't wonder; you've done every bit of the work of it. You mustn't getdown sick again. I'm going to make you take a little brandy. "

He let her have her own way, following her into the dining-room, andwas grateful when she brought him a tiny glass filled from one of thedecanters on the sideboard. Roscoe gloomily poured for himself a muchheavier libation in a larger glass; and the two men sat, while Sibylleaned against the sideboard, reviewing the episodes of the day andrecalling the names of the donors of flowers and wreaths. She pressedBibbs to remain longer when he rose to go, and then, as he persisted, she went with him to the front door. He opened it, and she said:

"Bibbs, you were coming out of the Vertreeses' house when we met you. How did you happen to be there?"

"I had only been to the door, " he said. "Good night, Sibyl. "

"Wait, " she insisted. "We saw you coming out. "

"I wasn't, " he explained, moving to depart. "I'd just brought MissVertrees home. "

"What?" she cried. 

"Yes, " he said, and stepped out upon the porch, "that was it. Goodnight, Sibyl. "

"Wait!" she said, following him across the threshold. "How did thathappen? I thought you were going to wait while those men filledthe--the--" She paused, but moved nearer him insistently. 

"I did wait. Miss Vertrees was there, " he said, reluctantly. "Shehad walked away for a while and didn't notice that the carriages wereleaving. When she came back the coupe waiting for me was the only oneleft. "

Sibyl regarded him with dilating eyes. She spoke with a slowbreathlessness. "And she drove home from Jim's funeral--with you!"

Without warning she burst into laughter, clapped her hand ineffectuallyover her mouth, and ran back uproariously into the house, hurling thedoor shut behind her. 

CHAPTER XIII

Bibbs went home pondering. He did not understand why Sibyl had laughed. The laughter itself had been spontaneous and beyond suspicion, but itseemed to him that she had only affected the effort to suppress it andthat she wished it to be significant. Significant of what? And why hadshe wished to impress upon him the fact of her overwhelming amusement?He found no answer, but she had succeeded in disturbing him, and hewished that he had not encountered her. 

At home, uncles, aunts, and cousins from out of town were wanderingabout the house, several mournfully admiring the "Bay of Naples, " andothers occupied with the Moor and the plumbing, while they waited fortrains. Edith and her mother had retired to some upper fastness, butBibbs interviewed Jackson and had the various groups of relativessummoned to the dining-room for food. One great-uncle, old GideonSheridan from Boonville, could not be found, and Bibbs went in search ofhim. He ransacked the house, discovering the missing antique at lastby accident. Passing his father's closed door on tiptoe, Bibbs hearda murmurous sound, and paused to listen. The sound proved to be aquavering and rickety voice, monotonously bleating:

"The Lo-ord givuth and the Lo-ord takuth away! We got to remember that;we got to remember that! I'm a-gittin' along, James; I'm a-gittin'along, and I've seen a-many of 'em go--two daughters and a son the Lordgive me, and He has taken all away. For the Lo-ord givuth and the Lo-ordtakuth away! Remember the words of Bildad the Shuhite, James. Bildad theShuhite says, 'He shall have neither son nor nephew among his people, nor any remaining in his dwellings. ' Bildad the Shuhite--"

Bibbs opened the door softly. His father was lying upon the bed, inhis underclothes, face downward, and Uncle Gideon sat near by, swingingbackward and forward in a rocking-chair, stroking his long white beardand gazing at the ceiling as he talked. Bibbs beckoned him urgently, butUncle Gideon paid no attention. 

"Bildad the Shuhite spake and his says, 'If thy children have sinnedagainst Him and He have cast them away--'"

There was a muffled explosion beneath the floor, and the windowsrattled. The figure lying face downward on the bed did not move, butUncle Gideon leaped from his chair. "My God!" he cried. "What's that?"

There came a second explosion, and Uncle Gideon ran out into the hall. Bibbs went to the head of the great staircase, and, looking down, discovered the source of the disturbance. Gideon's grandson, a boyof fourteen, had brought his camera to the funeral and was taking"flash-lights" of the Moor. Uncle Gideon, reassured by Bibbs'sexplanation, would have returned to finish his quotation from Bildad theShuhite, but Bibbs detained him, and after a little argument persuadedhim to descend to the dining-room whither Bibbs followed, after closingthe door of his father's room. 

He kept his eye on Gideon after dinner, diplomatically preventingseveral attempts on the part of that comforter to reascend the stairs;and it was a relief to Bibbs when George announced that an automobilewas waiting to convey the ancient man and his grandson to their train. They were the last to leave, and when they had gone Bibbs went sighingto his own room. 

He stretched himself wearily upon the bed, but presently rose, went tothe window, and looked for a long time at the darkened house whereMary Vertrees lived. Then he opened his trunk, took therefrom a smallnote-book half filled with fragmentary scribblings, and began to write:

 Laughter after a funeral. In this reaction people will laugh at anything and at nothing. The band plays a dirge on the way to the cemetery, but when it turns back, and the mourning carriages are out of hearing, it strikes up, "Darktown is Out To-night. " That is natural--but there are women whose laughter is like the whirring of whips. Why is it that certain kinds of laughter seem to spoil something hidden away from the laughers? If they do not know of it, and have never seen it, how can their laughter hurt it? Yet it does. Beauty is not out of place among grave-stones. It is not out of place anywhere. But a woman who has been betrothed to a man would not look beautiful at his funeral. A woman might look beautiful, though, at the funeral of a man whom she had known and liked. And in that case, too, she would probably not want to talk if she drove home from the cemetery with his brother: nor would she want the brother to talk. Silence is usually either stupid or timid. But for a man who stammers if he tries to talk fast, and drawls so slowly, when he doesn't stammer, that nobody has time to listen to him, silence is advisable. Nevertheless, too much silence is open to suspicion. It may be reticence, or it may be a vacuum. It may be dignity, or it may be false teeth. 

 Sometimes an imperceptible odor will become perceptible in a small inclosure, such as a closed carriage. The ghost of gasoline rising from a lady's glove might be sweeter to the man riding beside her than all the scents of Arcady in spring. It depends on the lady-- but there ARE! Three miles may be three hundred miles, or it may be three feet. When it is three feet you have not time to say a great deal before you reach the end of it. Still, it may be that one should begin to speak. 

 No one could help wishing to stay in a world that holds some of the people that are in this world. There are some so wonderful you do not understand how the dead COULD die. How could they let themselves? A falling building does not care who falls with it. It does not choose who shall be upon its roof and who shall not. Silence CAN be golden? Yes. But perhaps if a woman of the world should find herself by accident sitting beside a man for the length of time it must necessarily take two slow old horses to jog three miles, she might expect that man to say something of some sort! Even if she thought him a feeble hypochondriac, even if she had heard from others that he was a disappointment to his own people, even if she had seen for herself that he was a useless and irritating encumbrance everywhere, she might expect him at least to speak--she might expect him to open his mouth and try to make sounds, if he only barked. If he did not even try, but sat every step of the way as dumb as a frozen fish, she might THINK him a frozen fish. And she might be right. She might be right if she thought him about as pleasant a companion as--as Bildad the Shuhite!

Bibbs closed his note-book, replacing it in his trunk. Then, after aperiod of melancholy contemplation, he undressed, put on a dressing-gownand slippers, and went softly out into the hall--to his father's door. Upon the floor was a tray which Bibbs had sent George, earlier in theevening, to place upon a table in Sheridan's room--but the food wasuntouched. Bibbs stood listening outside the door for several minutes. There came no sound from within, and he went back to his own room and tobed. 

In the morning he woke to a state of being hitherto unknown in hisexperience. Sometimes in the process of waking there is a littlepause--sleep has gone, but coherent thought has not begun. It isa curious half-void, a glimpse of aphasia; and although the personexperiencing it may not know for that instant his own name or age orsex, he may be acutely conscious of depression or elation. It is themoment, as we say, before we "remember"; and for the first time inBibbs's life it came to him bringing a vague happiness. He woke to asense of new riches; he had the feeling of a boy waking to a birthday. But when the next moment brought him his memory, he found nothing thatcould explain his exhilaration. On the contrary, under the circumstancesit seemed grotesquely unwarranted. However, it was a brief visitationand was gone before he had finished dressing. It left a little trail, the pleased recollection of it and the puzzle of it, which remainedunsolved. And, in fact, waking happily in the morning is not usuallythe result of a drive home from a funeral. No wonder the sequence evadedBibbs Sheridan!

His father had gone when he came down-stairs. "Went on down to 'soffice, jes' same, " Jackson informed him. "Came sat breakfas'-table, allby 'mself; eat nothin'. George bring nice breakfas', but he di'n' eata thing. Yessuh, went on down-town, jes' same he yoosta do. Yessuh, Ireckon putty much ev'y-thing goin' go on same as it yoosta do. "

It struck Bibbs that Jackson was right. The day passed as other days hadpassed. Mrs. Sheridan and Edith were in black, and Mrs. Sheridan crieda little, now and then, but no other external difference was to beseen. Edith was quiet, but not noticeably depressed, and at lunch provedherself able to argue with her mother upon the propriety of receivingcalls in the earliest stages of "mourning. " Lunch was as usual--for Jimand his father had always lunched down-town--and the afternoon was asusual. Bibbs went for his drive, and his mother went with him, as shesometimes did when the weather was pleasant. Altogether, the usualnessof things was rather startling to Bibbs. 

During the drive Mrs. Sheridan talked fragmentarily of Jim's childhood. "But you wouldn't remember about that, " she said, after narrating anepisode. "You were too little. He was always a good boy, just like that. And he'd save whatever papa gave him, and put it in the bank. I reckonit'll just about kill your father to put somebody in his place aspresident of the Realty Company, Bibbs. I know he can't move Roscoeover; he told me last week he'd already put as much on Roscoe as anyone man could handle and not go crazy. Oh, it's a pity--" She stoppedto wipe her eyes. "It's a pity you didn't run more with Jim, Bibbs, andkind o' pick up his ways. Think what it'd meant to papa now! You neverdid run with either Roscoe or Jim any, even before you got sick. Ofcourse, you were younger; but it always DID seem queer--and you threebein' brothers like that. I don't believe I ever saw you and Jim sitdown together for a good talk in my life. "

"Mother, I've been away so long, " Bibbs returned, gently. "And since Icame home I--"

"Oh, I ain't reproachin' you, Bibbs, " she said. "Jim ain't been homemuch of an evening since you got back--what with his work and callin'and goin' to the theater and places, and often not even at the house fordinner. Right the evening before he got hurt he had his dinner at somemiser'ble rest'rant down by the Pump Works, he was so set on overseein'the night work and gettin' everything finished up right to the minute hetold papa he would. I reckon you might 'a' put in more time with Jim ifthere'd been more opportunity, Bibbs. I expect you feel almost as if youscarcely really knew him right well. "

"I suppose I really didn't, mother. He was busy, you see, and I hadn'tmuch to say about the things that interested him, because I don't knowmuch about them. "

"It's a pity! Oh, it's a pity!" she moaned. "And you'll have to learn toknow about 'em NOW, Bibbs! I haven't said much to you, because I felt itwas all between your father and you, but I honestly do believe it willjust kill him if he has to have any more trouble on top of all this!You mustn't LET him, Bibbs--you mustn't! You don't know how he's grievedover you, and now he can't stand any more--he just can't! Whatever hesays for you to do, you DO it, Bibbs, you DO it! I want you to promiseme you will. "

"I would if I could, " he said, sorrowfully. 

"No, no! Why can't you?" she cried, clutching his arm. "He wants you togo back to the machine-shop and--"

"And--'like it'!" said Bibbs. 

"Yes, that's it--to go in a cheerful spirit. Dr. Gurney said it wouldn'thurt you if you went in a cheerful spirit--the doctor said that himself, Bibbs. So why can't you do it? Can't you do that much for your father?You ought to think what he's done for YOU. You got a beautiful houseto live in; you got automobiles to ride in; you got fur coats and warmclothes; you been taken care of all your life. And you don't KNOW howhe worked for the money to give all these things to you! You don't DREAMwhat he had to go through and what he risked when we were startin' outin life; and you never WILL know! And now this blow has fallen on himout of a clear sky, and you make it out to be a hardship to do like hewants you to! And all on earth he asks is for you to go back to the workin a cheerful spirit, so it won't hurt you! That's all he asks. Look, Bibbs, we're gettin' back near home, but before we get there I want youto promise me that you'll do what he asks you to. Promise me!"

In her earnestness she cleared away her black veil that she might seehim better, and it blew out on the smoky wind. He readjusted it for herbefore he spoke. 

"I'll go back in as cheerful a spirit as I can, mother, " he said. 

"There!" she exclaimed, satisfied. "That's a good boy! That's all Iwanted you to say. "

"Don't give me any credit, " he said, ruefully. "There isn't anythingelse for me to do. "

"Now, don't begin talkin' THAT way!"

"No, no, " he soothed her. "We'll have to begin to make the spirit acheerful one. We may--" They were turning into their own driveway ashe spoke, and he glanced at the old house next door. Mary Vertrees wasvisible in the twilight, standing upon the front steps, bareheaded, thedoor open behind her. She bowed gravely. 

"'We may'--what?" asked Mrs. Sheridan, with a slight impatience. 

"What is it, mother?"

"You said, 'We may, ' and didn't finish what you were sayin'. "

"Did I?" said Bibbs, blankly. "Well, what WERE we saying?"

"Of all the queer boys!" she cried. "You always were. Always! Youhaven't forgot what you just promised me, have you?"

"No, " he answered, as the car stopped. "No, the spirit will be ascheerful as the flesh will let it, mother. It won't do to behave like--"

His voice was low, and in her movement to descend from the car shefailed to here his final words. 

"Behave like who, Bibbs?"

"Nothing. "

But she was fretful in her grief. "You said it wouldn't do to behavelike SOMEBODY. Behave like WHO?"

"It was just nonsense, " he explained, turning to go in. "An obscureperson I don't think much of lately. "

"Behave like WHO?" she repeated, and upon his yielding to her petulantinsistence, she made up her mind that the only thing to do was to tellDr. Gurney about it. 

"Like Bildad the Shuhite!" was what Bibbs said. 

CHAPTER XIV

The outward usualness of things continued after dinner. It wasSheridan's custom to read the evening paper beside the fire in thelibrary, while his wife, sitting near by, either sewed (from old habit)or allowed herself to be repeatedly baffled by one of the simpler formsof solitaire. To-night she did neither, but sat in her customary chair, gazing at the fire, while Sheridan let the unfolded paper rest upon hislap, though now and then he lifted it, as if to read, and let it fallback upon his knees again. Bibbs came in noiselessly and sat in acorner, doing nothing; and from a "reception-room" across the hall anindistinct vocal murmur became just audible at intervals. Once, whenthis murmur grew louder, under stress of some irrepressible merriment, Edith's voice could be heard--"Bobby, aren't you awful!" and Sheridanglanced across at his wife appealingly. 

She rose at once and went into the "reception-room"; there was a flurryof whispering, and the sound of tiptoeing in the hall--Edith and hersuitor changing quarters to a more distant room. Mrs. Sheridan returnedto her chair in the library. 

"They won't bother you any more, papa, " she said, in a comforting voice. "She told me at lunch he'd 'phoned he wanted to come up this evening, and I said I thought he'd better wait a few days, but she said she'dalready told him he could. " She paused, then added, rather guiltily: "Igot kind of a notion maybe Roscoe don't like him as much as he usedto. Maybe--maybe you better ask Roscoe, papa. " And as Sheridan noddedsolemnly, she concluded, in haste: "Don't say I said to. I might bewrong about it, anyway. "

He nodded again, and they sat for some time in a silence which Mrs. Sheridan broke with a little sniff, having fallen into a reverie thatbrought tears. "That Miss Vertrees was a good girl, " she said. "SHE wasall right. "

Her husband evidently had no difficulty in following her train ofthought, for he nodded once more, affirmatively. 

"Did you--How did you fix it about the--the Realty Company?" shefaltered. "Did you--"

He rose heavily, helping himself to his feet by the arms of his chair. "I fixed it, " he said, in a husky voice. "I moved Cantwell up, and putJohnston in Cantwell's place, and split up Johnston's work among thefour men with salaries high enough to take it. " He went to her, puthis hand upon her shoulder, and drew a long, audible, tremulous breath. "It's my bedtime, mamma; I'm goin' up. " He dropped the hand from hershoulder and moved slowly away, but when he reached the door he stoppedand spoke again, without turning to look at her. "The Realty Company'llgo right on just the same, " he said. "It's like--it's like sand, mamma. It puts me in mind of chuldern playin' in a sand-pile. One of 'em stickshis finger in the sand and makes a hole, and another of 'em'll pat theplace with his hand, and all the little grains of sand run in and fillit up and settle against one another; and then, right away it's flat ontop again, and you can't tell there ever was a hole there. The RealtyCompany'll go on all right, mamma. There ain't anything anywhere, Ireckon, that wouldn't go right on--just the same. "

And he passed out slowly into the hall; then they heard his heavy treadupon the stairs. 

Mrs. Sheridan, rising to follow him, turned a piteous face to her son. "It's so forlone, " she said, chokingly. "That's the first time he spokesince he came in the house this evening. I know it must 'a' hurt him tohear Edith laughin' with that Lamhorn. She'd oughtn't to let him come, right the very first evening this way; she'd oughtn't to done it! Shejust seems to lose her head over him, and it scares me. You heard whatSibyl said the other day, and--and you heard what--what--"

"What Edith said to Sibyl?" Bibbs finished the sentence for her. 

"We CAN'T have any trouble o' THAT kind!" she wailed. "Oh, it looks asif movin' up to this New House had brought us awful bad luck! It scaresme!" She put both her hands over her face. "Oh, Bibbs, Bibbs! if youonly wasn't so QUEER! If you could only been a kind of dependable son!I don't know what we're all comin' to!" And, weeping, she followed herhusband. 

Bibbs gazed for a while at the fire; then he rose abruptly, like a manwho has come to a decision, and briskly sought the room--it was called"the smoking-room"--where Edith sat with Mr. Lamhorn. They looked up inno welcoming manner, at Bibbs's entrance, and moved their chairs to aless conspicuous adjacency. 

"Good evening, " said Bibbs, pleasantly; and he seated himself in aleather easy-chair near them. 

"What is it?" asked Edith, plainly astonished. 

"Nothing, " he returned, smiling. 

She frowned. "Did you want something?" she asked. 

"Nothing in the world. Father and mother have gone up-stairs; I sha'n'tbe going up for several hours, and there didn't seem to be anybody leftfor me to chat with except you and Mr. Lamhorn. "

"'CHAT with'!" she echoed, incredulously. 

"I can talk about almost anything, " said Bibbs with an air ofgenial politeness. "It doesn't matter to ME. I don't know much aboutbusiness--if that's what you happened to be talking about. But youaren't in business, are you, Mr. Lamhorn?"

"Not now, " returned Lamhorn, shortly. 

"I'm not, either, " said Bibbs. "It was getting cloudier than usual, Inoticed, just before dark, and there was wind from the southwest. Rainto-morrow, I shouldn't be surprised. "

He seemed to feel that he had begun a conversation the support ofwhich had now become the pleasurable duty of other parties; and hesat expectantly, looking first at his sister, then at Lamhorn, as ifimplying that it was their turn to speak. Edith returned his gaze witha mixture of astonishment and increasing anger, while Mr. Lamhorn wasobviously disturbed, though Bibbs had been as considerate as possible inpresenting the weather as a topic. Bibbs had perceived that Lamhorn hadnothing in his mind at any time except "personalities"--he could talkabout people and he could make love. Bibbs, wishing to be courteous, offered the weather. 

Lamhorn refused it, and concluded from Bibbs's luxurious attitude in theleather chair that this half-crazy brother was a permanent fixture forthe rest of the evening. There was not reason to hope that he wouldmove, and Lamhorn found himself in danger of looking silly. 

"I was just going, " he said, rising. 

"Oh NO!" Edith cried, sharply. 

"Yes. Good night! I think I--"

"Too bad, " said Bibbs, genially, walking to the door with the visitor, while Edith stood staring as the two disappeared in the hall. She heardBibbs offering to "help" Lamhorn with his overcoat and the latter rathercurtly declining assistance, these episodes of departure being followedby the closing of the outer door. She ran into the hall. 

"What's the matter with you?" she cried, furiously. "What do you MEAN?How did you dare come in there when you knew--"

Her voice broke; she made a gesture of rage and despair, and ran up thestairs, sobbing. She fled to her mother's room, and when Bibbs came up, a few minutes later, Mrs. Sheridan met him at his door. 

"Oh, Bibbs, " she said, shaking her head woefully, "you'd oughtn't todistress your sister! She says you drove that young man right out of thehouse. You'd ought to been more considerate. "

Bibbs smiled faintly, noting that Edith's door was open, with Edith'snaive shadow motionless across its threshold. "Yes, " he said. "Hedoesn't appear to be much of a 'man's man. ' He ran at just a glimpse ofone. "

Edith's shadow moved; her voice came quavering: "You call yourself one?"

"No, no, " he answered. "I said, 'just a glimpse of one. ' I didn'tclaim--" But her door slammed angrily; and he turned to his mother. 

"There, " he said, sighing. "That's almost the first time in my life Iever tried to be a man of action, mother, and I succeeded perfectly inwhat I tried to do. As a consequence I feel like a horse-thief!"

"You hurt her feelin's, " she groaned. "You must 'a' gone at it toorough, Bibbs. "

He looked upon her wanly. "That's my trouble, mother, " he murmured. "I'ma plain, blunt fellow. I have rough ways, and I'm a rough man. "

For once she perceived some meaning in his queerness. "Hush yournonsense!" she said, good-naturedly, the astral of a troubled smileappearing. "You go to bed. "

He kissed her and obeyed. 

Edith gave him a cold greeting the next morning at the breakfast-table. 

"You mustn't do that under a misapprehension, " he warned her, when theywere alone in the dining-room. 

"Do what under a what?" she asked. 

"Speak to me. I came into the smoking-room last night 'on purpose, '" hetold her, gravely. "I have a prejudice against that young man. "

She laughed. "I guess you think it means a great deal who you haveprejudices against!" In mockery she adopted the manner of one whoimplores. "Bibbs, for pity's sake PROMISE me, DON'T use YOUR influencewith papa against him!" And she laughed louder. 

"Listen, " he said, with peculiar earnestness. "I'll tell you now, because--because I've decided I'm one of the family. " And then, asif the earnestness were too heavy for him to carry it further, hecontinued, in his usual tone, "I'm drunk with power, Edith. "

"What do you want to tell me?" she demanded, brusquely. 

"Lamhorn made love to Sibyl, " he said. 

Edith hooted. "SHE did to HIM! And because you overheard that spatbetween us the other day when I the same as accused her of it, and saidsomething like that to you afterward--"

"No, " he said, gravely. "I KNOW. "

"How?"

"I was there, one day a week ago, with Roscoe, and I heard Sibyl andLamhorn--"

Edith screamed with laughter. "You were with ROSCOE--and you heardLamhorn making love to Sibyl!"

"No. I heard them quarreling. "

"You're funnier than ever, Bibbs!" she cried. "You say he made love toher because you heard them quarreling!"

"That's it. If you want to know what's 'between' people, you can--by theway they quarrel. "

"You'll kill me, Bibbs! What were they quarreling about?"

"Nothing. That's how I knew. People who quarrel over nothing!--it'salways certain--"

Edith stopped laughing abruptly, but continued her mockery. "You oughtto know. You've had so much experience, yourself!"

"I haven't any, Edith, " he said. "My life has been about as exciting asan incubator chicken's. But I look out through the glass at things. "

"Well, then, " she said, "if you look out through the glass you must knowwhat effect such stuff would have upon ME!" She rose, visibly agitated. "What if it WAS true?" she demanded, bitterly. "What if it was true ahundred times over? You sit there with your silly face half ready togiggle and half ready to sniffle, and tell me stories like that, aboutSibyl picking on Bobby Lamhorn and worrying him to death, and you thinkit matters to ME? What if I already KNEW all about their 'quarreling'?What if I understood WHY she--" She broke off with a violent gesture, asweep of her arm extended at full length, as if she hurled something tothe ground. "Do you think a girl that really cared for a man would payany attention to THAT? Or to YOU, Bibbs Sheridan!"

He looked at her steadily, and his gaze was as keen as it was steady. She met it with unwavering pride. Finally he nodded slowly, as if shehad spoken and he meant to agree with what she said. 

"Ah, yes, " he said. "I won't come into the smoking-room again. I'msorry, Edith. Nobody can make you see anything now. You'll never seeuntil you see for yourself. The rest of us will do better to keep out ofit--especially me!"

"That's sensible, " she responded, curtly. "You're most surprising of allwhen you're sensible, Bibbs. "

"Yes, " he sighed. "I'm a dull dog. Shake hands and forgive me, Edith. "

Thawing so far as to smile, she underwent this brief ceremony, andGeorge appeared, summoning Bibbs to the library; Dr. Gurney was waitingthere, he announced. And Bibbs gave his sister a shy but friendly touchupon the shoulder as a complement to the handshaking, and left her. 

Dr. Gurney was sitting by the log fire, alone in the room, and he merelyglanced over his shoulder when his patient came in. He was not overfifty, in spite of Sheridan's habitual "ole Doc Gurney. " He was gray, however, almost as thin as Bibbs, and nearly always he looked drowsy. 

"Your father telephoned me yesterday afternoon, Bibbs, " he said, notrising. "Wants me to 'look you over' again. Come around here in front ofme--between me and the fire. I want to see if I can see through you. "

"You mean you're too sleepy to move, " returned Bibbs, complying. "Ithink you'll notice that I'm getting worse. "

"Taken on about twelve pounds, " said Gurney. "Thirteen, maybe. "

"Twelve. "

"Well, it won't do. " The doctor rubbed his eyelids. "You're so muchbetter I'll have to use some machinery on you before we can know justwhere you are. You come down to my place this afternoon. Walk down--allthe way. I suppose you know why your father wants to know. "

Bibbs nodded. "Machine-shop. "

"Still hate it?"

Bibbs nodded again. 

"Don't blame you!" the doctor grunted. "Yes, I expect it'll make a lumpin your gizzard again. Well, what do you say? Shall I tell him you'vegot the old lump there yet? You still want to write, do you?"

"What's the use?" Bibbs said, smiling ruefully. "My kind of writing!"

"Yes, " the doctor agreed. "I suppose it you broke away and lived onroots and berries until you began to 'attract the favorable attention ofeditors' you might be able to hope for an income of four or five hundreddollars a year by the time you're fifty. "

"That's about it, " Bibbs murmured. 

"Of course I know what you want to do, " said Gurney, drowsily. "Youdon't hate the machine-shop only; you hate the whole show--the noise andjar and dirt, the scramble--the whole bloomin' craze to 'get on. ' You'dlike to go somewhere in Algiers, or to Taormina, perhaps, and bask on abalcony, smelling flowers and writing sonnets. You'd grow fat on it andhave a delicate little life all to yourself. Well, what do you say? Ican lie like sixty, Bibbs! Shall I tell your father he'll lose anotherof his boys if you don't go to Sicily?"

"I don't want to go to Sicily, " said Bibbs. "I want to stay right here. "

The doctor's drowsiness disappeared for a moment, and he gave hispatient a sharp glance. "It's a risk, " he said. "I think we'll findyou're so much better he'll send you back to the shop pretty quick. Something's got hold of you lately; you're not quite so lackadaisical asyou used to be. But I warn you: I think the shop will knock you just asit did before, and perhaps even harder, Bibbs. "

He rose, shook himself, and rubbed his eyelids. "Well, when we go overyou this afternoon what are we going to say about it?"

"Tell him I'm ready, " said Bibbs, looking at the floor. 

"Oh no, " Gurney laughed. "Not quite yet; but you may be almost. We'llsee. Don't forget I said to walk down. "

And when the examination was concluded, that afternoon, the doctorinformed Bibbs that the result was much too satisfactory to be pleasing. "Here's a new 'situation' for a one-act farce, " he said, gloomily, tohis next patient when Bibbs had gone. "Doctor tells a man he's well, andthat's his death sentence, likely. Dam' funny world!"

Bibbs decided to walk home, though Gurney had not instructed him uponthis point. In fact, Gurney seemed to have no more instructions on anypoint, so discouraging was the young man's improvement. It was a dingyafternoon, and the smoke was evident not only to Bibbs's sight, but tohis nostrils, though most of the pedestrians were so saturated withthe smell they could no longer detect it. Nearly all of them walkedhurriedly, too intent upon their destinations to be more than half awareof the wayside; they wore the expressions of people under a vague yetconstant strain. They were all lightly powdered, inside and out, withfine dust and grit from the hard-paved streets, and they were unaware ofthat also. They did not even notice that they saw the smoke, though thethickened air was like a shrouding mist. And when Bibbs passed the new"Sheridan Apartments, " now almost completed, he observed that the marbleof the vestibule was already streaky with soot, like his gloves, whichwere new. 

That recalled to him the faint odor of gasolene in the coupe on the wayfrom his brother's funeral, and this incited a train of thought whichcontinued till he reached the vicinity of his home. His route was bya street parallel to that on which the New House fronted, and in hispreoccupation he walked a block farther than he intended, so that, having crossed to his own street, he approached the New House from thenorth, and as he came to the corner of Mr. Vertrees's lot Mr. Vertrees'sdaughter emerged from the front door and walked thoughtfully down thepath to the old picket gate. She was unconscious of the approach of thepedestrian from the north, and did not see him until she had opened thegate and he was almost beside her. Then she looked up, and as shesaw him she started visibly. And if this thing had happened toRobert Lamhorn, he would have had a thought far beyond the horizon offaint-hearted Bibbs's thoughts. Lamhorn, indeed, would have spoken histhought. He would have said: "You jumped because you were thinking ofme!"

CHAPTER XV

Mary was the picture of a lady flustered. She stood with one handclosing the gate behind her, and she had turned to go in the directionBibbs was walking. There appeared to be nothing for it but that theyshould walk together, at least as far as the New House. But Bibbs hadpaused in his slow stride, and there elapsed an instant before eitherspoke or moved--it was no longer than that, and yet it sufficed for eachto seem to say, by look and attitude, "Why, it's YOU!"

Then they both spoke at once, each hurriedly pronouncing the other'sname as if about to deliver a message of importance. Then both came toa stop simultaneously, but Bibbs made a heroic effort, and as they beganto walk on together he contrived to find his voice. 

"I--I--hate a frozen fish myself, " he said. "I think three miles was toolong for you to put up with one. "

"Good gracious!" she cried, turning to him a glowing face from whichrestraint and embarrassment had suddenly fled. "Mr. Sheridan, you'relovely to put it that way. But it's always the girl's place to say it'sturning cooler! I ought to have been the one to show that we didn't knoweach other well enough not to say SOMETHING! It was an imposition forme to have made you bring me home, and after I went into the house Idecided I should have walked. Besides, it wasn't three miles to thecar-line. I never thought of it!"

"No, " said Bibbs, earnestly. "I didn't, either. I might have saidsomething if I'd thought of anything. I'm talking now, though; I mustremember that, and not worry about it later. I think I'm talking, thoughit doesn't sound intelligent even to me. I made up my mind that if Iever met you again I'd turn on my voice and keep it going, no mater whatit said. I--"

She interrupted him with laughter, and Mary Vertrees's laugh was onewhich Bibbs's father had declared, after the house-warming, "a cripplewould crawl five miles to hear. " And at the merry lilting of it Bibbs'sfather's son took heart to forget some of his trepidation. "I'll be anykind of idiot, " he said, "if you'll laugh at me some more. It won't bedifficult for me. "

She did; and Bibbs's cheeks showed a little actual color, which Maryperceived. It recalled to her, by contrast, her careless and irritateddescription of him to her mother just after she had seen him for thefirst time. "Rather tragic and altogether impossible. " It seemed to hernow that she must have been blind. 

They had passed the New House without either of them showing--orpossessing--any consciousness that it had been the destination of one ofthem. 

"I'll keep on talking, " Bibbs continued, cheerfully, "and you keep onlaughing. I'm amounting to something in the world this afternoon. I'mmaking a noise, and that makes you make music. Don't be bothered by mybleating out such things as that. I'm really frightened, and that makesme bleat anything. I'm frightened about two things: I'm afraid of whatI'll think of myself later if I don't keep talking--talking now, Imean--and I'm afraid of what I'll think of myself if I do. And besidesthese two things, I'm frightened, anyhow. I don't remember talking asmuch as this more than once or twice in my life. I suppose it was alwaysin me to do it, though, the first time I met any one who didn't know mewell enough not to listen. "

"But you're not really talking to me, " said Mary. "You're just thinkingaloud. "

"No, " he returned, gravely. "I'm not thinking at all; I'm only makingvocal sounds because I believe it's more mannerly. I seem to be thesubject of what little meaning they possess, and I'd like to change it, but I don't know how. I haven't any experience in talking, and I don'tknow how to manage it. "

"You needn't change the subject on my account, Mr. Sheridan, " she said. "Not even if you really talked about yourself. " She turned herface toward him as she spoke, and Bibbs caught his breath; he waspathetically amazed by the look she gave him. It was a glowing look, warmly friendly and understanding, and, what almost shocked him, it wasan eagerly interested look. Bibbs was not accustomed to anything likethat. 

"I--you--I--I'm--" he stammered, and the faint color in his cheeks grewalmost vivid. 

She was still looking at him, and she saw the strange radiance that cameinto his face. There was something about him, too, that explained how"queer" many people might think him; but he did not seem "queer" to MaryVertrees; he seemed the most quaintly natural person she had ever met. 

He waited, and became coherent. "YOU say something now, " he said. "Idon't even belong in the chorus, and here I am, trying to sing the funnyman's solo! You--"

"No, " she interrupted. "I'd rather play your accompaniment. "

"I'll stop and listen to it, then. "

"Perhaps--" she began, but after pausing thoughtfully she made agesture with her muff, indicating a large brick church which they wereapproaching. "Do you see that church, Mr. Sheridan?"

"I suppose I could, " he answered in simple truthfulness, looking at her. "But I don't want to. Once, when I was ill, the nurse told me I'd bettersay anything that was on my mind, and I got the habit. The other reasonI don't want to see the church is that I have a feeling it's whereyou're going, and where I'll be sent back. "

She shook her head in cheery negation. "Not unless you want to be. Wouldyou like to come with me?"

"Why--why--yes, " he said. "Anywhere!" And again it was apparent that hespoke in simple truthfulness. 

"Then come--if you care for organ music. The organist is an old friendof mine, and sometimes he plays for me. He's a dear old man. He hada degree from Bonn, and was a professor afterward, but he gave upeverything for music. That's he, waiting in the doorway. He looks likeBeethoven, doesn't he? I think he knows that, perhaps and enjoys it alittle. I hope so. "

"Yes, " said Bibbs, as they reached the church steps. "I think Beethovenwould like it, too. It must be pleasant to look like other people. "

"I haven't kept you?" Mary said to the organist. 

"No, no, " he answered, heartily. "I would not mind so only you shouldshooer come!"

"This is Mr. Sheridan, Dr. Kraft. He has come to listen with me. "

The organist looked bluntly surprised. "Iss that SO?" he exclaimed. "Well, I am glad if you wish him, and if he can stant my liddle playink. He iss musician himself, then, of course. "

"No, " said Bibbs, as the three entered the church together. "I--I playedthe--I tried to play--" Fortunately he checked himself; he had beenabout to offer the information that he had failed to master thejews'-harp in his boyhood. "No, I'm not a musician, " he contentedhimself with saying. 

"What?" Dr. Kraft's surprise increased. "Young man, you are fortunate!I play for Miss Vertrees; she comes always alone. You are the first. Youare the first one EVER!"

They had reached the head of the central aisle, and as the organistfinished speaking Bibbs stopped short, turning to look at Mary Vertreesin a dazed way that was not of her perceiving; for, though she stoppedas he did, her gaze followed the organist, who was walking away fromthem toward the front of the church, shaking his white Beethovian maneroguishly. 

"It's false pretenses on my part, " Bibbs said. "You mean to be kind tothe sick, but I'm not an invalid any more. I'm so well I'm going backto work in a few days. I'd better leave before he begins to play, hadn'tI?"

"No, " said Mary, beginning to walk forward. "Not unless you don't likegreat music. "

He followed her to a seat about half-way up the aisle while Dr. Kraftascended to the organ. It was an enormous one, the procession of pipesranging from long, starveling whistles to thundering fat guns; theycovered all the rear wall of the church, and the organist's figure, reaching its high perch, looked like that of some Lilliputian magicianludicrously daring the attempt to control a monster certain to overwhelmhim. 

"This afternoon some Handel!" he turned to shout. 

Mary nodded. "Will you like that?" she asked Bibbs. 

"I don't know. I never heard any except 'Largo. ' I don't know anythingabout music. I don't even know how to pretend I do. If I knew enough topretend, I would. "

"No, " said Mary, looking at him and smiling faintly, "you wouldn't. "

She turned away as a great sound began to swim and tremble in the air;the huge empty space of the church filled with it, and the two peoplelistening filled with it; the universe seemed to fill and thrill withit. The two sat intensely still, the great sound all round about them, while the church grew dusky, and only the organist's lamp made atiny star of light. His white head moved from side to side beneath itrhythmically, or lunged and recovered with the fierceness of a duelistthrusting, but he was magnificently the master of his giant, and it sangto his magic as he bade it. 

Bibbs was swept away upon that mighty singing. Such a thing was whollyunknown to him; there had been no music in his meager life. Unlikethe tale, it was the Princess Bedrulbudour who had brought him to theenchanted cave, and that--for Bibbs--was what made its magic dazing. Itseemed to him a long, long time since he had been walking home drearilyfrom Dr. Gurney's office; it seemed to him that he had set out upon ahappy journey since then, and that he had reached another planet, whereMary Vertrees and he sat alone together listening to a vast choiring ofinvisible soldiers and holy angels. There were armies of voices aboutthem singing praise and thanksgiving; and yet they were alone. It wasincredible that the walls of the church were not the boundaries ofthe universe, to remain so for ever; incredible that there was a smokystreet just yonder, where housemaids were bringing in evening papersfrom front steps and where children were taking their last spins onroller-skates before being haled indoors for dinner. 

He had a curious sense of communication with his new friend. He knewit could not be so, and yet he felt as if all the time he spoke to her, saying: "You hear this strain? You hear that strain? You know the dreamthat these sounds bring to me?" And it seemed to him as though sheanswered continually: "I hear! I hear that strain, and I hear the newone that you are hearing now. I know the dream that these sounds bringto you. Yes, yes, I hear it all! We hear--together!"

And though the church grew so dim that all was mysterious shadow exceptthe vague planes of the windows and the organist's light, with the whitehead moving beneath it, Bibbs had no consciousness that the girl sittingbeside him had grown shadowy; he seemed to see her as plainly as ever inthe darkness, though he did not look at her. And all the mighty chantingof the organ's multitudinous voices that afternoon seemed to Bibbs to bechorusing of her and interpreting her, singing her thoughts and singingfor him the world of humble gratitude that was in his heart because shewas so kind to him. It all meant Mary. 

CHAPTER XVI

But when she asked him what it meant, on their homeward way, he wassilent. They had come a few paces from the church without speaking, walking slowly. 

"I'll tell you what it meant to me, " she said, as he did not immediatelyreply. "Almost any music of Handel's always means one thing above allothers to me: courage! That's it. It makes cowardice of whining seem soinfinitesimal--it makes MOST things in our hustling little lives seeminfinitesimal. "

"Yes, " he said. "It seems odd, doesn't it, that people down-town arehurrying to trains and hanging to straps in trolley-cars, welteringevery way to get home and feed and sleep so they can get down-townto-morrow. And yet there isn't anything down there worth getting to. They're like servants drudging to keep the house going, and believingthe drudgery itself is the great thing. They make so much noise and fussand dirt they forget that the house was meant to live in. The houseworkhas to be done, but the people who do it have been so overpaid thatthey're confused and worship the housework. They're overpaid, and yet, poor things! they haven't anything that a chicken can't have. Ofcourse, when the world gets to paying its wages sensibly that will bedifferent. "

"Do you mean 'communism'?" she asked, and she made their slow pace alittle slower--they had only three blocks to go. 

"Whatever the word is, I only mean that things don't look very sensiblenow--especially to a man that wants to keep out of 'em and can't!'Communism'? Well, at least any 'decent sport' would say it's fair forall the strong runners to start from the same mark and give the weakones a fair distance ahead, so that all can run something like evenon the stretch. And wouldn't it be pleasant, really, if they could allcross the winning-line together? Who really enjoys beating anybody--ifhe sees the beaten man's face? The only way we can enjoy getting aheadof other people nowadays is by forgetting what the other people feel. And that, " he added, "is nothing of what the music meant to me. You see, if I keep talking about what it didn't mean I can keep from telling youwhat it did mean. "

"Didn't it mean courage to you, too--a little?" she asked. "Triumph andpraise were in it, and somehow those things mean courage to me. "

"Yes, they were all there, " Bibbs said. "I don't know the name of whathe played, but I shouldn't think it would matter much. The man thatmakes the music must leave it to you what it can mean to you, and thename he puts to it can't make much difference--except to himself andpeople very much like him, I suppose. "

"I suppose that's true, though I'd never thought of it like that. "

"I imagine music must make feelings and paint pictures in the minds ofthe people who hear it, " Bibbs went on, musingly, "according to theirown natures as much as according to the music itself. The musician mightcompose something and play it, wanting you to think of the Holy Grail, and some people who heard it would think of a prayer-meeting, and somewould think of how good they were themselves, and a boy might think ofhimself at the head of a solemn procession, carrying a banner and ridinga white horse. And then, if there were some jubilant passages in themusic, he'd think of a circus. "

They had reached her gate, and she set her hand upon it, but didnot open it. Bibbs felt that this was almost the kindest of herkindnesses--not to be prompt in leaving him. 

"After all, " she said, "you didn't tell me whether you liked it. "

"No. I didn't need to. "

"No, that's true, and I didn't need to ask. I knew. But you said youwere trying to keep from telling me what it did mean. "

"I can't keep from telling it any longer, " he said. "The music meant tome--it meant the kindness of--of you. "

"Kindness? How?"

"You thought I was a sort of lonely tramp--and sick--"

"No, " she said, decidedly. "I thought perhaps you'd like to hear Dr. Kraft play. And you did. "

"It's curious; sometimes it seemed to me that it was you who wereplaying. "

Mary laughed. "I? I strum! Piano. A little Chopin--Grieg--Chaminade. Youwouldn't listen!"

Bibbs drew a deep breath. "I'm frightened again, " he said, in anunsteady voice. "I'm afraid you'll think I'm pushing, but--" He paused, and the words sank to a murmur. 

"Oh, if you want ME to play for you!" she said. "Yes, gladly. It will bemerely absurd after what you heard this afternoon. I play like a hundredthousand other girls, and I like it. I'm glad when any one's willing tolisten, and if you--" She stopped, checked by a sudden recollection, and laughed ruefully. "But my piano won't be here after to-night. I--I'msending it away to-morrow. I'm afraid that if you'd like me to play toyou you'd have to come this evening. "

"You'll let me?" he cried. 

"Certainly, if you care to. "

"If I could play--" he said, wistfully, "if I could play like that oldman in the church I could thank you. "

"Ah, but you haven't heard me play. I KNOW you liked this afternoon, but--"

"Yes, " said Bibbs. "It was the greatest happiness I've ever known. "

It was too dark to see his face, but his voice held such plain honesty, and he spoke with such complete unconsciousness of saying anythingespecially significant, that she knew it was the truth. For a moment shewas nonplussed, then she opened the gate and went in. "You'll come afterdinner, then?"

"Yes, " he said, not moving. "Would you mind if I stood here until timeto come in?"

She had reached the steps, and at that she turned, offering him theresponse of laughter and a gay gesture of her muff toward the lightedwindows of the New House, as though bidding him to run home to hisdinner. 

That night, Bibbs sat writing in his note-book. 

 Music can come into a blank life, and fill it. Everything that is beautiful is music, if you can listen. 

 There is no gracefulness like that of a graceful woman at a grand piano. There is a swimming loveliness of line that seems to merge with the running of the sound, and you seem, as you watch her, to see what you are hearing and to hear what you are seeing. 

 There are women who make you think of pine woods coming down to a sparkling sea. The air about such a woman is bracing, and when she is near you, you feel strong and ambitious; you forget that the world doesn't like you. You think that perhaps you are a great fellow, after all. Then you come away and feel like a boy who has fallen in love with his Sunday-school teacher. You'll be whipped for it--and ought to be. 

 There are women who make you think of Diana, crowned with the moon. But they do not have the "Greek profile. " I do not believe Helen of Troy had a "Greek profile"; they would not have fought about her if her nose had been quite that long. The Greek nose is not the adorable nose. The adorable nose is about an eighth of an inch shorter. 

 Much of the music of Wagner, it appears, is not suitable to the piano. Wagner was a composer who could interpret into music such things as the primitive impulses of humanity--he could have made a machine-shop into music. But not if he had to work in it. Wagner was always dealing in immensities--a machine-shop would have put a majestic lump in so grand a gizzard as that. 

 There is a mystery about pianos, it seems. Sometimes they have to be "sent away. " That is how some people speak of the penitentiary. "Sent away" is a euphuism for "sent to prison. " But pianos are not sent to prison, and they are not sent to the tuner--the tuner is sent to them. Why are pianos "sent away"--and where?

 Sometimes a glorious day shines into the most ordinary and useless life. Happiness and beauty come caroling out of the air into the gloomy house of that life as if some stray angel just happened to perch on the roof-tree, resting and singing. And the night after such a day is lustrous and splendid with the memory of it. Music and beauty and kindness--those are the three greatest things God can give us. To bring them all in one day to one who expected nothing--ah! the heart that received them should be as humble as it is thankful. But it is hard to be humble when one is so rich with new memories. It is impossible to be humble after a day of glory. 

 Yes--the adorable nose is more than an eighth of an inch shorter than the Greek nose. It is a full quarter of an inch shorter. 

 There are women who will be kinder to a sick tramp than to a conquering hero. But the sick tramp had better remember that's what he is. Take care, take care! Humble's the word!

CHAPTER XVII

That "mystery about pianos" which troubled Bibbs had been a mystery toMr. Vertrees, and it was being explained to him at about the time Bibbsscribbled the reference to it in his notes. Mary had gone up-stairs uponBibbs's departure at ten o'clock, and Mr. And Mrs. Vertrees sat untilafter midnight in the library, talking. And in all that time they foundnot one cheerful topic, but became more depressed with everything andwith every phase of everything that they discussed--no extraordinarystate of affairs in a family which has always "held up its head, "only to arrive in the end at a point where all it can do is to look onhelplessly at the processes of its own financial dissolution. For thatwas the point which this despairing couple had reached--they could donothing except look on and talk about it. They were only vaporing, andthey knew it. 

"She needn't to have done that about her piano, " vapored Mr. Vertrees. "We could have managed somehow without it. At least she ought to haveconsulted me, and if she insisted I could have arranged the details withthe--the dealer. "

"She thought that it might be--annoying for you, " Mrs. Vertreesexplained. "Really, she planned for you not to know about it untilthey had removed--until after to-morrow, that is, but I decided to--tomention it. You see, she didn't even tell me about it until thismorning. She has another idea, too, I'm afraid. It's--it's--"

"Well?" he urged, as she found it difficult to go on. 

"Her other idea is--that is, it was--I think it can be avoided, ofcourse--it was about her furs. "

"No!" he exclaimed, quickly. "I won't have it! You must see to that. I'drather not talk to her about it, but you mustn't let her. "

"I'll try not, " his wife promised. "Of course, they're very handsome. "

"All the more reason for her to keep them!" he returned, irritably. "We're not THAT far gone, I think!"

"Perhaps not yet, " Mrs. Vertrees said. "She seems to be troubled aboutthe--the coal matter and--about Tilly. Of course the piano will takecare of some things like those for a while and--"

"I don't like it. I gave her the piano to play on, not to--"

"You mustn't be distressed about it in ONE way, " she said, comfortingly. "She arranged with the--with the purchaser that the men will come for itabout half after five in the afternoon. The days are so short now it'sreally quite winter. "

"Oh, yes, " he agreed, moodily. "So far as that goes people have aright to move a piece of furniture without stirring up the neighbors, Isuppose, even by daylight. I don't suppose OUR neighbors are paying muchattention just now, though I hear Sheridan was back in his office earlythe morning after the funeral. "

Mrs. Vertrees made a little sound of commiseration. "I don't believethat was because he wasn't suffering, though. I'm sure it was onlybecause he felt his business was so important. Mary told me he seemedwrapped up in his son's succeeding; and that was what he bragged aboutmost. He isn't vulgar in his boasting, I understand; he doesn't talk agreat deal about his--his actual money--though there was something aboutblades of grass that I didn't comprehend. I think he meant somethingabout his energy--but perhaps not. No, his bragging usually seemed to benot so much a personal vainglory as about his family and the greatnessof this city. "

"'Greatness of this city'!" Mr. Vertrees echoed, with dull bitterness. "It's nothing but a coal-hole! I suppose it looks 'great' to the man whohas the luck to make it work for him. I suppose it looks 'great' to anyYOUNG man, too, starting out to make his fortune out of it. The fellowsthat get what they want out of it say it's 'great, ' and everybody elsegets the habit. But you have a different point of view if it's thecity that got what it wanted out of you! Of course Sheridan says it's'great'. "

Mrs. Vertrees seemed unaware of this unusual outburst. "I believe, " shebegan, timidly, "he doesn't boast of--that is, I understand he has neverseemed so interested in the--the other one. "

Her husband's face was dark, but at that a heavier shadow fell uponit; he looked more haggard than before. "'The other one', " he repeated, averting his eyes. "You mean--you mean the third son--the one that washere this evening?"

"Yes, the--the youngest, " she returned, her voice so feeble it wasalmost a whisper. 

And then neither of them spoke for several long minutes. Nor did eitherlook at the other during that silence. 

At last Mr. Vertrees contrived to cough, but not convincingly. "What--ah--what was it Mary said about him out in the hall, when shecame in this afternoon? I heard you asking her something about him, butshe answered in such a low voice I didn't--ah--happen to catch it. "

"She--she didn't say much. All she said was this: I asked her if she hadenjoyed her walk with him, and she said, 'He's the most wistful creatureI've ever known. '"

"Well?"

"That was all. He IS wistful-looking; and so fragile--though he doesn'tseem quite so much so lately. I was watching Mary from the window whenshe went out to-day, and he joined her, and if I hadn't known about himI'd have thought he had quite an interesting face. "

"If you 'hadn't known about him'? Known what?"

"Oh, nothing, of course, " she said, hurriedly. "Nothing definite, thatis. Mary said decidely, long ago, that he's not at all insane, as wethought at first. It's only--well, of course it IS odd, their attitudeabout him. I suppose it's some nervous trouble that makes him--perhapsa little queer at times, so that he can't apply himself to anything--orperhaps does odd things. But, after all, of course, we only have animpression about it. We don't know--that is, positively. I--" Shepaused, then went on: "I didn't know just how to ask--that is--I didn'tmention it to Mary. I didn't--I--" The poor lady floundered pitifully, concluding with a mumble. "So soon after--after the--the shock. "

"I don't think I've caught more than a glimpse of him, " said Mr. Vertrees. "I wouldn't know him if I saw him, but your impression ofhim is--" He broke off suddenly, springing to his feet in agitation. "Ican't imagine her--oh, NO!" he gasped. And he began to pace the floor. "A half-witted epileptic!"

"No, no!" she cried. "He may be all right. We--"

"Oh, it's horrible! I can't--" He threw himself back into his chairagain, sweeping his hands across his face, then letting them fall limplyat his sides. 

Mrs. Vertrees was tremulous. "You mustn't give way so, " she said, inspired for once almost to direct discourse. "Whatever Mary might thinkof doing, it wouldn't be on her own account; it would be on ours. But ifWE should--should consider it, that wouldn't be on OUR own account. Itisn't because we think of ourselves. "

"Oh God, no!" he groaned. "Not for us! We can go to the poorhouse, butMary can't be a stenographer!"

Sighing, Mrs. Vertrees resumed her obliqueness. "Of course, " shemurmured, "it all seems very premature, speculating about such things, but I had a queer sort of feeling that she seemed quite interested inthis--" She had almost said "in this one, " but checked herself. "In thisyoung man. It's natural, of course; she is always so strong and well, and he is--he seems to be, that is--rather appealing to the--thesympathies. "

"Yes!" he agreed, bitterly. "Precisely. The sympathies!"

"Perhaps, " she faltered, "perhaps you might feel easier if I could havea little talk with some one?"

"With whom?"

"I had thought of--not going about it too brusquely, of course, butperhaps just waiting for his name to be mentioned, if I happened tobe talking with somebody that knew the family--and then I might finda chance to say that I was sorry to hear he'd been ill so much, and--Something of that kind perhaps?"

"You don't know anybody that knows the family. "

"Yes. That is--well, in a way, of course, one OF the family. That Mrs. Roscoe Sheridan is not a--that is, she's rather a pleasant-faced littlewoman, I think, and of course rather ordinary. I think she is interestedabout--that is, of course, she'd be anxious to be more intimate withMary, naturally. She's always looking over here from her house; shewas looking out the window this afternoon when Mary went out, Inoticed--though I don't think Mary saw her. I'm sure she wouldn't thinkit out of place to--to be frank about matters. She called the other day, and Mary must rather like her--she said that evening that the call haddone her good. Don't you think it might be wise?"

"Wise? I don't know. I feel the whole matter is impossible. "

"Yes, so do I, " she returned, promptly. "It isn't really a thing weshould be considering seriously, of course. Still--"

"I should say not! But possibly--"

Thus they skirmished up and down the field, but before they turned thelights out and went up-stairs it was thoroughly understood betweenthem that Mrs. Vertrees should seek the earliest opportunity to obtaindefinite information from Sibyl Sheridan concerning the mental andphysical status of Bibbs. And if he were subject to attacks of lunacy, the unhappy pair decided to prevent the sacrifice they supposed theirdaughter intended to make of herself. Altogether, if there were spitefulghosts in the old house that night, eavesdropping upon the woefulcomedy, they must have died anew of laughter!

Mrs. Vertrees's opportunity occurred the very next afternoon. Darknesshad fallen, and the piano-movers had come. They were carrying the pianodown the front steps, and Mrs. Vertrees was standing in the open doorwaybehind them, preparing to withdraw, when she heard a sharp exclamation;and Mrs. Roscoe Sheridan, bareheaded, emerged from the shadow into thelight of the doorway. 

"Good gracious!" she cried. "It did give me a fright!"

"It's Mrs. Sheridan, isn't it?" Mrs. Vertrees was perplexed by thisinformal appearance, but she reflected that it might be providential. "Won't you come in?"

"No. Oh no, thank you!" Sibyl panted, pressing her hand to her side. "You don't know what a fright you've given me! And it was nothing butyour piano!" She laughed shrilly. "You know, since our tragedy comingso suddenly the other day, you have no idea how upset I've been--almosthysterical! And I just glanced out of the window, a minute or so ago, and saw your door wide open and black figures of men against the light, carrying something heavy, and I almost fainted. You see, it was just theway it looked when I saw them bringing my poor brother-in-law in, next door, only such a few short days ago. And I thought I'd seen yourdaughter start for a drive with Bibbs Sheridan in a car about threeo'clock--and-- They aren't back yet, are they?"

"No. Good heavens!"

"And the only thing I could think of was that something must havehappened to them, and I just dashed over--and it was only your PIANO!"She broke into laughter again. "I suppose you're just sending itsomewhere to be repaired, aren't you?"

"It's--it's being taken down-town, " said Mrs. Vertrees. "Won't you comein and make me a little visit. I was SO sorry, the other day, that Iwas--ah--" She stopped inconsequently, then repeated her invitation. "Won't you come in? I'd really--"

"Thank you, but I must be running back. My husband usually gets homeabout this time, and I make a little point of it always to be there. "

"That's very sweet. " Mrs. Vertrees descended the steps and walked towardthe street with Sibyl. "It's quite balmy for so late in November, isn'tit? Almost like a May evening. "

"I'm afraid Miss Vertrees will miss her piano, " said Sibyl, watchingthe instrument disappear into the big van at the curb. "She playswonderfully, Mrs. Kittersby tells me. "

"Yes, she plays very well. One of your relatives came to hear heryesterday, after dinner, and I think she played all evening for him. "

"You mean Bibbs?" asked Sibyl. 

"The--the youngest Mr. Sheridan. Yes. He's very musical, isn't he?"

"I never heard of it. But I shouldn't think it would matter much whetherhe was or not, if he could get Miss Vertrees to play to him. Does yourdaughter expect the piano back soon?"

"I--I believe not immediately. Mr. Sheridan came last evening to hearher play because she had arranged with the--that is, it was to beremoved this afternoon. He seems almost well again. "

"Yes. " Sibyl nodded. "His father's going to try to start him to work. "

"He seems very delicate, " said Mrs. Vertrees. "I shouldn't think hewould be able to stand a great deal, either physically or--" She pausedand then added, glowing with the sense of her own adroitness--"ormentally. "

"Oh, mentally Bibbs is all right, " said Sibyl, in an odd voice. 

"Entirely?" Mrs. Vertrees asked, breathlessly. 

"Yes, entirely. "

"But has he ALWAYS been?" This question came with the same anxiouseagerness. 

"Certainly. He had a long siege of nervous dyspepsia, but he's over it. "

"And you think--"

"Bibbs is all right. You needn't wor--" Sibyl choked, and pressedher handkerchief to her mouth. "Good night, Mrs. Vertrees, " she said, hurriedly, as the head-lights of an automobile swung round the cornerabove, sending a brightening glare toward the edge of the pavement wherethe two ladies were standing. 

"Won't you come in?" urged Mrs. Vertrees, cordially, hearing the soundof a cheerful voice out of the darkness beyond the approaching glare. "Do! There's Mary now, and she--"

But Sibyl was half-way across the street. "No, thanks, " she called. "I hope she won't miss her piano!" And she ran into her own houseand plunged headlong upon a leather divan in the hall, holding herhandkerchief over her mouth. 

The noise of her tumultuous entrance was evidently startling in thequiet house, for upon the bang of the door there followed the crash ofa decanter, dropped upon the floor of the dining-room at the end of thehall; and, after a rumble of indistinct profanity, Roscoe came forth, holding a dripping napkin in his hand. 

"What's your excitement?" he demanded. "What do you find to go intohysterics over? Another death in the family?"

"Oh, it's funny!" she gasped. "Those old frost-bitten people! I guessTHEY'RE getting their come-uppance!" Lying prone, she elevated her feetin the air, clapped her heels together repeatedly, in an ecstasy. 

"Come through, come through!" said her husband, crossly. "What you beenup to?"

"Me?" she cried, dropping her feet and swinging around to face him. "Nothing. It's them! Those Vertreeses!" She wiped her eyes. "They've hadto sell their piano!"

"Well, what of it?"

"That Mrs. Kittersby told me all about 'em a week ago, " said Sibyl. "They've been hard up for a long time, and she says as long ago aslast winter she knew that girl got a pair of walking-shoes re-soled andpatched, because she got it done the same place Mrs. Kittersby's cookhad HERS! And the night of the house-warming I kind of got suspicious, myself. She didn't have one single piece of any kind of real jewelry, and you could see her dress was an old one done over. Men can't tellthose things, and you all made a big fuss over her, but I thought shelooked a sight, myself! Of course, EDITH was crazy to have her, and--"

"Well, well?" he urged, impatiently. 

"Well, I'm TELLING you! Mrs. Kittersby says they haven't got a THING!Just absolutely NOTHING--and they don't know anywhere to turn! Thefamily's all died out but them, and all the relatives they got are verydistant, and live East and scarcely know 'em. She says the whole town'sbeen wondering what WOULD become of 'em. The girl had plenty chances tomarry up to a year or so ago, but she was so indifferent she scared themen off, and the ones that had wanted to went and married other girls. Gracious! they were lucky! Marry HER? The man that found himself tied upto THAT girl--"

"Terrible funny, terrible funny!" said Roscoe, with sarcasm. "It's sofunny I broke a cut-glass decanter and spilled a quart of--"

"Wait!" she begged. "You'll see. I was sitting by the window a littlewhile ago, and I saw a big wagon drive up across the street and some mengo into the house. It was too dark to make out much, and for a minuteI got the idea they were moving out--the house has been foreclosed on, Mrs. Kittersby says. It seemed funny, too, because I knew that girl wasout riding with Bibbs. Well, I thought I'd see, so I slipped over--andit was their PIANO! They'd sold it and were trying to sneak it out afterdark, so nobody'd catch on!" Again she gave way to her enjoyment, butresumed, as her husband seemed about to interrupt the narrative. "Wait aminute, can't you? The old lady was superintending, and she gave it allaway. I sized her up for one of those old churchy people that tellall kinds of lies except when it comes to so many words, and then theycan't. She might just as well told me outright! Yes, they'd sold it;and I hope they'll pay some of their debts. They owe everybody, and lastweek a coal-dealer made an awful fuss at the door with Mr. Vertrees. Their cook told our upstairs girl, and she said she didn't know WHENshe'd seen any money, herself! Did you ever hear of such a case as thatgirl in your LIFE?"

"What girl? Their cook?"

"That Vertrees girl! Don't you see they looked on our coming up intothis neighborhood as their last chance? They were just going down andout, and here bobs up the green, rich Sheridan family! So they dollthe girl up in her old things, made over, and send her out to get aSheridan--she's GOT to get one! And she just goes in blind; and shetries it on first with YOU. You remember, she just plain TOLD you shewas going to mash you, and then she found out you were the married one, and turned right square around to Jim and carried him off his feet. Oh, Jim was landed--there's no doubt about THAT! But Jim was lucky;he didn't live to STAY landed, and it's a good thing for him!" Sibyl'smirth had vanished, and she spoke with virulent rapidity. "Well, shecouldn't get you, because you were married, and she couldn't get Jim, because Jim died. And there they were, dead broke! Do you know what shedid? Do you know what she's DOING?"

"No, I don't, " said Roscoe, gruffly. 

Sibyl's voice rose and culminated in a scream of renewed hilarity. "BIBBS! She waited in the grave-yard, and drove home with him from JIM'SFUNERAL! Never spoke to him before! Jim wasn't COLD!"

She rocked herself back and forth upon the divan. "Bibbs!" she shrieked. "Bibbs! Roscoe, THINK of it! BIBBS!"

He stared unsympathetically, but her mirth was unabated for all that. "And yesterday, " she continued, between paroxysms--"yesterday she cameout of the house--just as he was passing. She must have been lookingout--waiting for the chance; I saw the old lady watching at the window!And she got him there last night--to 'PLAY' to him; the old lady gavethat away! And to-day she made him take her out in a machine! And thecream of it is that they didn't even know whether he was INSANE ornot--they thought maybe he was, but she went after him just the same!The old lady set herself to pump me about it to-day. BIBBS! Oh, my Lord!BIBBS!"

But Roscoe looked grim. "So it's funny to you, is it? It sounds kind ofpitiful to me. I should think it would to a woman, too. "

"Oh, it might, " she returned, sobering. "It might, if those peopleweren't such frozen-faced smart Alecks. If they'd had the decency tocome down off the perch a little I probably wouldn't think it was funny, but to see 'em sit up on their pedestal all the time they're eatingdirt--well, I think it's funny! That girl sits up as if she was QueenElizabeth, and expects people to wallow on the ground before her untilthey get near enough for her to give 'em a good kick with her oldpatched shoes--oh, she'd do THAT, all right!--and then she powders upand goes out to mash--BIBBS SHERIDAN!"

"Look here, " said Roscoe, heavily; "I don't care about that one way oranother. If you're through, I got something I want to talk to you about. I was going to, that day just before we heard about Jim. "

At this Sibyl stiffened quickly; her eyes became intensely bright. "Whatis it?"

"Well, " he began, frowning, "what I was going to say then--" He brokeoff, and, becoming conscious that he was still holding the wet napkin inhis hand, threw it pettishly into a corner. "I never expected I'd haveto say anything like this to anybody I MARRIED; but I was going to askyou what was the matter between you and Lamhorn. "

Sibyl uttered a sharp monosyllable. "Well?"

"I felt the time had come for me to know about it, " he went on. "Younever told me anything--"

"You never asked, " she interposed, curtly. 

"Well, we'd got in a way of not talking much, " said Roscoe. "It looks tome now as if we'd pretty much lost the run of each other the way a goodmany people do. I don't say it wasn't my fault. I was up early and downto work all day, and I'd come home tired at night, and want to go to bedsoon as I'd got the paper read--unless there was some good musical showin town. Well, you seemed all right until here lately, the last month orso, I began to see something was wrong. I couldn't help seeing it. "

"Wrong?" she said. "What like?"

"You changed; you didn't look the same. You were all strung up andexcited and fidgety; you got to looking peakid and run down. Now then, Lamhorn had been going with us a good while, but I noticed that not longago you got to picking on him about every little thing he did; you gotto quarreling with him when I was there and when I wasn't. I could seeyou'd been quarreling whenever I came in and he was here. "

"Do you object to that?" asked Sibyl, breathing quickly. 

"Yes--when it injures my wife's health!" he returned, with a quick liftof his eyes to hers. "You began to run down just about the time youbegan falling out with him. " He stepped close to her. "See here, Sibyl, I'm going to know what it means. "

"Oh, you ARE?" she snapped. 

"You're trembling, " he said, gravely. 

"Yes. I'm angry enough to do more than tremble, you'll find. Go on!"

"That was all I was going to say the other day, " he said. "I was goingto ask you--"

"Yes, that was all you were going to say THE OTHER DAY. Yes. What elsehave you to say to-night?"

"To-night, " he replied, with grim swiftness, "I want to know why youkeep telephoning him you want to see him since he stopped coming here. "

She made a long, low sound of comprehension before she said, "And whatelse did Edith want you to ask me?"

"I want to know what you say over the telephone to Lamhorn, " he said, fiercely. 

"Is that all Edith told you to ask me? You saw her when you stopped inthere on your way home this evening, didn't you? Didn't she tell youthen what I said over the telephone to Mr. Lamhorn?"

"No, she didn't!" he vociferated, his voice growing louder. "She said, 'You tell your wife to stop telephoning Robert Lamhorn to come and seeher, because he isn't going to do it!' That's what she said! And I wantto know what it means. I intend--"

A maid appeared at the lower end of the hall. "Dinner is ready, " shesaid, and, giving the troubled pair one glance, went demurely into thedining-room. Roscoe disregarded the interruption. 

"I intend to know exactly what has been going on, " he declared. "I meanto know just what--"

Sibyl jumped up, almost touching him, standing face to face with him. 

"Oh, you DO!" she cried, shrilly. "You mean to know just what's what, doyou? You listen to your sister insinuating ugly things about yourwife, and then you come home making a scene before the servants andhumiliating me in their presence! Do you suppose that Irish girl didn'thear every word you said? You go in there and eat your dinner alone! Goon! Go and eat your dinner alone--because I won't eat with you!"

And she broke away from the detaining grasp he sought to fasten uponher, and dashed up the stairway, panting. He heard the door of her roomslam overhead, and the sharp click of the key in the lock. 

CHAPTER XVIII

At seven o'clock on the last morning of that month, Sheridan, passingthrough the upper hall on his way to descend the stairs for breakfast, found a couple of scribbled sheets of note-paper lying on the floor. Awindow had been open in Bibbs's room the evening before; he had left hisnote-book on the sill--and the sheets were loose. The door was open, andwhen Bibbs came in and closed it, he did not notice that the two sheetshad blown out into the hall. Sheridan recognized the handwriting andput the sheets in his coat pocket, intending to give them to Georgeor Jackson for return to the owner, but he forgot and carried themdown-town with him. At noon he found himself alone in his office, and, having a little leisure, remembered the bits of manuscript, took themout, and glanced at them. A glance was enough to reveal that they werenot epistolary. Sheridan would not have read a "private letter" thatcame into his possession in that way, though in a "matter of business"he might have felt it his duty to take advantage of an opportunityafforded in any manner whatsoever. Having satisfied himself that Bibbs'sscribblings were only a sample of the kind of writing his son preferredto the machine-shop, he decided, innocently enough, that he would bejustified in reading them. 

 It appears that a lady will nod pleasantly upon some windy generalization of a companion, and will wear the most agreeable expression of accepting it as the law, and then--days afterward, when the thing is a mummy to its promulgator--she will inquire out of a clear sky: "WHY did you say that the people down-town have nothing in life that a chicken hasn't? What did you mean?" And she may say it in a manner that makes a sensible reply very difficult --you will be so full of wonder that she remembered so seriously. 

 Yet, what does the rooster lack? He has food and shelter; he is warm in winter; his wives raise not one fine family for him, but dozens. He has a clear sky over him; he breathes sweet air; he walks in his April orchard under a roof of flowers. He must die, violently perhaps, but quickly. Is Midas's cancer a better way? The rooster's wives and children must die. Are those of Midas immortal? His life is shorter than the life of Midas, but Midas's life is only a sixth as long as that of the Galapagos tortoise. 

 The worthy money-worker takes his vacation so that he may refresh himself anew for the hard work of getting nothing that the rooster doesn't get. The office-building has an elevator, the rooster flies up to the bough. Midas has a machine to take him to his work; the rooster finds his worm underfoot. The "business man" feels a pressure sometimes, without knowing why, and sits late at wine after the day's labor; next morning he curses his head because it interferes with the work--he swears never to relieve that pressure again. The rooster has no pressure and no wine; this difference is in his favor. 

 The rooster is a dependent; he depends upon the farmer and the weather. Midas is a dependent; he depends upon the farmer and the weather. The rooster thinks only of the moment; Midas provides for to-morrow. What does he provide for to-morrow? Nothing that the rooster will not have without providing. 

 The rooster and the prosperous worker: they are born, they grub, they love; they grub and love grubbing; they grub and they die. Neither knows beauty; neither knows knowledge. And after all, when Midas dies and the rooster dies, there is one thing Midas has had and rooster has not. Midas has had the excitement of accumulating what he has grubbed, and that has been his life and his love and his god. He cannot take that god with him when he dies. I wonder if the worthy gods are those we can take with us. 

 Midas must teach all to be as Midas; the young must be raised in his religion--

The manuscript ended there, and Sheridan was not anxious for more. He crumpled the sheets into a ball, depositing it (with vigor) in awaste-basket beside him; then, rising, he consulted a Cyclopedia ofNames, which a book-agent had somehow sold to him years before; avolume now first put to use for the location of "Midas. " Having read thelegend, Sheridan walked up and down the spacious office, exhalingthe breath of contempt. "Dam' fool!" he mumbled. But this was no newthought, nor was the contrariness of Bibbs's notes a surpise to him; andpresently he dismissed the matter from his mind. 

He felt very lonely, and this was, daily, his hardest hour. For a longtime he and Jim had lunched together habitually. Roscoe preferred aclub luncheon, but Jim and his father almost always went to a smallrestaurant near the Sheridan Building, where they spent twenty minutesin the consumption of food, and twenty in talk, with cigars. Jim camefor his father every day, at five minutes after twelve, and Sheridanwas again in his office at five minutes before one. But now that Jim nolonger came, Sheridan remained alone in his office; he had not gone outto lunch since Jim's death, nor did he have anything sent to him--hefasted until evening. 

It was the time he missed Jim personally the most--the voice and eyesand handshake, all brisk and alert, all business-like. But these thingswere not the keenest in Sheridan's grief; his sense of loss went fardeeper. Roscoe was dependable, a steady old wheel-horse, and that wasa great comfort; but it was in Jim that Sheridan had most happilyperceived his own likeness. Jim was the one who would have been surestto keep the great property growing greater, year by year. Sheridan hadfallen asleep, night after night, picturing what the growth would beunder Jim. He had believed that Jim was absolutely certain to be one ofthe biggest men in the country. Well, it was all up to Roscoe now!

That reminded him of a question he had in mind to ask Roscoe. It was aquestion Sheridan considered of no present importance, but his wife hadsuggested it--though vaguely--and he had meant to speak to Roscoe aboutit. However, Roscoe had not come into his father's office for severaldays, and when Sheridan had seen his son at home there had been noopportunity. 

He waited until the greater part of his day's work was over, toward fouro'clock, and then went down to Roscoe's office, which was on a lowerfloor. He found several men waiting for business interviews in an outerroom of the series Roscoe occupied; and he supposed that he wouldfind his son busy with others, and that his question would have tobe postponed, but when he entered the door marked "R. C. Sheridan. Private, " Roscoe was there alone. 

He was sitting with his back to the door, his feet on a window-sill, andhe did not turn as his father opened the door. 

"Some pretty good men out there waitin' to see you, my boy, " saidSheridan. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing, " Roscoe answered indistinctly, not moving. 

"Well, I guess that's all right, too. I let 'em wait sometimes myself!I just wanted to ask you a question, but I expect it'll keep, if you'reworkin' something out in your mind!"

Roscoe made no reply; and his father, who had turned to the door, pausedwith his hand on the knob, staring curiously at the motionless figure inthe chair. Usually the son seemed pleased and eager when he came to theoffice. "You're all right, ain't you?" said Sheridan. "Not sick, areyou?"

"No. "

Sheridan was puzzled; then, abruptly, he decided to ask his question. "Iwanted to talk to you about that young Lamhorn, " he said. "I guess yourmother thinks he's comin' to see Edith pretty often, and you known himlonger'n any of us, so--"

"I won't, " said Roscoe, thickly--"I won't say a dam' thing about him!"

Sheridan uttered an exclamation and walked quickly to a positionnear the window where he could see his son's face. Roscoe's eyes werebloodshot and vacuous; his hair was disordered, his mouth was distorted, and he was deathly pale. The father stood aghast. 

"By George!" he muttered. "ROSCOE!"

"My name, " said Roscoe. "Can' help that. "

"ROSCOE!" Blank astonishment was Sheridan's first sensation. Probablynothing in the world could have more amazed his than to find Roscoe--thesteady old wheel-horse--in this condition. "How'd you GET this way?" hedemanded. "You caught cold and took too much for it?"

For reply Roscoe laughed hoarsely. "Yeuh! Cold! I been drinkun all time, lately. Firs' you notice it?"

"By George!" cried Sheridan. "I THOUGHT I'd smelt it on you a good deallately, but I wouldn't 'a' believed you'd take more'n was good for you. Boh! To see you like a common hog!"

Roscoe chuckled and threw out his right arm in a meaningless gesture. "Hog!" he repeated, chuckling. 

"Yes, a hog!" said Sheridan, angrily. "In business hours! I don't objectto anybody's takin' a drink if you wants to, out o' business hours; nor, if a man keeps his work right up to the scratch, I wouldn't be the oneto baste him if he got good an' drunk once in two, three years, maybe. It ain't MY way. I let it alone, but I never believed in forcin' my wayon a grown-up son in moral matters. I guess I was wrong! You think themmen out there are waitin' to talk business with a drunkard? You thinkyou can come to your office and do business drunk? By George! I wonderhow often this has been happening and me not on to it! I'll have a lookover your books to-morrow, and I'll--"

Roscoe stumbled to his feet, laughing wildly, and stood swaying, contriving to hold himself in position by clutching the back of theheavy chair in which he had been sitting. 

"Hoo--hoorah!" he cried. "'S my principles, too. Be drunkard all youwant to--outside business hours. Don' for Gossake le'n'thing innerferebusiness hours! Business! Thassit! You're right, father. Drink! Die!L'everything go to hell, but DON' let innerfere business!"

Sheridan had seized the telephone upon Roscoe's desk, and was callinghis own office, overhead. "Abercrombie? Come down to my son Roscoe'ssuite and get rid of some gentlemen that are waitin' there to see him inroom two-fourteen. There's Maples and Schirmer and a couple o' fellowson the Kinsey business. Tell 'em something's come up I have to go overwith Roscoe, and tell 'em to come back day after to-morrow at two. You needn't come in to let me know they're gone; we don't want to bedisturbed. Tell Pauly to call my house and send Claus down here with aclosed car. We may have to go out. Tell him to hustle, and call me atRoscoe's room as soon as the car gets here. 'T's all!"

Roscoe had laughed bitterly throughout this monologue. "Drunk inbusiness hours! Thass awf'l! Mus'n' do such thing! Mus'n' get drunk, mus'n' gamble, mus'n' kill 'nybody--not in business hours! All right anyother time. Kill 'nybody you want to--'s long 'tain't in businesshours! Fine! Mus'n' have any trouble 't'll innerfere business. Keep yourtrouble 't home. Don' bring it to th' office. Might innerfere business!Have funerals on Sunday--might innerfere business! Don' let your wifeinnerfere business! Keep all, all, ALL your trouble an' your meanness, an' your trad--your tradegy--keep 'em ALL for home use! If you got die, go on die 't home--don' die round th' office! Might innerfere business!"

Sheridan picked up a newspaper from Roscoe's desk, and sat down with hisback to his son, affecting to read. Roscoe seemed to be unaware of hisfather's significant posture. 

"You know wh' I think?" he went on. "I think Bibbs only one the fam'lyany 'telligence at all. Won' work, an' di'n' get married. Jim worked, an' he got killed. I worked, an' I got married. Look at me! Jus' look atme, I ask you. Fine 'dustriss young business man. Look whass happen' tome! Fine!" He lifted his hand from the sustaining chair in a deplorablegesture, and, immediately losing his balance, fell across the chairand caromed to the floor with a crash, remaining prostrate for severalminutes, during which Sheridan did not relax his apparent attention tothe newspaper. He did not even look round at the sound of Roscoe's fall. 

Roscoe slowly climbed to an upright position, pulling himself upby holding to the chair. He was slightly sobered outwardly, havingprogressed in the prostrate interval to a state of befuddlement lessvolatile. He rubbed his dazed eyes with the back of his left hand. 

"What--what you ask me while ago?" he said. 

"Nothin'. "

"Yes, you did. What--what was it?"

"Nothin'. You better sit down. "

"You ask' me what I thought about Lamhorn. You did ask me that. Well, Iwon't tell you. I won't say dam' word 'bout him!"

The telephone-bell tinkled. Sheridan placed the receiver to his ear andsaid, "Right down. " Then he got Roscoe's coat and hat from a closet andbrought them to his son. "Get into this coat, " he said. "You're goin'home. "

"All ri', " Roscoe murmured, obediently. 

They went out into the main hall by a side door, not passing through theouter office; and Sheridan waited for an empty elevator, stopped it, andtold the operator to take on no more passengers until they reachedthe ground floor. Roscoe walked out of the building and got into theautomobile without lurching, and twenty minutes later walked into hisown house in the same manner, neither he nor his father having spoken aword in the interval. 

Sheridan did not go in with him; he went home, and to his own roomwithout meeting any of his family. But as he passed Bibbs's door heheard from within the sound of a cheerful young voice humming jubilantfragments of song:

 WHO looks a mustang in the eye?. .. With a leap from the ground To the saddle in a bound. And away--and away! Hi-yay!

It was the first time in Sheridan's life that he had ever detectedany musical symptom whatever in Bibbs--he had never even heard himwhistle--and it seemed the last touch of irony that the useless foolshould be merry to-day. 

To Sheridan it was Tom o' Bedlam singing while the house burned; and hedid not tarry to enjoy the melody, but went into his own room and lockedthe door. 

CHAPTER XIX

He emerged only upon a second summons to dinner, two hours later, andcame to the table so white and silent that his wife made her anxietymanifest and was but partially reassured by his explanation that hislunch had "disagreed" with him a little. 

Presently, however, he spoke effectively. Bibbs, whose appetite hadbecome hearty, was helping himself to a second breast of capon fromwhite-jacket's salver. "Here's another difference between Midas andchicken, " Sheridan remarked, grimly. "Midas can eat rooster, but roostercan't eat Midas. I reckon you overlooked that. Midas looks to me like hehad the advantage there. "

Bibbs retained enough presence of mind to transfer the capon breast tohis plate without dropping it and to respond, "Yes--he crows over it. "

Having returned his antagonists's fire in this fashion, he blushed--forhe could blush distinctly now--and his mother looked upon him withpleasure, thought the reference to Midas and roosters was of coursejargon to her. "Did you ever see anybody improve the way that childhas!" she exclaimed. "I declare, Bibbs, sometimes lately you look righthandsome!"

"He's got to be such a gadabout, " Edith giggled. 

"I found something of his on the floor up-stairs this morning, beforeanybody was up, " said Sheridan. "I reckon if people lose things in thishouse and expect to get 'em back, they better get up as soon as I do. "

"What was it he lost?" asked Edith. 

"He knows!" her father returned. "Seems to me like I forgot to bring ithome with me. I looked it over--thought probably it was something prettyimportant, belongin' to a busy man like him. " He affected to searchhis pockets. "What DID I do with it, now? Oh yes! Seems to me like Iremember leavin' it down at the office--in the waste-basket. "

"Good place for it, " Bibbs murmured, still red. 

Sheridan gave him a grin. "Perhaps pretty soon you'll be gettin' upearly enough to find things before I do!"

It was a threat, and Bibbs repeated the substance of it, later in theevening, to Mary Vertrees--they had come to know each other that well. 

"My time's here at last, " he said, as they sat together in themelancholy gas-light of the room which had been denuded of its piano. That removal had left an emptiness so distressing to Mr. And Mrs. Vertrees that neither of them had crossed the threshold since the darkday; but the gas-light, though from a single jet, shed no melancholyupon Bibbs, nor could any room seem bare that knew the glowing presenceof Mary. He spoke lightly, not sadly. 

"Yes, it's come. I've shirked and put off, but I can't shirk and put offany longer. It's really my part to go to him--at least it would save myface. He means what he says, and the time's come to serve my sentence. Hard labor for life, I think. "

Mary shook her head. "I don't think so. He's too kind. "

"You think my father's KIND?" And Bibbs stared at her. 

"Yes. I'm sure of it. I've felt that he has a great, brave heart. It'sonly that he has to be kind in his own way--because he can't understandany other way. "

"Ah yes, " said Bibbs. "If that's what you mean by 'kind'!"

She looked at him gravely, earnest concern in her friendly eyes. "It'sgoing to be pretty hard for you, isn't it?"

"Oh--self-pity!" he returned, smiling. "This has been just the lastflicker of revolt. Nobody minds work if he likes the kind of work. There'd be no loafers in the world if each man found the thing that hecould do best; but the only work I happen to want to do is useless--so Ihave to give it up. To-morrow I'll be a day-laborer. "

"What is it like--exactly?"

"I get up at six, " he said. "I have a lunch-basket to carry with me, which is aristocratic and no advantage. The other workmen have tinbuckets, and tin buckets are better. I leave the house at six-thirty, and I'm at work in my overalls at seven. I have an hour off at noon, andwork again from one till five. "

"But the work itself?"

"It wasn't muscularly exhausting--not at all. They couldn't give me aheavier job because I wasn't good enough. "

"But what will you do? I want to know. "

"When I left, " said Bibbs, "I was 'on' what they call over there a'clipping-machine, ' in one of the 'by-products' departments, and that'swhat I'll be sent back to. "

"But what is it?" she insisted. 

Bibbs explained. "It's very simple and very easy. I feed long strips ofzinc into a pair of steel jaws, and the jaws bite the zinc into littlecircles. All I have to do is to see that the strip goes into the jaws ata certain angle--and yet I was a very bad hand at it. "

He had kept his voice cheerful as he spoke, but he had grown a shadepaler, and there was a latent anguish deep in his eyes. He may haveknown it and wished her not to see it, for he turned away. 

"You do that all day long?" she asked, and as he nodded, "It seemsincredible!" she exclaimed. "YOU feeding a strip of zinc into a machinenine hours a day! No wonder--" She broke off, and then, after a keenglance at his face, she said: "I should think you WOULD have been a 'badhand at it'!"

He laughed ruefully. "I think it's the noise, though I'm ashamed tosay it. You see, it's a very powerful machine, and there's a sort ofrhythmical crashing--a crash every time the jaws bite off a circle. "

"How often is that?"

"The thing should make about sixty-eight disks a minute--a little morethan one a second. "

"And you're close to it?"

"Oh, the workman has to sit in its lap, " he said, turning to her moregaily. "The others don't mind. You see, it's something wrong with me. Ihave an idiotic way of flinching from the confounded thing--I flinch andduck a little every time the crash comes, and I couldn't get over it. Iwas a treat to the other workmen in that room; they'll be glad to see meback. They used to laugh at me all day long. "

Mary's gaze was averted from Bibbs now; she sat with her elbow restingon the arm of the chair, her lifted hand pressed against her cheek. Shewas staring at the wall, and her eyes had a burning brightness in them. 

"It doesn't seem possible any one could do that to you, " she said, in alow voice. "No. He's not kind. He ought to be proud to help you to theleisure to write books; it should be his greatest privilege to have thempublished for you--"

"Can't you SEE him?" Bibbs interrupted, a faint ripple of hilarity inhis voice. "If he could understand what you're saying--and if you canimagine his taking such a notion, he'd have had R. T. Bloss put upposters all over the country: 'Read B. Sheridan. Read the Poet with aPunch!' No. It's just as well he never got the--But what's the use? I'venever written anything worth printing, and I never shall. "

"You could!" she said. 

"That's because you've never seen the poor little things I've tried todo. "

"You wouldn't let me, but I KNOW you could! Ah, it's a pity!"

"It isn't, " said BIBBS, honestly. "I never could--but you're the kindestlady in this world, Miss Vertrees. "

She gave him a flashing glance, and it was as kind as he said she was. "That sounds wrong, " she said, impulsively. "I mean 'Miss Vertrees. 'I've thought of you by your first name ever since I met you. Wouldn'tyou rather call me 'Mary'?"

Bibbs was dazzled; he drew a long, deep breath and did not speak. 

"Wouldn't you?" she asked, without a trace of coquetry. 

"If I CAN!" he said, in a low voice. 

"Ah, that's very pretty!" she laughed. "You're such an honest person, it's pleasant to have you gallant sometimes, by way of variety. " Shebecame grave again immediately. "I hear myself laughing as if it weresome one else. It sounds like laughter on the eve of a great calamity. "She got up restlessly, crossed the room and leaned against the wall, facing him. "You've GOT to go back to that place?"

He nodded. 

"And the other time you did it--"

"Just over it, " said Bibbs. "Two years. But I don't mind the prospect ofa repetition so much as--"

"So much as what?" she prompted, as he stopped. 

Bibbs looked up at her shyly. "I want to say it, but--but I come to adead balk when I try. I--"

"Go on. Say it, whatever it is, " she bade him. "You wouldn't know how tosay anything I shouldn't like. "

"I doubt if you'd either like or dislike what I want to say, " hereturned, moving uncomfortably in his chair and looking at his feet--heseemed to feel awkward, thoroughly. "You see, all my life--until I metyou--if I ever felt like saying anything, I wrote it instead. Sayingthings is a new trick for me, and this--well, it's just this: I used tofeel as if I hadn't ever had any sort of a life at all. I'd never beenof use to anything or anybody, and I'd never had anything, myself, except a kind of haphazard thinking. But now it's different--I'm stillof no use to anybody, and I don't see any prospect of being useful, but I have had something for myself. I've had a beautiful and happyexperience, and it makes my life seem to be--I mean I'm glad I've livedit! That's all; it's your letting me be near you sometimes, as you have, this strange, beautiful, happy little while!"

He did not once look up, and reached silence, at the end of what he hadto say, with his eyes still awkwardly regarding his feet. She did notspeak, but a soft rustling of her garments let him know that she hadgone back to her chair again. The house was still; the shabby old roomwas so quiet that the sound of a creaking in the wall seemed sharp andloud. 

And yet, when Mary spoke at last, her voice was barely audible. "If youthink it has been--happy--to be friends with me--you'd want to--to makeit last. "

"Yes, " said Bibbs, as faintly. 

"You'd want to go on being my friend as long as we live, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, " he gulped. 

"But you make that kind of speech to me because you think it's over. "

He tried to evade her. "Oh, a day-laborer can't come in his overalls--"

"No, " she interrupted, with a sudden sharpness. "You said what you didbecause you think the shop's going to kill you. "

"No, no!"

"Yes, you do think that!" She rose to her feet again and came and stoodbefore him. "Or you think it's going to send you back to the sanitarium. Don't deny it, Bibbs. There! See how easily I call you that! You see I'ma friend, or I couldn't do it. Well, if you meant what you said--and youdid mean it, I know it!--you're not going to go back to the sanitarium. The shop sha'n't hurt you. It sha'n't!"

And now Bibbs looked up. She stood before him, straight and tall, splendid in generous strength, her eyes shining and wet. 

"If I mean THAT much to you, " she cried, "they can't harm you! Goback to the shop--but come to me when your day's work is done. Let themachines crash their sixty-eight times a minute, but remember each crashthat deafens you is that much nearer the evening and me!"

He stumbled to his feet. "You say--" he gasped. 

"Every evening, dear Bibbs!"

He could only stare, bewildered. 

"EVERY evening. I want you. They sha'n't hurt you again!" And she heldout her hand to him; it was strong and warm in his tremulous clasp. "IfI could, I'd go and feed the strips of zinc to the machine with you, "she said. "But all day long I'll send my thoughts to you. You must keepremembering that your friend stands beside you. And when the work isdone--won't the night make up for the day?"

Light seemed to glow from her; he was blinded by that radianceof kindness. But all he could say was, huskily, "To think you'rethere--with me--standing beside the old zinc-eater--"

And they laughed and looked at each other, and at last Bibbs found whatit meant not to be alone in the world. He had a friend. 

CHAPTER XX

When he came into the New House, a few minutes later, he found hisfather sitting alone by the library fire. Bibbs went in and stood beforehim. "I'm cured, father, " he said. "When do I go back to the shop? I'mready. "

The desolate and grim old man did not relax. "I was sittin' up to giveyou a last chance to say something like that. I reckon it's about time!I just wanted to see if you'd have manhood enough not to make me takeyou over there by the collar. Last night I made up my mind I'd give youjust one more day. Well, you got to it before I did--pretty close tothe eleventh hour! All right. Start in to-morrow. It's the first o' themonth. Think you can get up in time?"

"Six o'clock, " Bibbs responded, briskly. "And I want to tell you--I'mgoing in a 'cheerful spirit. ' As you said, I'll go and I'll 'like it'!"

"That's YOUR lookout!" his father grunted. "They'll put you back on theclippin'-machine. You get nine dollars a week. "

"More than I'm worth, too, " said Bibbs, cheerily. "That reminds me, Ididn't mean YOU by 'Midas' in that nonsense I'd been writing. I meant--"

"Makes a hell of a lot o' difference what you meant!"

"I just wanted you to know. Good night, father. "

"G'night!"

The sound of the young man's footsteps ascending the stairs becameinaudible, and the house was quiet. But presently, as Sheridan satstaring angrily at the fire, the shuffling of a pair of slippers couldbe heard descending, and Mrs. Sheridan made her appearance, her obliqueexpression and the state of her toilette being those of a person who, after trying unsuccessfully to sleep on one side, has got up to look forburglars. 

"Papa!" she exclaimed, drowsily. "Why'n't you go to bed? It must begoin' on 'leven o'clock!"

She yawned, and seated herself near him, stretching out her hands tothe fire. "What's the matter?" she asked, sleep and anxiety strivingsluggishly with each other in her voice. "I knew you were worried alldinner-time. You got something new on your mind besides Jim's bein'taken away like he was. What's worryin' you now, papa?"

"Nothin'. "

She jeered feebly. "N' tell ME that! You sat up to see Bibbs, didn'tyou?"

"He starts in at the shop again to-morrow morning, " said Sheridan. 

"Just the same as he did before?"

"Just pre-CISELY!"

"How--how long you goin' to keep him at it, papa?" she asked, timidly. 

"Until he KNOWS something!" The unhappy man struck his palms together, then got to his feet and began to pace the room, as was his wont when hetalked. "He'll go back to the machine he couldn't learn to tend properlyin the six months he was there, and he'll stick to it till he DOES learnit! Do you suppose that lummix ever asked himself WHY I want him tolearn it? No! And I ain't a-goin' to tell him, either! When he wentthere I had 'em set him on the simplest machine we got--and he stuckthere! How much prospect would there be of his learnin' to run the wholebusiness if he can't run the easiest machine in it? I sent him thereto make him THOROUGH. And what happened? He didn't LIKE it! That boy'swhole life, there's been a settin' up o' something mulish that's againsteverything I want him to do. I don't know what it is, but it's got to beworked out of him. Now, labor ain't any more a simple question than whatit was when we were young. My idea is that, outside o' union troubles, the man that can manage workin'-men is the man that's been one himself. Well, I set Bibbs to learn the men and to learn the business, and HEset himself to balk on the first job! That's what he did, and the balk'slasted close on to three years. If he balks again I'm just done withhim! Sometimes I feel like I was pretty near done with everything, anyhow!"

"I knew there was something else, " said Mrs. Sheridan, blinking overa yawn. "You better let it go till to-morrow and get to bed now--'lessyou'll tell me?"

"Suppose something happened to Roscoe, " he said. "THEN what'd I have tolook forward to? THEN what could I depend on to hold things together? Alummix! A lummix that hasn't learned how to push a strip o' zinc along agroove!"

"Roscoe?" she yawned. "You needn't worry about Roscoe, papa. He's thestrongest child we had. I never did know anybody keep better health thanhe does. I don't believe he's even had a cold in five years. You bettergo up to bed, papa. "

"Suppose something DID happen to him, though. You don't know what itmeans, keepin' property together these days--just keepin' it ALIVE, letalone makin' it grow the way I do. I've seen too many estates hackedaway in chunks, big and little. I tell you when a man dies the wolvescome out o' the woods, pack after pack, to see what they can tear offfor themselves; and if that dead man's chuldern ain't on the job, nightand day, everything he built'll get carried off. Carried off? I've seena big fortune behave like an ash-barrel in a cyclone--there wasn't evena dust-heap left to tell where it stood! I've seen it, time and again. My Lord! when I think o' such things comin' to ME! It don't seem likeI deserved it--no man ever tried harder to raise his boys right than Ihave. I planned and planned and planned how to bring 'em up to be guardsto drive the wolves off, and how to be builders to build, and buildbigger. I tell you this business life is no fool's job nowadays--a man'sgot to have eyes in the back of his head. You hear talk, sometimes, 'dmake you think the millennium had come--but right the next breath you'llhear somebody hollerin' about 'the great unrest. ' You BET there's a'great unrest'! There ain't any man alive smart enough to see what it'sgoin' to do to us in the end, nor what day it's got set to bust loose, but it's frothin' and bubblin' in the boiler. This country's beenfillin' up with it from all over the world for a good many years, andthe old camp-meetin' days are dead and done with. Church ain't what itused to be. Nothin's what it used to be--everything's turned up from thebottom, and the growth is so big the roots stick out in the air. There'san awful ruction goin' on, and you got to keep hoppin' if you're goin'to keep your balance on the top of it. And the schemers! They run likebugs on the bottom of a board--after any piece o' money they hear isloose. Fool schemes and crooked schemes; the fool ones are the most andthe worst! You got to FIGHT to keep your money after you've made it. Andthe woods are full o' mighty industrious men that's got only one motto:'Get the other fellow's money before he gets yours!' And when a man'sbuilt as I have, when he's built good and strong, and made good thingsgrow and prosper--THOSE are the fellows that lay for the chance to slidein and sneak the benefit of it and put their names to it! And what'sthe use of my havin' ever been born, if such a thing as that is goin'to happen? What's the use of my havin' worked my life and soul into mybusiness, if it's all goin' to be dispersed and scattered soon as I'm inthe ground?"

He strode up and down the long room, gesticulating--little regardingthe troubled and drowsy figure by the fireside. His throat rumbledthunderously; the words came with stormy bitterness. "You think this isa time for young men to be lyin' on beds of ease? I tell you there neverwas such a time before; there never was such opportunity. The sluggardis despoiled while he sleeps--yes, by George! if a man lays down they'lleat him before he wakes!--but the live man can build straight up tillhe touches the sky! This is the business man's day; it used to be thesoldier's day and the statesman's day, but this is OURS! And it ain't aSunday to go fishin'--it's turmoil! turmoil!--and you got to go out andlive it and breathe it and MAKE it yourself, or you'll only be a deadman walkin' around dreamin' you're alive. And that's what my son Bibbshas been doin' all his life, and what he'd rather do now than go out anddo his part by me. And if anything happens to Roscoe--"

"Oh, do stop worryin' over such nonsense, " Mrs. Sheridan interrupted, irritated into sharp wakefulness for the moment. "There isn't anythinggoin' to happen to Roscoe, and you're just tormentin' yourself aboutnothin'. Aren't you EVER goin' to bed?"

Sheridan halted. "All right, mamma, " he said, with a vast sigh. "Let'sgo up. " And he snapped off the electric light, leaving only the rosyglow of the fire. 

"Did you speak to Roscoe?" she yawned, rising lopsidedly in herdrowsiness. "Did you mention about what I told you the other evening?"

"No. I will to-morrow. "

But Roscoe did not come down-town the next day, nor the next; nor didSheridan see fit to enter his son's house. He waited. Then, on thefourth day of the month, Roscoe walked into his father's office at ninein the morning, when Sheridan happened to be alone. 

"They told me down-stairs you'd left word you wanted to see me. "

"Sit down, " said Sheridan, rising. 

Roscoe sat. His father walked close to him, sniffed suspiciously, andthen walked away, smiling bitterly. "Boh!" he exclaimed. "Still at it!"

"Yes, " said Roscoe. "I've had a couple of drinks this morning. Whatabout it?"

"I reckon I better adopt some decent young man, " his father returned. "I'd bring Bibbs up here and put him in your place if he was fit. Iwould!"

"Better do it, " Roscoe assented, sullenly. 

"When'd you begin this thing?"

"I always did drink a little. Ever since I grew up, that is. "

"Leave that talk out! You know what I mean. "

"Well, I don't know as I ever had too much in office hours--until theother day. "

Sheridan began cutting. "It's a lie. I've had Ray Wills up from youroffice. He didn't want to give you away, but I put the hooks into him, and he came through. You were drunk twice before and couldn't work. Youbeen leavin' your office for drinks every few hours for the last threeweeks. I been over your books. Your office is way behind. You haven'tdone any work, to count, in a month. "

"All right, " said Roscoe, drooping under the torture. "It's all true. "

"What you goin' to do about it?"

Roscoe's head was sunk between his shoulders. "I can't stand very muchtalk about it, father, " he said, pleadingly. 

"No!" Sheridan cried. "Neither can I! What do you think it means to ME?"He dropped into the chair at his big desk, groaning. "I can't stand totalk about it any more'n you can to listen, but I'm goin' to find outwhat's the matter with you, and I'm goin' to straighten you out!"

Roscoe shook his head helplessly. 

"You can't straighten me out. "

"See here!" said Sheridan. "Can you go back to your office and staysober to-day, while I get my work done, or will I have to hire a coupleo' huskies to follow you around and knock the whiskey out o' your handif they see you tryin' to take it?"

"You needn't worry about that, " said Roscoe, looking up with a faintresentment. "I'm not drinking because I've got a thirst. "

"Well, what have you got?"

"Nothing. Nothing you can do anything about. Nothing, I tell you. "

"We'll see about that!" said Sheridan, harshly. "Now I can't fool withyou to-day, and you get up out o' that chair and get out o' myoffice. You bring your wife to dinner to-morrow. You didn't come lastSunday--but you come to-morrow. I'll talk this out with you when thewomen-folks are workin' the phonograph, after dinner. Can you keep sobertill then? You better be sure, because I'm going to send Abercrombiedown to your office every little while, and he'll let me know. "

Roscoe paused at the door. "You told Abercrombie about it?" he asked. 

"TOLD him!" And Sheridan laughed hideously. "Do you suppose there's anelevator-boy in the whole dam' building that ain't on to you?"

Roscoe settled his hat down over his eyes and went out. 

CHAPTER XXI

 "WHO looks a mustang in the eye? Changety, chang, chang! Bash! Crash! BANG!"

So sang Bibbs, his musical gaieties inaudible to his fellow-workmenbecause of the noise of the machinery. He had discovered long ago thatthe uproar was rhythmical, and it had been intolerable; but now, on theafternoon of the fourth day of his return, he was accompanying theswing and clash of the metals with jubilant vaquero fragments, minglingimprovisations of his own among them, and mocking the zinc-eater's crashwith vocal imitations:

 Fearless and bold, Chang! Bash! Behold! With a leap from the ground To the saddle in a bound, And away--and away! Hi-YAY! WHO looks a chang, chang, bash, crash, bang! WHO cares a dash how you bash and you crash? NIGHT'S on the way EACH time I say, Hi-YAY! Crash, chang! Bash, chang! Chang, bang, BANG!

The long room was ceaselessly thundering with metallic sound; theair was thick with the smell of oil; the floor trembled perpetually;everything was implacably in motion--nowhere was there a rest for thedizzied eye. The first time he had entered the place Bibbs had becomedizzy instantly, and six months of it had only added increasing nauseato faintness. But he felt neither now. "ALL DAY LONG I'LL SEND MYTHOUGHTS TO YOU. YOU MUST KEEP REMEMBERING THAT YOUR FRIEND STANDSBESIDE YOU. " He saw her there beside him, and the greasy, roaring placebecame suffused with radiance. The poet was happy in his machine-shop;he was still a poet there. And he fed his old zinc-eater, and sang:

 Away--and away! Hi-YAY! Crash, bash, crash, bash, CHANG! Wild are his eyes, Fiercely he dies! Hi-YAH! Crash, bash, bang! Bash, CHANG! Ready to fling Our gloves in the ring--

He was unaware of a sensation that passed along the lines of workmen. Their great master had come among them, and they grinned to see himstanding with Dr. Gurney behind the unconscious Bibbs. Sheridan noddedto those nearest him--he had personal acquaintance with nearly all ofthem--but he kept his attention upon his son. Bibbs worked steadily, never turning from his machine. Now and then he varied his musicalprogramme with remarks addressed to the zinc-eater. 

"Go on, you old crash-basher! Chew it up! It's good for you, ifyou don't try to bolt your vittles. Fletcherize, you pig! That'sright--YOU'LL never get a lump in your gizzard. Want some more? Here's anice, shiny one. "

The words were indistinguishable, but Sheridan inclined his head toGurney's ear and shouted fiercely: "Talkin' to himself! By George!"

Gurney laughed reassuringly, and shook his head. 

Bibbs returned to song:

 Chang! Chang, bash, chang! It's I! WHO looks a mustang in the eye? Fearless and bo--

His father grasped him by the arm. "Here!" he shouted. "Let ME show youhow to run a strip through there. The foreman says you're some better'nyou used to be, but that's no way to handle--Get out the way and let meshow you once. "

"Better be careful, " Bibbs warned him, stepping to one side. 

"Careful? Boh!" Sheridan seized a strip of zinc from the box. "Whatyou talkin' to yourself about? Tryin' to make yourself think you're soabused you're goin' wrong in the head?"

"'Abused'? No!" shouted Bibbs. "I was SINGING--because I 'like it'! Itold you I'd come back and 'like it. '"

Sheridan may not have understood. At all events, he made no reply, but began to run the strip of zinc through the machine. He did itawkwardly--and with bad results. 

"Here!" he shouted. "This is the way. Watch how I do it. There's nothin'to it, if you put your mind on it. " By his own showing then his mind wasnot upon it. He continued to talk. "All you got to look out for is tokeep it pressed over to--"

"Don't run your hand up with it, " Bibbs vociferated, leaning toward him. 

"Run nothin'! You GOT to--"

"Look out!" shouted Bibbs and Gurney together, and they both sprangforward. But Sheridan's right hand had followed the strip too far, andthe zinc-eater had bitten off the tips of the first and second fingers. He swore vehemently, and wrung his hand, sending a shower of red dropsover himself and Bibbs, but Gurney grasped his wrist, and said, sharply:

"Come out of here. Come over to the lavatory in the office. Bibbs, fetchmy bag. It's in my machine, outside. "

And when Bibbs brought the bag to the washroom he found the doctorstill grasping Sheridan's wrist, holding the injured hand over a basin. Sheridan had lost color, and temper, too. He glared over his shoulder athis son as the latter handed the bag to Gurney. 

"You go on back to your work, " he said. "I've had worse snips than thatfrom a pencil-sharpener. "

"Oh no, you haven't!" said Gurney. 

"I have, too!" Sheridan retorted, angrily. "Bibbs, you go on back toyour work. There's no reason to stand around here watchin' ole DocGurney tryin' to keep himself awake workin' on a scratch that only needsa little court-plaster. I slipped, or it wouldn't happened. You get backon your job. "

"All right, " said Bibbs. 

"HERE!" Sheridan bellowed, as his son was passing out of the door. "You watch out when you're runnin' that machine! You hear what I say? Islipped, or I wouldn't got scratched, but you--YOU'RE liable to get yourwhole hand cut off! You keep your eyes open!"

"Yes, sir. " And Bibbs returned to the zinc-eater thoughtfully. 

Half an hour later, Gurney touched him on the shoulder and beckoned himoutside, where conversation was possible. "I sent him home, Bibbs. He'llhave to be careful of that hand. Go get your overalls off. I'll take youfor a drive and leave you at home. "

"Can't, " said Bibbs. "Got to stick to my job till the whistle blows. "

"No, you don't, " the doctor returned, smothering a yawn. "He wants me totake you down to my office and give you an overhauling to see how muchharm these four days on the machine have done you. I guess you folkshave got that old man pretty thoroughly upset, between you, up at yourhouse! But I don't need to go over you. I can see with my eyes halfshut--"

"Yes, " Bibbs interrupted, "that's what they are. "

"I say I can see you're starting out, at least, in good shape. What'smade the difference?"

"I like the machine, " said Bibbs. "I've made a friend of it. I serenadeit and talk to it, and then it talks back to me. "

"Indeed, indeed? What does it say?"

"What I want to hear. "

"Well, well!" The doctor stretched himself and stamped his footrepeatedly. "Better come along and take a drive with me. You can takethe time off that he allowed for the examination, and--"

"Not at all, " said Bibbs. "I'm going to stand by my old zinc-eater tillfive o'clock. I tell you I LIKE it!"

"Then I suppose that's the end of your wanting to write. "

"I don't know about that, " Bibbs said, thoughtfully; "but the zinc-eaterdoesn't interfere with my thinking, at least. It's better than beingin business; I'm sure of that. I don't want anything to change. I'd becontent to lead just the life I'm leading now to the end of my days. "

"You do beat the devil!" exclaimed Gurney. "Your father's right when hetells me you're a mystery. Perhaps the Almighty knew what He was doingwhen He made you, but it takes a lot of faith to believe it! Well, I'moff. Go on back to your murdering old machine. " He climbed into his car, which he operated himself, but he refrained from setting it immediatelyin motion. "Well, I rubbed it in on the old man that you had warned himnot to slide his hand along too far, and that he got hurt because hedidn't pay attention to your warning, and because he was trying to showyou how to do something you were already doing a great deal betterthan he could. You tell him I'll be around to look at it and change thedressing to-morrow morning. Good-by. "

But when he paid the promised visit, the next morning, he did more thanchange the dressing upon the damaged hand. The injury was severe ofits kind, and Gurney spent a long time over it, though Sheridan wasrebellious and scornful, being brought to a degree of tractabilityonly by means of horrible threats and talk of amputation. However, heappeared at the dinner-table with his hand supported in a sling, whichhe seemed to regard as an indignity, while the natural inquiries uponthe subject evidently struck him as deliberate insults. Mrs. Sheridan, having been unable to contain her solicitude several times during theday, and having been checked each time in a manner that blanched hercheek, hastened to warn Roscoe and Sibyl, upon their arrival at five, toomit any reference to the injury and to avoid even looking at the slingif they possibly could. 

The Sheridans dined on Sundays at five. Sibyl had taken pains not toarrive either before or after the hand was precisely on the hour;and the members of the family were all seated at the table within twominutes after she and Roscoe had entered the house. 

It was a glum gathering, overhung with portents. The air seemed charged, awaiting any tiny ignition to explode; and Mrs. Sheridan's expression, as she sat with her eyes fixed almost continually upon her husband, wasthat of a person engaged in prayer. Edith was pale and intent. Roscoe looked ill; Sibyl looked ill; and Sheridan looked both ill andexplosive. Bibbs had more color than any of these, and there was astrange brightness, like a light, upon his face. It was curious to seeanything so happy in the tense gloom of that household. 

Edith ate little, but gazed nearly all the time at her plate. She neveronce looked at Sibyl, though Sibyl now and then gave her a quick glance, heavily charged, and then looked away. Roscoe ate nothing, and, likeEdith, kept his eyes upon his plate and made believe to occupy himselfwith the viands thereon, loading his fork frequently, but not liftingit to his mouth. He did not once look at his father, though his fathergazed heavily at him most of the time. And between Edith and Sibyl, andbetween Roscoe and his father, some bitter wireless communication seemedcontinually to be taking place throughout the long silences prevailingduring this enlivening ceremony of Sabbath refection. 

"Didn't you go to church this morning, Bibbs?" his mother asked, in theeffort to break up one of those ghastly intervals. 

"What did you say, mother?"

"Didn't you go to church this morning?"

"I think so, " he answered, as from a roseate trance. 

"You THINK so! Don't you know?"

"Oh yes. Yes, I went to church!"

"Which one?"

"Just down the street. It's brick. "

"What was the sermon about?"

"What, mother?"

"Can't you hear me?" she cried. "I asked you what the sermon was about?"

He roused himself. "I think it was about--" He frowned, seeming toconcentrate his will to recollect. "I think it was about something inthe Bible. "

White-jacket George was glad of an opportunity to leave the room andlean upon Mist' Jackson's shoulder in the pantry. "He don't know theyWAS any suhmon!" he concluded, having narrated the dining-room dialogue. "All he know is he was with 'at lady lives nex' do'!" George was right. 

"Did you go to church all by yourself, Bibbs?" Sibyl asked. 

"No, " he answered. "No, I didn't go alone. "

"Oh?" Sibyl gave the ejaculation an upward twist, as of mocking inquiry, and followed it by another, expressive of hilarious comprehension. "OH!"

Bibbs looked at her studiously, but she spoke no further. And thatcompleted the conversation at the lugubrious feast. 

Coffee came finally, was disposed of quickly, and the party dispersed toother parts of the house. Bibbs followed his father and Roscoe into thelibrary, but was not well received. 

"YOU go and listen to the phonograph with the women-folks, " Sheridancommanded. 

Bibbs retreated. "Sometimes you do seem to be a hard sort of man!" hesaid. 

However, he went obediently to the gilt-and-brocade room in which hismother and his sister and his sister-in-law had helplessly withdrawn, according to their Sabbatical custom. Edith sat in a corner, tapping herfeet together and looking at them; Sibyl sat in the center of the room, examining a brooch which she had detached from her throat; and Mrs. Sheridan was looking over a collection of records consisting exclusivelyof Caruso and rag-time. She selected one of the latter, remarking thatshe thought it "right pretty, " and followed it with one of the formerand the same remark. 

As the second reached its conclusion, George appeared in the broaddoorway, seeming to have an errand there, but he did not speak. Instead, he favored Edith with a benevolent smile, and she immediately leftthe room, George stepping aside for her to precede him, and thendisappearing after her in the hall with an air of successful diplomacy. He made it perfectly clear that Edith had given him secret instructionsand that it had been his pride and pleasure to fulfil them to theletter. 

Sibyl stiffened in her chair; her lips parted, and she watched withcurious eyes the vanishing back of the white jacket. 

"What's that?" she asked, in a low voice, but sharply. 

"Here's another right pretty record, " said Mrs. Sheridan, affecting--with patent nervousness--not to hear. And she unloosed themusic. 

Sibyl bit her lip and began to tap her chin with the brooch. After alittle while she turned to Bibbs, who reposed at half-length in a goldchair, with his eyes closed. 

"Where did Edith go?" she asked, curiously. 

"Edith?" he repeated, opening his eyes blankly. "Is she gone?"

Sibyl got up and stood in the doorway. She leaned against the casing, still tapping her chin with the brooch. Her eyes were dilating; she wassuddenly at high tension, and her expression had become one of sharpexcitement. She listened intently. 

When the record was spun out she could hear Sheridan rumbling in thelibrary, during the ensuing silence, and Roscoe's voice, querulous andhusky: "I won't say anything at all. I tell you, you might just as welllet me alone!"

But there were other sounds: a rustling and murmur, whispering, lowprotesting cadences in a male voice. And as Mrs. Sheridan startedanother record, a sudden, vital resolve leaped like fire in the eyes ofSibyl. She walked down the hall and straight into the smoking-room. 

Lamhorn and Edith both sprang to their feet, separating. Edith becameinstantly deathly white with a rage that set her shaking from head tofoot, and Lamhorn stuttered as he tried to speak. 

But Edith's shaking was not so violent as Sibyl's, nor was her face sowhite. At sight of them and of their embrace, all possible consequencesbecame nothing to Sibyl. She courtesied, holding up her skirts andcontorting her lips to the semblance of a smile. 

"Sit just as you were--both of you!" she said. And then to Edith: "Didyou tell my husband I had been telephoning to Lamhorn?"

"You march out of here!" said Edith, fiercely. "March straight out ofhere!"

Sibyl leveled a forefinger at Lamhorn. 

"Did you tell her I'd been telephoning you I wanted you to come?"

"Oh, good God!" Lamhorn said. "Hush!"

"You knew she'd tell my husband, DIDN'T you?" she cried. "You knewthat!"

"HUSH!" he begged, panic-stricken. 

"That was a MANLY thing to do! Oh, it was like a gentleman! You wouldn'tcome--you wouldn't even come for five minutes to hear what I had to say!You were TIRED of what I had to say! You'd heard it all a thousand timesbefore, and you wouldn't come! No! No! NO!" she stormed. "You wouldn'teven come for five minutes, but you could tell that little cat! And SHEtold my husband! You're a MAN!"

Edith saw in a flash that the consequences of battle would be ruinous toSibyl, and the furious girl needed no further temptation to give wayto her feelings. "Get out of this house!" she shrieked. "This is myfather's house. Don't you dare speak to Robert like that!"

"No! No! I mustn't SPEAK--"

"Don't you DARE!"

Edith and Sibyl began to scream insults at each other simultaneously, fronting each other, their furious faces close. Their voices shrilledand rose and cracked--they screeched. They could be heard over the noiseof the phonograph, which was playing a brass-band selection. They couldbe heard all over the house. They were heard in the kitchen; they couldhave been heard in the cellar. Neither of them cared for that. 

"You told my husband!" screamed Sibyl, bringing her face still closer toEdith's. "You told my husband! This man put THAT in your hands to strikeme with! HE did!"

"I'll tell your husband again! I'll tell him everything I know! It'sTIME your husband--"

They were swept asunder by a bandaged hand. "Do you want the neighborsin?" Sheridan thundered. 

There fell a shocking silence. Frenzied Sibyl saw her husband and hismother in the doorway, and she understood what she had done. She movedslowly toward the door; then suddenly she began to run. She ran into thehall, and through it, and out of the house. Roscoe followed her heavily, his eyes on the ground. 

"NOW THEN!" said Sheridan to Lamhorn. 

The words were indefinite, but the voice was not. Neither was thevicious gesture of the bandaged hand, which concluded its orbit in thedirection of the door in a manner sufficient for the swift dispersal ofGeorge and Jackson and several female servants who hovered behind Mrs. Sheridan. They fled lightly. 

"Papa, papa!" wailed Mrs. Sheridan. "Look at your hand! You'd oughtn'tto been so rough with Edie; you hurt your hand on her shoulder. Look!"

There was, in fact, a spreading red stain upon the bandages at the tipsof the fingers, and Sheridan put his hand back in the sling. "Now then!"he repeated. "You goin' to leave my house?"

"He will NOT!" sobbed Edith. "Don't you DARE order him out!"

"Don't you bother, dear, " said Lamhorn, quietly. "He doesn't understand. YOU mustn't be troubled. " Pallor was becoming to him; he looked veryhandsome, and as he left the room he seemed in the girl's distraughteyes a persecuted noble, indifferent to the rabble yawping insult at hisheels--the rabble being enacted by her father. 

"Don't come back, either!" said, Sheridan, realistic in thisimpersonation. "Keep off the premises!" he called savagely into thehall. "This family's through with you!"

"It is NOT!" Edith cried, breaking from her mother. "You'll SEE aboutthat! You'll find out! You'll find out what'll happen! What's HE done?I guess if I can stand it, it's none of YOUR business, is it? What'sHE done, I'd like to know? You don't know anything about it. Don't yous'pose he told ME? She was crazy about him soon as he began going there, and he flirted with her a little. That's everything he did, and itwas before he met ME! After that he wouldn't, and it wasn't anything, anyway--he never was serious a minute about it. SHE wanted it to beserious, and she was bound she wouldn't give him up. He told her longago he cared about me, but she kept persecuting him and--"

"Yes, " said Sheridan, sternly; "that's HIS side of it! That'll do! Hedoesn't come in this house again!"

"You look out!" Edith cried. 

"Yes, I'll look out! I'd 'a' told you to-day he wasn't to be allowed onthe premises, but I had other things on my mind. I had Abercrombielook up this young man privately, and he's no 'count. He's no 'counton earth! He's no good! He's NOTHIN'! But it wouldn't matter if he wasGeorge Washington, after what's happened and what I've heard to-night!"

"But, papa, " Mrs. Sheridan began, "if Edie says it was all Sibyl'sfault, makin' up to him, and he never encouraged her much, nor--"

"'S enough!" he roared. "He keeps off these premises! And if any of youso much as ever speak his name to me again--"

But Edith screamed, clapping her hands over her ears to shut out thesound of his voice, and ran up-stairs, sobbing loudly, followed by hermother. However, Mrs. Sheridan descended a few minutes later and joinedher husband in the library. Bibbs, still sitting in his gold chair, sawher pass, roused himself from reverie, and strolled in after her. 

"She locked her door, " said Mrs. Sheridan, shaking her head woefully. "She wouldn't even answer me. They wasn't a sound from her room. "

"Well, " said her husband, "she can settle her mind to it. Shenever speaks to that fellow again, and if he tries to telephone herto-morrow--Here! You tell the help if he calls up to ring off and sayit's my orders. No, you needn't. I'll tell 'em myself. "

"Better not, " said Bibbs, gently. 

His father glared at him. 

"It's no good, " said Bibbs. "Mother, when you were in love withfather--"

"My goodness!" she cried. "You ain't a-goin' to compare your father tothat--"

"Edith feels about him just what you did about father, " said Bibbs. "Andif YOUR father had told you--"

"I won't LISTEN to such silly talk!" she declared, angrily. 

"So you're handin' out your advice, are you, Bibbs?" said Sheridan. "What is it?"

"Let her see him all she wants. "

"You're a--" Sheridan gave it up. "I don't know what to call you!"

"Let her see him all she wants, " Bibbs repeated, thoughtfully. "You'reup against something too strong for you. If Edith were a weaklingyou'd have a chance this way, but she isn't. She's got a lot of yourdetermination, father, and with what's going on inside of her she'llbeat you. You can't keep her from seeing him, as long as she feels abouthim the way she does now. You can't make her think less of him, either. Nobody can. Your only chance is that she'll do it for herself, and ifyou give her time and go easy she probably will. Marriage would do itfor her quickest, but that's just what you don't want, and as you DON'Twant it, you'd better--"

"I can't stand any more!" Sheridan burst out. "If it's come to BIBBSadvisin' me how to run this house I better resign. Mamma, where's thatnigger George? Maybe HE'S got some plan how I better manage my family. Bibbs, for God's sake go and lay down! 'Let her see him all she wants'!Oh, Lord! here's wisdom; here's--"

"Bibbs, " said Mrs. Sheridan, "if you haven't got anything to do, youmight step over and take Sibyl's wraps home--she left 'em in the hall. Idon't think you seem to quiet your poor father very much just now. "

"All right. " And Bibbs bore Sibyl's wraps across the street anddelivered them to Roscoe, who met him at the door. Bibbs said only, "Forgot these, " and, "Good night, Roscoe, " cordially and cheerfully, andreturned to the New House. His mother and father were still talking inthe library, but with discretion he passed rapidly on and upward to hisown room, and there he proceeded to write in his note-book. 

CHAPTER XXII

 There seems to be another curious thing about Love [Bibbs wrote]. Love is blind while it lives and only opens its eyes and becomes very wide awake when it dies. Let it alone until then. 

 You cannot reason with love or with any other passion. The wise will not wish for love--nor for ambition. These are passions and bring others in their train--hatreds and jealousies--all blind. Friendship and a quiet heart for the wise. 

 What a turbulence is love! It is dangerous for a blind thing to be turbulent; there are precipices in life. One would not cross a mountain-pass with a thick cloth over his eyes. Lovers do. Friendship walks gently and with open eyes. 

 To walk to church with a friend! To sit beside her there! To rise when she rises, and to touch with one's thumb and fingers the other half of the hymn-book that she holds! What lover, with his fierce ways, could know this transcendent happiness?

 Friendship brings everything that heaven could bring. There is no labor that cannot become a living rapture if you know that a friend is thinking of you as you labor. So you sing at your work. For the work is part of the thoughts of your friend; so you love it!

 Love is demanding and claiming and insistent. Friendship is all kindness--it makes the world glorious with kindness. What color you see when you walk with a friend! You see that the gray sky is brilliant and shimmering; you see that the smoke has warm browns and is marvelously sculptured--the air becomes iridescent. You see the gold in brown hair. Light floods everything. 

 When you walk to church with a friend you know that life can give you nothing richer. You pray that there will be no change in anything for ever. 

 What an adorable thing it is to discover a little foible in your friend, a bit of vanity that gives you one thing more about her to adore! On a cold morning she will perhaps walk to church with you without her furs, and she will blush and return an evasive answer when you ask her why she does not wear them. You will say no more, because you understand. She looks beautiful in her furs; you love their darkness against her cheek; but you comprehend that they conceal the loveliness of her throat and the fine line of her chin, and that she also has comprehended this, and, wishing to look still more bewitching, discards her furs at the risk of taking cold. So you hold your peace, and try to look as if you had not thought it out. 

 This theory is satisfactory except that it does not account for the absence of the muff. Ah, well, there must always be a mystery somewhere! Mystery is a part of enchantment. 

 Manual labor is best. Your heart can sing and your mind can dream while your hands are working. You could not have a singing heart and a dreaming mind all day if you had to scheme out dollars, or if you had to add columns of figures. Those things take your attention. You cannot be thinking of your friend while you write letters beginning "Yours of the 17th inst. Rec'd and contents duly noted. " But to work with your hands all day, thinking and singing, and then, after nightfall, to hear the ineffable kindness of your friend's greeting--always there--for you! Who would wake from such a dream as this?

 Dawn and the sea--music in moonlit gardens--nightingales serenading through almond-groves in bloom--what could bring such things into the city's turmoil? Yet they are here, and roses blossom in the soot. That is what it means not to be alone! That is what a friend gives you!

Having thus demonstrated that he was about twenty-five and had formed asomewhat indefinite definition of friendship, but one entirely his own(and perhaps Mary's) Bibbs went to bed, and was the only Sheridan tosleep soundly through the night and to wake at dawn with a light heart. 

His cheerfulness was vaguely diminished by the troublous state ofaffairs of his family. He had recognized his condition when he wrote, "Who would wake from such a dream as this?" Bibbs was a sympatheticperson, easily touched, but he was indeed living in a dream, and allthings outside of it were veiled and remote--for that is the way ofyouth in a dream. And Bibbs, who had never before been of any age, either old or young, had come to his youth at last. 

He went whistling from the house before even his father had comedown-stairs. There was a fog outdoors, saturated with a fine powder ofsoot, and though Bibbs noticed absently the dim shape of an automobileat the curb before Roscoe's house, he did not recognize it as Dr. Gurney's, but went cheerily on his way through the dingy mist. And whenhe was once more installed beside his faithful zinc-eater he whistledand sang to it, as other workmen did to their own machines sometimes, when things went well. His comrades in the shop glanced at him amusedlynow and then. They liked him, and he ate his lunch at noon with a groupof Socialists who approved of his ideas and talked of electing him totheir association. 

The short days of the year had come, and it was dark before the whistlesblew. When the signal came, Bibbs went to the office, where he divestedhimself of his overalls--his single divergence from the routine of hisfellow-workmen--and after that he used soap and water copiously. Thiswas his transformation scene: he passed into the office a rather frailyoung working-man noticeably begrimed, and passed out of it to thepavement a cheerfully pre-occupied sample of gentry, fastidious to thepoint of elegance. 

The sidewalk was crowded with the bearers of dinner-pails, men andboys and women and girls from the work-rooms that closed at five. Manyhurried and some loitered; they went both east and west, jostling oneanother, and Bibbs, turning his face homeward, was forced to go slowly. 

Coming toward him, as slowly, through the crowd, a tall girl caughtsight of his long, thin figure and stood still until he had almostpassed her, for in the thick crowd and the thicker gloom he did notrecognize her, though his shoulder actually touched hers. He would havegone by, but she laughed delightedly; and he stopped short, startled. Two boys, one chasing the other, swept between them, and Bibbs stoodstill, peering about him in deep perplexity. She leaned toward him. 

"I knew YOU!" she said. 

"Good heavens!" cried Bibbs. "I thought it was your voice coming out ofa star!"

"There's only smoke overhead, " said Mary, and laughed again. "Therearen't any stars. "

"Oh yes, there were--when you laughed!"

She took his arm, and they went on. "I've come to walk home with you, Bibbs. I wanted to. "

"But were you here in the--"

"In the dark? Yes! Waiting? Yes!"

Bibbs was radiant; he felt suffocated with happiness. He began to scoldher. 

"But it's not safe, and I'm not worth it. You shouldn't have--you oughtto know better. What did--"

"I only waited about twelve seconds, " she laughed. "I'd just got here. "

"But to come all this way and to this part of town in the dark, you--"

"I was in this part of town already, " she said. "At least, I was onlyseven or eight blocks away, and it was dark when I came out, and I'dhave had to go home alone--and I preferred going home with you. "

"It's pretty beautiful for me, " said Bibbs, with a deep breath. "You'llnever know what it was to hear your laugh in the darkness--and thento--to see you standing there! Oh, it was like--it was like--how can ITELL you what it was like?" They had passed beyond the crowd now, anda crossing-lamp shone upon them, which revealed the fact that again shewas without her furs. Here was a puzzle. Why did that adorable littlevanity of hers bring her out without them in the DARK? But of course shehad gone out long before dark. For undefinable reasons this explanationwas not quite satisfactory; however, allowing it to stand, hissolicitude for her took another turn. "I think you ought to have a car, "he said, "especially when you want to be out after dark. You need one inwinter, anyhow. Have you ever asked your father for one?"

"No, " said Mary. "I don't think I'd care for one particularly. "

"I wish you would. " Bibbs's tone was earnest and troubled. "I think inwinter you--"

"No, no, " she interrupted, lightly. "I don't need--"

"But my mother tried to insist on sending one over here every afternoonfor me. I wouldn't let her, because I like the walk, but a girl--"

"A girl likes to walk, too, " said Mary. "Let me tell you where I've beenthis afternoon and how I happened to be near enough to make you take mehome. I've been to see a little old man who makes pictures of the smoke. He has a sort of warehouse for a studio, and he lives there with hismother and his wife and their seven children, and he's gloriously happy. I'd seen one of his pictures at an exhibition, and I wanted to seemore of them, so he showed them to me. He has almost everthing he everpainted; I don't suppose he's sold more than four or five pictures inhis life. He gives drawing-lessons to keep alive. "

"How do you mean he paints the smoke?" Bibbs asked. 

"Literally. He paints from his studio window and from thestreet--anywhere. He just paints what's around him--and it's beautiful. "

"The smoke?"

"Wonderful! He sees the sky through it, somehow. He does the ugly roofsof cheap houses through a haze of smoke, and he does smoky sunsets andsmoky sunrises, and he has other things with the heavy, solid, slowcolumns of smoke going far out and growing more ethereal and mixingwith the hazy light in the distance; and he has others with the brokensky-line of down-town, all misted with the smoke and puffs and jets ofvapor that have colors like an orchard in mid-April. I'm going to takeyou there some Sunday afternoon, Bibbs. "

"You're showing me the town, " he said. "I didn't know what was in it atall. "

"There are workers in beauty here, " she told him, gently. "There areother painters more prosperous than my friend. There are all sorts ofthings. "

"I didn't know. "

"No. Since the town began growing so great that it called itself'greater, ' one could live here all one's life and know only the side ofit that shows. "

"The beauty-workers seem buried very deep, " said Bibbs. "And I imaginethat your friend who makes the smoke beautiful must be buried deepestof all. My father loves the smoke, but I can't imagine his buying oneof your friend's pictures. He'd buy the 'Bay of Naples, ' but he wouldn'tget one of those. He'd think smoke in a picture was horrible--unless hecould use it for an advertisement. "

"Yes, " she said, thoughtfully. "And really he's the town. They AREburied pretty deep, it seems, sometimes, Bibbs. "

"And yet it's all wonderful, " he said. "It's wonderful to me. "

"You mean the town is wonderful to you?"

"Yes, because everything is, since you called me your friend. The cityis only a rumble on the horizon for me. It can't come any closer thanthe horizon so long as you let me see you standing by my old zinc-eaterall day long, helping me. Mary--" He stopped with a gasp. "That's thefirst time I've called you 'Mary'!"

"Yes. " She laughed, a little tremuously. "Though I wanted you to!"

"I said it without thinking. It must be because you came there to walkhome with me. That must be it. "

"Women like to have things said, " Mary informed him, her tremulouslaughter continuing. "Were you glad I came for you?"

"No--not 'glad. ' I felt as if I were being carried straight up and upand up--over the clouds. I feel like that still. I think I'm that waymost of the time. I wonder what I was like before I knew you. The personI was then seems to have been somebody else, not Bibbs Sheridan atall. It seems long, long ago. I was gloomy and sickly--somebodyelse--somebody I don't understand now, a coward afraid ofshadows--afraid of things that didn't exist--afraid of my oldzinc-eater! And now I'm only afraid of what might change anything. "

She was silent a moment, and then, "You're happy, Bibbs?" she asked. 

"Ah, don't you see?" he cried. "I want it to last for a thousand, thousand years, just as it is! You've made me so rich, I'm a miser. Iwouldn't have one thing different--nothing, nothing!"

"Dear Bibbs!" she said, and laughed happily. 

CHAPTER XXIII

Bibbs continued to live in the shelter of his dream. He had told Edith, after his ineffective effort to be useful in her affairs, that he haddecided that he was "a member of the family"; but he appeared to haverelapsed to the retired list after that one attempt at participancy--hewas far enough detached from membership now. These were turbulent daysin the New House, but Bibbs had no part whatever in the turbulence--heseemed an absent-minded stranger, present by accident and not whollyaware that he was present. He would sit, faintly smiling over pleasantimaginings and dear reminiscences of his own, while battle raged betweenEdith and her father, or while Sheridan unloosed jeremiads upon thesullen Roscoe, who drank heavily to endure them. The happy dreamerwandered into storm-areas like a somnambulist, and wandered out againunawakened. He was sorry for his father and for Roscoe, and for Edithand for Sibyl, but their sufferings and outcries seemed far away. 

Sibyl was under Gurney's care. Roscoe had sent for him on Sunday night, not long after Bibbs returned the abandoned wraps; and during the firstdays of Sibyl's illness the doctor found it necessary to be with herfrequently, and to install a muscular nurse. And whether he would orno, Gurney received from his hysterical patient a variety of pungentinformation which would have staggered anybody but a family physician. Among other things he was given to comprehend the change in Bibbs, andwhy the zinc-eater was not putting a lump in the operator's gizzard asof yore. 

Sibyl was not delirious--she was a thin little ego writhing andshrieking in pain. Life had hurt her, and had driven her into hurtingherself; her condition was only the adult's terrible exaggeration ofthat of a child after a bad bruise--there must be screaming and tellingmother all about the hurt and how it happened. Sibyl babbled herselfhoarse when Gurney withheld morphine. She went from the beginning to theend in a breath. No protest stopped her; nothing stopped her. 

"You ought to let me die!" she wailed. "It's cruel not to let me die!What harm have I ever done to anybody that you want to keep me alive?Just look at my life! I only married Roscoe to get away from home, andlook what that got me into!--look where I am now! He brought me to thistown, and what did I have in my life but his FAMILY? And they didn'teven know the right crowd! If they had, it might have been SOMETHING!I had nothing--nothing--nothing in the world! I wanted to have a goodtime--and how could I? Where's any good time among these Sheridans? Theynever even had wine on the table! I thought I was marrying into a richfamily where I'd meet attractive people I'd read about, and travel, andgo to dances--and, oh, my Lord! all I got was these Sheridans! I didthe best I could; I did, indeed! Oh, I DID! I just tried to live. Everywoman's got a right to live, some time in her life, I guess! Things werejust beginning to look brighter--we'd moved up here, and that frozencrowd across the street were after Jim for their daughter, and they'dhave started us with the right people--and then I saw how Edith wasgetting him away from me. She did it, too! She got him! A girl withmoney can do that to a married woman--yes, she can, every time! And whatcould I do? What can any woman do in my fix? I couldn't do ANYTHING buttry to stand it--and I couldn't stand it! I went to that icicle--thatVertrees girl--and she could have helped me a little, and it wouldn'thave hurt her. It wouldn't have done her any harm to help me THATlittle! She treated me as if I'd been dirt that she wouldn't even takethe trouble to sweep out of her house! Let her WAIT!"

Sibyl's voice, hoarse from babbling, became no more than a huskywhisper, though she strove to make it louder. She struggled halfupright, and the nurse restrained her. "I'd get up out of this bed toshow her she can't do such things to me! I was absolutely ladylike, andshe walked out and left me there alone! She'll SEE! She started afterBibbs before Jim's casket was fairly underground, and she thinks she'slanded that poor loon--but she'll see! She'll see! If I'm ever ableto walk across the street again I'll show her how to treat a woman introuble that comes to her for help! It wouldn't have hurt her any--itwouldn't--it wouldn't. And Edith needn't have told what she toldRoscoe--it wouldn't have hurt her to let me alone. And HE told her Ibored him--telephoning him I wanted to see him. He needn't have doneit! He needn't--needn't--" Her voice grew fainter, for that while, with exhaustion, though she would go over it all again as soon as herstrength returned. She lay panting. Then, seeing her husband standingdisheveled in the doorway, "Don't come in, Roscoe, " she murmured. "Idon't want to see you. " And as he turned away she added, "I'm kind ofsorry for you, Roscoe. "

Her antagonist, Edith, was not more coherent in her own wailings, and she had the advantage of a mother for listener. She had also thedisadvantage of a mother for duenna, and Mrs. Sheridan, under herhusband's sharp tutelage, proved an effective one. Edith was reduced totelephoning Lamhorn from shops whenever she could juggle her mother intoa momentary distraction over a counter. 

Edith was incomparably more in love than before Lamhorn's expulsion. Herwhole being was nothing but the determination to hurdle everything thatseparated her from him. She was in a state that could be altered by onlythe lightest and most delicate diplomacy of suggestion, but Sheridan, like legions of other parents, intensified her passion and fed it hourlyfuel by opposing to it an intolerable force. He swore she should cool, and thus set her on fire. 

Edith planned neatly. She fought hard, every other evening, with herfather, and kept her bed betweentimes to let him see what his violencehad done to her. Then, when the mere sight of her set him to breathingfast, she said pitiably that she might bear her trouble better if shewent away; it was impossible to be in the same town with Lamhorn and notthink always of him. Perhaps in New York she might forget a little. She had written to a school friend, established quietly with an aunt inapartments--and a month or so of theaters and restaurants might bringpeace. Sheridan shouted with relief; he gave her a copious cheque, andshe left upon a Monday morning wearing violets with her mourning andhaving kissed everybody good-by except Sibyl and Bibbs. She might havekissed Bibbs, but he failed to realize that the day of her departurehad arrived, and was surprised, on returning from his zinc-eater, thatevening, to find her gone. "I suppose they'll be maried there, " he said, casually. 

Sheridan, seated, warming his stockinged feet at the fire, jumped up, fuming. "Either you go out o' here, or I will, Bibbs!" he snorted. "Idon't want to be in the same room with the particular kind of idiot youare! She's through with that riff-raff; all she needed was to be keptaway from him a few weeks, and I KEPT her away, and it did the business. For Heaven's sake, go on out o' here!"

Bibbs obeyed the gesture of a hand still bandaged. And the black silksling was still round Sheridan's neck, but no word of Gurney's and noexcruciating twinge of pain could keep Sheridan's hand in the sling. Thewounds, slight enough originally, had become infected the first time hehad dislodged the bandages, and healing was long delayed. Sheridan hadthe habit of gesture; he could not "take time to remember, " he said, that he must be careful, and he had also a curious indignation with hishurt; he refused to pay it the compliment of admitting its existence. 

The Saturday following Edith's departure Gurney came to the SheridanBuilding to dress the wounds and to have a talk with Sheridan whichthe doctor felt had become necessary. But he was a little beforethe appointed time and was obliged to wait a few minutes in ananteroom--there was a directors' meeting of some sort in Sheridan'soffice. The door was slightly ajar, leaking cigar-smoke and oratory, thelatter all Sheridan's, and Gurney listened. 

"No, sir; no, sir; no, sir!" he heard the big voice rumbling, and then, breaking into thunder, "I tell you NO! Some o' you men make me sick!You'd lose your confidence in Almighty God if a doodle-bug flipped hishind leg at you! You say money's tight all over the country. Well, whatif it is? There's no reason for it to be tight, and it's not goin' tokeep OUR money tight! You're always runnin' to the woodshed to hideyour nickels in a crack because some fool newspaper says the market's alittle skeery! You listen to every street-corner croaker and thencome and set here and try to scare ME out of a big thing! We're IN onthis--understand? I tell you there never WAS better times. These aregood times and big times, and I won't stand for any other kind o' talk. This country's on its feet as it never was before, and this city's onits feet and goin' to stay there!" And Gurney heard a series of whacksand thumps upon the desk. "'Bad times'!" Sheridan vociferated, withaccompanying thumps. "Rabbit talk! These times are glorious, I tell you!We're in the promised land, and we're goin' to STAY there! That's all, gentlemen. The loan goes!"

The directors came forth, flushed and murmurous, and Gurney hastenedin. His guess was correct: Sheridan had been thumping the desk with hisright hand. The physician scolded wearily, making good the fresh damageas best he might; and then he said what he had to say on the subject ofRoscoe and Sibyl, his opinion meeting, as he expected, a warmly hostilereception. But the result of this conversation was that by telephoniccommand Roscoe awaited his father, an hour later, in the library at theNew House. 

"Gurney says your wife's able to travel, " Sheridan said brusquely, as hecame in. 

"Yes. " Roscoe occupied a deep chair and sat in the dejected attitudewhich had become his habit. "Yes, she is. "

"Edith had to leave town, and so Sibyl thinks she'll have to, too!"

"Oh, I wouldn't put it that way, " Roscoe protested, drearily. 

"No, I hear YOU wouldn't!" There was a bitter gibe in the father'svoice, and he added: "It's a good thing she's goin' abroad--if she'llstay there. I shouldn't think any of us want her here any more--youleast of all!"

"It's no use your talking that way, " said Roscoe. "You won't do anygood. "

"Well, when are you comin' back to your office?" Sheridan used abrisker, kinder tone. "Three weeks since you showed up there at all. When you goin' to be ready to cut out whiskey and all the rest o' thefoolishness and start in again? You ought to be able to make up for alot o' lost time and a lot o' spilt milk when that woman takes herselfout o' the way and lets you and all the rest of us alone. "

"It's no use, father, I tell you. I know what Gurney was going to say toyou. I'm not going back to the office. I'm DONE!"

"Wait a minute before you talk that way!" Sheridan began his sentry-goup and down the room. "I suppose you know it's taken two pretty goodmen about sixteen hours a day to set things straight and get 'em runnin'right again, down in your office?"

"They must be good men. " Roscoe nodded indifferently. "I thought I wasdoing about eight men's work. I'm glad you found two that could handleit. "

"Look here! If I worked you it was for your own good. There are plentymen drive harder'n I do, and--"

"Yes. There are some that break down all the other men that work with'em. They either die, or go crazy, or have to quit, and are no usethe rest of their lives. The last's my case, I guess--'complicated bydomestic difficulties'!"

"You set there and tell me you give up?" Sheridan's voice shook, andso did the gesticulating hand which he extended appealingly toward thedespondent figure. "Don't do it, Roscoe! Don't say it! Say you'll comedown there again and be a man! This woman ain't goin' to trouble you anymore. The work ain't goin' to hurt you if you haven't got her to worryyou, and you can get shut o' this nasty whiskey-guzzlin'; it ain'tfastened on you yet. Don't say--"

"It's no use on earth, " Roscoe mumbled. "No use on earth. "

"Look here! If you want another month's vacation--"

"I know Gurney told you, so what's the use talking about 'vacations'?"

"Gurney!" Sheridan vociferated the name savagely. "It's Gurney, Gurney, Gurney! Always Gurney! I don't know what the world's comin' to witheverybody runnin' around squealin', 'The doctor says this, ' and, 'Thedoctor says that'! It makes me sick! How's this country expect to getits Work done if Gurney and all the other old nanny-goats keep up thisblattin'--'Oh, oh! Don't lift that stick o' wood; you'll ruin yourNERVES!' So he says you got 'nervous exhaustion induced by overwork andemotional strain. ' They always got to stick the Work in if they see achance! I reckon you did have the 'emotional strain, ' and that's all'sthe matter with you. You'll be over it soon's this woman's gone, andWork's the very thing to make you quit frettin' about her. "

"Did Gurney tell you I was fit to work?"

"Shut up!" Sheridan bellowed. "I'm so sick o' that man's name I feellike shootin' anybody that says it to me!" He fumed and chafed, swearingindistinctly, then came and stood before his son. "Look here; do youthink you're doin' the square thing by me? Do you? How much you worth?"

"I've got between seven and eight thousand a year clear, of my own, outside the salary. That much is mine whether I work or not. "

"It is? You could'a pulled it out without me, I suppose you think, atyour age?"

"No. But it's mine, and it's enough. "

"My Lord! It's about what a Congressman gets, and you want to quitthere! I suppose you think you'll get the rest when I kick the bucket, and all you have to do is lay back and wait! You let me tell you righthere, you'll never see one cent of it. You go out o' business now, andwhat would you know about handlin' it five or ten or twenty years fromnow? Because I intend to STAY here a little while yet, my boy! They'deither get it away from you or you'd sell for a nickel and let it besplit up and--" He whirled about, marched to the other end of the room, and stood silent a moment. Then he said, solemnly: "Listen. If you goout now, you leave me in the lurch, with nothin' on God's green earthto depend on but your brother--and you know what he is. I've depended onyou for it ALL since Jim died. Now you've listened to that dam' doctor, and he says maybe you won't ever be as good a man as you were, and thatcertainly you won't be for a year or so--probably more. Now, that's alla lie. Men don't break down that way at your age. Look at ME! And I tellyou, you can shake this thing off. All you need is a little GET-up anda little gumption. Men don't go away for YEARS and then come back intoMOVING businesses like ours--they lose the strings. And if you could, Iwon't let you--if you lay down on me now, I won't--and that's because ifyou lay down you prove you ain't the man I thought you were. " He clearedhis throat and finished quietly: "Roscoe, will you take a month'svacation and come back and go to it?"

"No, " said Roscoe, listlessly. "I'm through. "

"All right, " said Sheridan. He picked up the evening paper from atable, went to a chair by the fire and sat down, his back to his son. "Good-by. "

Roscoe rose, his head hanging, but there was a dull relief in his eyes. "Best I can do, " he muttered, seeming about to depart, yet lingering. "Ifigure it out a good deal like this, " he said. "I didn't KNOW my jobwas any strain, and I managed all right, but from what Gur--from whatI hear, I was just up to the limit of my nerves from overwork, andthe--the trouble at home was the extra strain that's fixed me the way Iam. I tried to brace, so I could stand the work and the trouble too, onwhiskey--and that put the finish to me! I--I'm not hitting it as hard asI was for a while, and I reckon pretty soon, if I can get to feeling alittle more energy, I better try to quit entirely--I don't know. I'm allin--and the doctor says so. I thought I was running along fine up to afew months ago, but all the time I was ready to bust, and didn't knowit. Now, then, I don't want you to blame Sibyl, and if I were youI wouldn't speak of her as 'that woman, ' because she's yourdaughter-in-law and going to stay that way. She didn't do anythingwicked. It was a shock to me, and I don't deny it, to find what she haddone--encouraging that fellow to hang around her after he began tryingto flirt with her, and losing her head over him the way she did. I don'tdeny it was a shock and that it'll always be a hurt inside of me I'llnever get over. But it was my fault; I didn't understand a woman'snature. " Poor Roscoe spoke in the most profound and desolate earnest. "A woman craves society, and gaiety, and meeting attractive people, andtraveling. Well, I can't give her the other things, but I can give herthe traveling--real traveling, not just going to Atlantic City orNew Orleans, the way she has, two, three times. A woman has to havesomething in her life besides a business man. And that's ALL I was. Inever understood till I heard her talking when she was so sick, and Ibelieve if you'd heard her then you wouldn't speak so hard-heartedlyabout her; I believe you might have forgiven her like I have. That'sall. I never cared anything for any girl but her in my life, but I wasso busy with business I put it ahead of her. I never THOUGHT about her, I was so busy thinking business. Well, this is where it's brought usto--and now when you talk about 'business' to me I feel the way you dowhen anybody talks about Gurney to you. The word 'business' makes medizzy--it makes me honestly sick at the stomach. I believe if I hadto go down-town and step inside that office door I'd fall down on thefloor, deathly sick. You talk about a 'month's vacation'--and I get justas sick. I'm rattled--I can't plan--I haven't got any plans--can't makeany, except to take my girl and get just as far away from that office asI can--and stay. We're going to Japan first, and if we--"

His father rustled the paper. "I said good-by, Roscoe. "

"Good-by, " said Roscoe, listlessly. 

CHAPTER XXIV

Sheridan waited until he heard the sound of the outer door closing; thenhe rose and pushed a tiny disk set in the wall. Jackson appeared. 

"Has Bibbs got home from work?"

"Mist' Bibbs? No, suh. "

"Tell him I want to see him, soon as he comes. "

"Yessuh. "

Sheridan returned to his chair and fixed his attention fiercely uponthe newspaper. He found it difficult to pursue the items beyondtheir explanatory rubrics--there was nothing unusual or startling toconcentrate his attention:

 "Motorman Puts Blame on Brakes. Three Killed when Car Slides. " "Burglars Make Big Haul. " "Board Works Approve Big Car-line Extension. " "Hold-up Men Injure Two. Man Found in Alley, Skull Fractured. " "Sickening Story Told in Divorce Court. " "Plan New Eighteen-story Structure. " "School-girl Meets Death under Automobile. " "Negro Cuts Three. One Dead. " "Life Crushed Out. Third Elevator Accident in Same Building Causes Action by Coroner. " "Declare Militia will be Menace. Polish Societies Protest to Governor in Church Rioting Case. " "Short $3, 500 in Accounts, Trusted Man Kills Self with Drug. " "Found Frozen. Family Without Food or Fuel. Baby Dead when Parents Return Home from Seeking Work. " "Minister Returned from Trip Abroad Lectures on Big Future of Our City. Sees Big Improvement during Short Absence. Says No European City Holds Candle. " (Sheridan nodded approvingly here. )

Bibbs came through the hall whistling, and entered the room briskly. "Well, father, did you want me?"

"Yes. Sit down. " Sheridan got up, and Bibbs took a seat by the fire, holding out his hands to the crackling blaze, for it was cold outdoors. 

"I came within seven of the shop record to-day, " he said. "I handledmore strips than any other workman has any day this month. The nearestto me is sixteen behind. "

"There!" exclaimed his father, greatly pleased. "What'd I tell you?I'd like to hear Gurney hint again that I wasn't right in sending youthere--I would just like to hear him! And you--ain't you ashamed ofmakin' such a fuss about it? Ain't you?"

"I didn't go at it in the right spirit the other time, " Bibbs said, smiling brightly, his face ruddy in the cheerful firelight. "I didn'tknow the difference it meant to like a thing. "

"Well, I guess I've pretty thoroughly vindicated my judgement. I guess IHAVE! I said the shop'd be good for you, and it was. I said it wouldn'thurt you, and it hasn't. It's been just exactly what I said it would be. Ain't that so?"

"Looks like it!" Bibbs agreed, gaily. 

"Well, I'd like to know any place I been wrong, first and last! Insteado' hurting you, it's been the makin' of you--physically. You're a goodinch taller'n what I am, and you'd be a bigger man than what I amif you'd get some flesh on your bones; and you ARE gettin' a little. Physically, it's started you out to be the huskiest one o' the wholefamily. Now, then, mentally--that's different. I don't say it unkindly, Bibbs, but you got to do something for yourself mentally, just likewhat's begun physically. And I'm goin' to help you. "

Sheridan decided to sit down again. He brought his chair close to hisson's, and, leaning over, tapped Bibbs's knee confidentially. "I gotplans for you, Bibbs, " he said. 

Bibbs instantly looked thoroughly alarmed. He drew back. "I--I'm allright now, father. "

"Listen. " Sheridan settled himself in his chair, and spoke in the toneof a reasonable man reasoning. "Listen here, Bibbs. I had another blowto-day, and it was a hard one and right in the face, though I HAVE beenexpectin' it some little time back. Well, it's got to be met. Now I'llbe frank with you. As I said a minute ago, mentally I couldn't evercalled you exactly strong. You been a little weak both ways, most ofyour life. Not but what I think you GOT a mentality, if you'd learn touse it. You got will-power, I'll say that for you. I never knew boy orman that could be stubborner--never one in my life! Now, then, you'veshowed you could learn to run that machine best of any man in the shop, in no time at all. That looks to me like you could learn to do otherthings. I don't deny but what it's an encouragin' sign. I don't denythat, at all. Well, that helps me to think the case ain't so hopeless asit looks. You're all I got to meet this blow with, but maybe you ain'tas poor material as I thought. Your tellin' me about comin' withinseven strips of the shop's record to-day looks to me like encouragin'information brought in at just about the right time. Now, then, I'mgoin' to give you a raise. I wanted to send you straight on up throughthe shops--a year or two, maybe--but I can't do it. I lost Jim, and nowI've lost Roscoe. He's quit. He's laid down on me. If he ever comes backat all, he'll be a long time pickin' up the strings, and, anyway, heain't the man I thought he was. I can't count on him. I got to haveSOMEBODY I KNOW I can count on. And I'm down to this: you're my lastchance. Bibbs, I got to learn you to use what brains you got and see ifwe can't develop 'em a little. Who knows? And I'm goin' to put my timein on it. I'm goin' to take you right down-town with ME, and I won't behard on you if you're a little slow at first. And I'm goin' to do thebig thing for you. I'm goin' to make you feel you got to do the bigthing for me, in return. I've vindicated my policy with you about theshop, and now I'm goin' to turn right around and swing you 'way overahead of where the other boys started, and I'm goin' to make an appealto your ambition that'll make you dizzy!" He tapped his son on the kneeagain. "Bibbs, I'm goin' to start you off this way: I'm goin' tomake you a director in the Pump Works Company; I'm goin' to make youvice-president of the Realty Company and a vice-president of the TrustCompany!"

Bibbs jumped to his feet, blanched. "Oh no!" he cried. 

Sheridan took his dismay to be the excitement of sudden joy. "Yes, sir! And there's some pretty fat little salaries goes with thosevice-presidencies, and a pinch o' stock in the Pump Company with thedirectorship. You thought I was pretty mean about the shop--oh, I knowyou did!--but you see the old man can play it both ways. And so rightnow, the minute you've begun to make good the way I wanted you to, I deal from the new deck. And I'll keep on handin' it out bigger andbigger every time you show me you're big enough to play the hand I dealyou. I'm startin' you with a pretty big one, my boy!"

"But I don't--I don't--I don't want it!" Bibbs stammered. 

"What'd you say?" Sheridan thought he had not heard aright. 

"I don't want it, father. I thank you--I do thank you--"

Sheridan looked perplexed. "What's the matter with you? Didn't youunderstand what I was tellin' you?"

"Yes. "

"You sure? I reckon you didn't. I offered--"

"I know, I know! But I can't take it. "

"What's the matter with you?" Sheridan was half amazed, half suspicious. "Your head feel funny?"

"I've never been quite so sane in my life, " said Bibbs, "as I havelately. And I've got just what I want. I'm living exactly the rightlife. I'm earning my daily bread, and I'm happy in doing it. My wagesare enough. I don't want any more money, and I don't deserve any--"

"Damnation!" Sheridan sprang up. "You've turned Socialist! You beenlistening to those fellows down there, and you--"

"No, sir. I think there's a great deal in what they say, but that isn'tit. "

Sheridan tried to restrain his growing fury, and succeeded partially. "Then what is it? What's the matter?"

"Nothing, " his son returned, nervously. "Nothing--except that I'mcontent. I don't want to change anything. "

"Why not?"

Bibbs had the incredible folly to try to explain. "I'll tell you, father, if I can. I know it may be hard to understand--"

"Yes, I think it may be, " said Sheridan, grimly. "What you say usuallyis a LITTLE that way. Go on!"

Perturbed and distressed, Bibbs rose instinctively; he felt himself atevery possible disadvantage. He was a sleeper clinging to a dream--arough hand stretched to shake him and waken him. He went to a table andmade vague drawings upon it with a finger, and as he spoke he kept hiseyes lowered. "You weren't altogether right about the shop--that is, in one way you weren't, father. " He glanced up apprehensively. Sheridanstood facing him, expressionless, and made no attempt to interrupt. "That's difficult to explain, " Bibbs continued, lowering his eyes again, to follow the tracings of his finger. "I--I believe the shop might havedone for me this time if I hadn't--if something hadn't helped me to--oh, not only to bear it, but to be happy in it. Well, I AM happy in it. I want to go on just as I am. And of all things on earth that I don'twant, I don't want to live a business life--I don't want to be drawninto it. I don't think it IS living--and now I AM living. I have thehealthful toil--and I can think. In business as important as yours Icouldn't think anything but business. I don't--I don't think makingmoney is worth while. "

"Go on, " said Sheridan, curtly, as Bibbs paused timidly. 

"It hasn't seemed to get anywhere, that I can see, " said Bibbs. "Youthink this city is rich and powerful--but what's the use of its beingrich and powerful? They don't teach the children any more in the schoolsbecause the city is rich and powerful. They teach them more than theyused to because some people--not rich and powerful people--have thoughtthe thoughts to teach the children. And yet when you've been readingthe paper I've heard you objecting to the children being taught anythingexcept what would help them to make money. You said it was wasting thetaxes. You want them taught to make a living, but not to live. When Iwas a little boy this wasn't an ugly town; now it's hideous. What's theuse of being big just to be hideous? I mean I don't think all this hasmeant really going ahead--it's just been getting bigger and dirtier andnoisier. Wasn't the whole country happier and in many ways wiser when itwas smaller and cleaner and quieter and kinder? I know you think I'm anutter fool, father, but, after all, though, aren't business and politicsjust the housekeeping part of life? And wouldn't you despise a womanthat not only made her housekeeping her ambition, but did it so noisilyand dirtily that the whole neighborhood was in a continual turmoil overit? And suppose she talked and thought about her housekeeping allthe time, and was always having additions built to her house when shecouldn't keep clean what she already had; and suppose, with it all, shemade the house altogether unpeaceful and unlivable--"

"Just one minute!" Sheridan interrupted, adding, with terrible courtesy, "If you will permit me? Have you ever been right about anything?"

"I don't quite--"

"I ask the simple question: Have you ever been right about anythingwhatever in the course of your life? Have you ever been right uponany subject or question you've thought about and talked about? Can youmention one single time when you were proved to be right?"

He was flourishing the bandaged hand as he spoke, but Bibbs said only, "If I've always been wrong before, surely there's more chance that I'mright about this. It seems reasonable to suppose something would be dueto bring up my average. "

"Yes, I thought you wouldn't see the point. And there's another youprobably couldn't see, but I'll take the liberty to mention it. You beenbalkin' all your life. Pretty much everything I ever wanted you to do, you'd let out SOME kind of a holler, like you are now--and yet I can'tseem to remember once when you didn't have to lay down and do what Isaid. But go on with your remarks about our city and the business ofthis country. Go on!"

"I don't want to be a part of it, " said Bibbs, with unwonted decision. "I want to keep to myself, and I'm doing it now. I couldn't, if I wentdown there with you. I'd be swallowed into it. I don't care for moneyenough to--"

"No, " his father interrupted, still dangerously quiet. "You've never hadto earn a living. Anybody could tell that by what you say. Now, let meremind you: you're sleepin' in a pretty good bed; you're eatin' prettyfair food; you're wearin' pretty fine clothes. Just suppose one o' thesenoisy housekeepers--me, for instance--decided to let you do your ownhousekeepin'. May I ask what your proposition would be?"

"I'm earning nine dollars a week, " said Bibbs, sturdily. "It's enough. Ishouldn't mind at all. "

"Who's payin' you that nine dollars a week?"

"My work!" Bibbs answered. "And I've done so well on thatclipping-machine I believe I could work up to fifteen or even twentya week at another job. I could be a fair plumber in a few months, I'm sure. I'd rather have a trade than be in business--I should, infinitely!"

"You better set about learnin' one pretty dam' quick!" But Sheridanstruggled with his temper and again was partially successful incontrolling it. "You better learn a trade over Sunday, because you'reeither goin' down with me to my office Monday morning--or--you can go toplumbing!"

"All right, " said Bibbs, gently. "I can get along. "

Sheridan raised his hands sardonically, as in prayer. "O God, " he said, "this boy was crazy enough before he began to earn his nine dollars aweek, and now his money's gone to his head! Can't You do nothin' forhim?" Then he flung his hands apart, palms outward, in a furious gestureof dismissal. "Get out o' this room! You got a skull that's thicker'n awhale's thigh-bone, but it's cracked spang all the way across! You hatedthe machine-shop so bad when I sent you there, you went and stayed sickfor over two years--and now, when I offer to take you out of it and giveyou the mint, you holler for the shop like a calf for its mammy! You'recracked! Oh, but I got a fine layout here! One son died, one quit, andone's a loon! The loon's all I got left! H. P. Ellersly's wife hada crazy brother, and they undertook to keep him at the house. Firstmorning he was there he walked straight though a ten-dollar plate-glasswindow out into the yard. He says, 'Oh, look at the pretty dandelion!'That's what you're doin'! You want to spend your life sayin', 'Oh, lookat the pretty dandelion!' and you don't care a tinker's dam' what youbust! Well, mister, loon or no loon, cracked and crazy or whatever youare, I'll take you with me Monday morning, and I'll work you and learnyou--yes, and I'll lam you, if I got to--until I've made something outof you that's fit to be called a business man! I'll keep at you whileI'm able to stand, and if I have to lay down to die I'll be whisperin'at you till they get the embalmin'-fluid into me! Now go on, and don'tlet me hear from you again till you can come and tell me you've wakedup, you poor, pitiful, dandelion-pickin' SLEEP-WALKER!"

Bibbs gave him a queer look. There was something like reproach in it, for once; but there was more than that--he seemed to be startled by hisfather's last word. 

CHAPTER XXV

There was sleet that evening, with a whopping wind, but neither thisstorm nor that other which so imminently threatened him held placein the consciousness of Bibbs Sheridan when he came once more to thepresence of Mary. All was right in his world as he sat with her, readingMaurice Maeterlinck's Alladine and Palomides. The sorrowful light ofthe gas-jet might have been May morning sunshine flashing amber and rosethrough the glowing windows of the Sainte-Chapelle, it was so bright forBibbs. And while the zinc-eater held out to bring him such golden nightsas these, all the king's horses and all the king's men might not serveto break the spell. 

Bibbs read slowly, but in a reasonable manner, as if he were talking;and Mary, looking at him steadily from beneath her curved fingers, appeared to discover no fault. It had grown to be her habit to look athim whenever there was an opportunity. It may be said, in truth, thatwhile they were together, and it was light, she looked at him all thetime. 

When he came to the end of Alladine and Palomides they were silent alittle while, considering together; then he turned back the pages andsaid: "There's something I want to read over. This:"

 You would think I threw a window open on the dawn. .. . She has a soul that can be seen around her--that takes you in its arms like an ailing child and without saying anything to you consoles you for everything. .. . I shall never understand it all. I do not know how it can all be, but my knees bend in spite of me when I speak of it. .. . 

He stopped and looked at her. 

"You boy!" said Mary, not very clearly. 

"Oh yes, " he returned. "But it's true--especially my knees!"

"You boy!" she murmured again, blushing charmingly. "You might readanother line over. The first time I ever saw you, Bibbs, you werelooking into a mirror. Do it again. But you needn't read it--I can giveit to you: 'A little Greek slave that came from the heart of Arcady!'"

"I! I'm one of the hands at the Pump Works--and going to stay one, unless I have to decide to study plumbing. "

"No. " She shook her head. "You love and want what's beautiful anddelicate and serene; it's really art that you want in your life, andhave always wanted. You seemed to me, from the first, the most wistfulperson I had ever known, and that's what you were wistful for. "

Bibbs looked doubtful and more wistful than ever; but after a moment ortwo the matter seemed to clarify itself to him. "Why, no, " he said; "Iwanted something else more than that. I wanted you. "

"And here I am!" she laughed, completely understanding. "I think we'relike those two in The Cloister and the Hearth. I'm just the roughBurgundian cross-bow man, Denys, who followed that gentle Gerard andtold everybody that the devil was dead. "

"He isn't, though, " said Bibbs, as a hoarse little bell in the next roombegan a series of snappings which proved to be ten, upon count. "He getsinto the clock whenever I'm with you. " And, sighing deeply he rose togo. 

"You're always very prompt about leaving me. "

"I--I try to be, " he said. "It isn't easy to be careful not to riskeverything by giving myself a little more at a time. If I ever saw youlook tired--"

"Have you ever?"

"Not yet. You always look--you always look--"

"How?"

"Care-free. That's it. Except when you feel sorry for me aboutsomething, you always have that splendid look. It puts courage intopeople to see it. If I had a struggle to face I'd keep remembering thatlook--and I'd never give up! It's a brave look, too, as though gaietymight be a kind of gallantry on your part, and yet I don't quiteunderstand why it should be, either. " He smiled quizzically, lookingdown upon her. "Mary, you haven't a 'secret sorrow, ' have you?"

For answer she only laughed. 

"No, " he said; "I can't imagine you with a care in the world. I thinkthat's why you were so kind to me--you have nothing but happiness inyour own life, and so you could spare time to make my troubles turn tohappiness, too. But there's one little time in the twenty-four hourswhen I'm not happy. It's now, when I have to say good night. I feeldismal every time it comes--and then, when I've left the house, there'sa bad little blankness, a black void, as though I were temporarilydead; and it lasts until I get it established in my mind that I'm reallybeginning another day that's to end with YOU again. Then I cheer up. Butnow's the bad time--and I must go through it, and so--good night. " Andhe added with a pungent vehemence of which he was little aware, "I hateit!"

"Do you?" she said, rising to go to the door with him. But he stoodmotionless, gazing at her wonderingly. 

"Mary! Your eyes are so--" He stopped. 

"Yes?" But she looked quickly away. 

"I don't know, " he said. "I thought just then--"

"What did you think?"

"I don't know--it seemed to me that there was something I ought tounderstand--and didn't. "

She laughed and met his wondering gaze again frankly. "My eyes arepleased, " she said. "I'm glad that you miss me a little after you go. "

"But to-morrow's coming faster than other days if you'll let it, " hesaid. 

She inclined her head. "Yes. I'll--'let it'!"

"Going to church, " said Bibbs. "It IS going to church when I go withyou!"

She went to the front door with him; she always went that far. They hadformed a little code of leave-taking, by habit, neither of them everspeaking of it; but it was always the same. She always stood in thedoorway until he reached the sidewalk, and there he always turned andlooked back, and she waved her hand to him. Then he went on, halfway tothe New House, and looked back again, and Mary was not in the doorway, but the door was open and the light shone. It was as if she meant totell him that she would never shut him out; he could always see thatfriendly light of the open doorway--as if it were open for him to comeback, if he would. He could see it until a wing of the New House camebetween, when he went up the path. The open doorway seemed to him thebeautiful symbol of her friendship--of her thought of him; a symbol ofherself and of her ineffable kindness. 

And she kept the door open--even to-night, though the sleet and finesnow swept in upon her bare throat and arms, and her brown hair wasstrewn with tiny white stars. His heart leaped as he turned and saw thatshe was there, waving her hand to him, as if she did not know that thestorm touched her. When he had gone on, Mary did as she always did--shewent into an unlit room across the hall from that in which they hadspent the evening, and, looking from the window, watched him until hewas out of sight. The storm made that difficult to-night, but shecaught a glimpse of him under the street-lamp that stood between the twohouses, and saw that he turned to look back again. Then, and not before, she looked at the upper windows of Roscoe's house across the street. They were dark. Mary waited, but after a little while she closed thefront door and returned to her window. A moment later two of the upperwindows of Roscoe's house flashed into light and a hand lowered theshade of one of them. Mary felt the cold then--it was the third nightshe had seen those windows lighted and the shade lowered, just afterBibbs had gone. 

But Bibbs had no glance to spare for Roscoe's windows. He stopped forhis last look back at the open door, and, with a thin mantle of whitealready upon his shoulders, made his way, gasping in the wind, to thelee of the sheltering wing of the New House. 

A stricken George, muttering hoarsely, admitted him, and Bibbs becameaware of a paroxysm within the house. Terrible sounds came from thelibrary: Sheridan cursing as never before; his wife sobbing, her voicerising to an agonized squeal of protest upon each of a series of muffleddetonations--the outrageous thumping of a bandaged hand upon wood; thenGurney, sharply imperious, "Keep your hand in that sling! Keep your handin that sling, I say!"

"LOOK!" George gasped, delighted to play herald for so important atragedy; and he renewed upon his face the ghastly expression with whichhe had first beheld the ruins his calamitous gesture laid before theeyes of Bibbs. "Look at 'at lamidal statue!"

Gazing down the hall, Bibbs saw heroic wreckage, seeminglyByzantine--painted colossal fragments of the shattered torso, appallingly human; and gilded and silvered heaps of magnificence strewnamong ruinous palms like the spoil of a barbarians' battle. There hadbeen a massacre in the oasis--the Moor had been hurled headlong from hispedestal. 

"He hit 'at ole lamidal statue, " said George. "POW!"

"My father?"

"YESsuh! POW! he hit 'er! An' you' ma run tell me git doctuh quick 'sI kin telefoam--she sho' you' pa goin' bus' a blood-vessel. He ain'ttakin' on 'tall NOW. He ain't nothin' 'tall to what he was 'while ago. You done miss' it, Mist' Bibbs. Doctuh got him all quiet' down, to whathe was. POW! he hit'er! Yessuh!" He took Bibbs's coat and proffered acrumpled telegraph form. "Here what come, " he said. "I pick 'er up whenhe done stompin' on 'er. You read 'er, Mist' Bibbs--you' ma tell me tuhn'er ovuh to you soon's you come in. "

Bibbs read the telegram quickly. It was from New York and addressed toMrs. Sheridan. 

 Sure you will all approve step have taken as was so wretched my health would probably suffered severely Robert and I were married this afternoon thought best have quiet wedding absolutely sure you will understand wisdom of step when you know Robert better am happiest woman in world are leaving for Florida will wire address when settled will remain till spring love to all father will like him too when knows him like I do he is just ideal. Edith Lamhorn. 

CHAPTER XXVI

George departed, and Bibbs was left gazing upon chaos and listening tothunder. He could not reach the stairway without passing the open doorsof the library, and he was convinced that the mere glimpse of him, justthen, would prove nothing less than insufferable for his father. Forthat reason he was about to make his escape into the gold-and-brocaderoom, intending to keep out of sight, when he heard Sheridanvociferously demanding his presence. 

"Tell him to come in here! He's out there. I heard George just let himin. Now you'll SEE!" And tear-stained Mrs. Sheridan, looking out intothe hall, beckoned to her son. 

Bibbs went as far as the doorway. Gurney sat winding a strip of whitecotton, his black bag open upon a chair near by; and Sheridan wasstriding up and down, his hand so heavily wrapped in fresh bandages thathe seemed to be wearing a small boxing-glove. His eyes were bloodshot;his forehead was heavily bedewed; one side of his collar had brokenloose, and there were blood-stains upon his right cuff. 

"THERE'S our little sunshine!" he cried, as Bibbs appeared. "THERE'S thehope o' the family--my lifelong pride and joy! I want--"

"Keep you hand in that sling, " said Gurney, sharply. 

Sheridan turned upon him, uttering a sound like a howl. "For God's sake, sing another tune!" he cried. "You said you 'came as a doctor but stayas a friend, ' and in that capacity you undertake to sit up and criticizeME--"

"Oh, talk sense, " said the doctor, and yawned intentionally. "What doyou want Bibbs to say?"

"You were sittin' up there tellin' me I got 'hysterical'--'hysterical, 'oh Lord! You sat up there and told me I got 'hysterical' over nothin'!You sat up there tellin' me I didn't have as heavy burdens as manyanother man you knew. I just want you to hear THIS. Now listen!" Heswung toward the quiet figure waiting in the doorway. "Bibbs, will youcome down-town with me Monday morning and let me start you with twovice-presidencies, a directorship, stock, and salaries? I ask you. "

"No, father, " said Bibbs, gently. 

Sheridan looked at Gurney and then faced his son once more. 

"Bibbs, you want to stay in the shop, do you, at nine dollars a week, instead of takin' up my offer?"

"Yes, sir. "

"And I'd like the doctor to hear: What'll you do if I decide you'retoo high-priced a workin'-man either to live in my house or work in myshop?"

"Find other work, " said Bibbs. 

"There! You hear him for yourself!" Sheridan cried. "You hear what--"

"Keep you hand in that sling! Yes, I hear him. "

Sheridan leaned over Gurney and shouted, in a voice that cracked andbroke, piping into falsetto: "He thinks of bein' a PLUMBER! He wants tobe a PLUMBER! He told me he couldn't THINK if he went into business--hewants to be a plumber so he can THINK!"

He fell back a step, wiping his forhead with the back of his left hand. "There! That's my son! That's the only son I got now! That's my chanceto live, " he cried, with a bitterness that seemed to leave ashes in histhroat. "That's my one chance to live--that thing you see in the doorwayyonder!"

Dr. Gurney thoughtfully regarded the bandage strip he had been winding, and tossed it into the open bag. "What's the matter with giving Bibbs achance to live?" he said, coolly. "I would if I were you. You've had TWOthat went into business. "

Sheridan's mouth moved grotesquely before he could speak. "Joe Gurney, "he said, when he could command himself so far, "are you accusin' me ofthe responsibility for the death of my son James?"

"I accuse you of nothing, " said the doctor. "But just once I'd liketo have it out with you on the question of Bibbs--and while he's here, too. " He got up, walked to the fire, and stood warming his hands behindhis back and smiling. "Look here, old fellow, let's be reasonable, " hesaid. "You were bound Bibbs should go to the shop again, and I gave youand him, both, to understand pretty plainly that if he went it was atthe risk of his life. Well, what did he do? He said he wanted to go. Andhe did go, and he's made good there. Now, see: Isn't that enough? Can'tyou let him off now? He wants to write, and how do you know that hecouldn't do it if you gave him a chance? How do you know he hasn't somemessage--something to say that might make the world just a littlebit happier or wiser? He MIGHT--in time--it's a possibility not to bedenied. Now he can't deliver any message if he goes down there with you, and he won't HAVE any to deliver. I don't say going down with you islikely to injure his health, as I thought the shop would, and as theshop did, the first time. I'm not speaking as doctor now, anyhow. ButI tell you one thing I know: if you take him down there you'll killsomething that I feel is in him, and it's finer, I think, than hisphysical body, and you'll kill it deader than a door-nail! And sowhy not let it live? You've about come to the end of your string, oldfellow. Why not stop this perpetual devilish fighting and give Bibbs hischance?"

Sheridan stood looking at him fixedly. "What 'fighting?'"

"Yours--with nature. " Gurney sustained the daunting gaze of his fierceantagonist equably. "You don't seem to understand that you've beenstruggling against actual law. "

"What law?"

"Natural law, " said Gurney. "What do you think beat you with Edith? DidEdith, herself, beat you? Didn't she obey without question somethingpowerful that was against you? EDITH wasn't against you, and you weren'tagainst HER, but you set yourself against the power that had her in itsgrip, and it shot out a spurt of flame--and won in a walk! What's takenRoscoe from you? Timbers bear just so much strain, old man; but YOUwanted to send the load across the broken bridge, and you thought youcould bully or coax the cracked thing into standing. Well, you couldn't!Now here's Bibbs. There are thousands of men fit for the life you wanthim to lead--and so is he. It wouldn't take half of Bibbs's brains to betwice as good a business man as Jim and Roscoe put together. "

"WHAT!" Sheridan goggled at him like a zany. 

"Your son Bibbs, " said the doctor, composedly, "Bibbs Sheridan hasthe kind and quantity of 'gray matter' that will make him a success inanything--if he ever wakes up! Personally I should prefer him to remainasleep. I like him that way. But the thousands of men fit for the lifeyou want him to lead aren't fit to do much with the life he OUGHTto lead. Blindly, he's been fighting for the chance to lead it--he'sobeying something that begs to stay alive within him; and, blindly, heknows you'll crush it out. You've set your will to do it. Let me tellyou something more. You don't know what you've become since Jim's goingthwarted you--and that's what was uppermost, a bafflement stronger thanyour normal grief. You're half mad with a consuming fury against thevery self of the law--for it was the very self of the law that took Jimfrom you. That was a law concerning the cohesion of molecules. The veryself of the law took Roscoe from you and gave Edith the certainty ofbeating you; and the very self of the law makes Bibbs deny you to-night. The LAW beats you. Haven't you been whipped enough? But you want to whipthe law--you've set yourself against it, to bend it to your own ends, towield it and twist it--"

The voice broke from Sheridan's heaving chest in a shout. "Yes! And byGod, I will!"

"So Ajax defied the lightning, " said Gurney. 

"I've heard that dam'-fool story, too, " Sheridan retorted, fiercely. "That's for chuldern and niggers. It ain't twentieth century, let metell you! 'Defied the lightning, ' did he, the jackass! If he'd been halfa man he'd 'a' got away with it. WE don't go showin' off defyin' thelightning--we hitch it up and make it work for us like a black-steer! Aman nowadays would just as soon think o' defyin' a wood-shed!"

"Well, what about Bibbs?" said Gurney. "Will you be a really big man nowand--"

"Gurney, you know a lot about bigness!" Sheridan began to walk to andfro again, and the doctor returned gloomily to his chair. He had shothis bolt the moment he judged its chance to strike center was best, butthe target seemed unaware of the marksman. 

"I'm tryin' to make a big man out o' that poor truck yonder, " Sheridanwent on, "and you step in, beggin' me to let him be Lord knows what--Idon't! I suppose you figure it out that now I got a SON-IN-LAW, Imightn't need a son! Yes, I got a son-in-law now--a spender!"

"Oh, put your hand back!" said Gurney, wearily. 

There was a bronze inkstand upon the table. Sheridan put his right handin the sling, but with his left he swept the inkstand from the tableand half-way across the room--a comet with a destroying black tail. Mrs. Sheridan shrieked and sprang toward it. 

"Let it lay!" he shouted, fiercely. "Let it lay!" And, weeping, sheobeyed. "Yes, sir, " he went on, in a voice the more ominous for thesudden hush he put upon it. "I got a spender for a son-in-law! It'swonderful where property goes, sometimes. There was ole man Tracy--youremember him, Doc--J. R. Tracy, solid banker. He went into the bank asmessenger, seventeen years old; he was president at forty-three, and hebuilt that bank with his life for forty years more. He was down therefrom nine in the morning until four in the afternoon the day before hedied--over eighty! Gilt edge, that bank? It was diamond edge! He usedto eat a bag o' peanuts and an apple for lunch; but he wasn'tstingy--he was just livin' in his business. He didn't care for pie orautomobiles--he had his bank. It was an institution, and it come prettynear bein' the beatin' heart o' this town in its time. Well, that oleman used to pass one o' these here turned-up-nose and turned-up-pantscigarette boys on the streets. Never spoke to him, Tracy didn't. Speakto him? God! he wouldn't 'a' coughed on him! He wouldn't 'a' let himclean the cuspidors at the bank! Why, if he'd 'a' just seen him standin'in FRONT the bank he'd 'a' had him run off the street. And yet all Tracywas doin' every day of his life was workin' for that cigarette boy!Tracy thought it was for the bank; he thought he was givin' his life andhis life-blood and the blood of his brain for the bank, but he wasn't. It was every bit--from the time he went in at seventeen till he died inharness at eighty-three--it was every last lick of it just slavin' forthat turned-up-nose, turned-up-pants cigarette boy. AND TRACY DIDN'TEVEN KNOW HIS NAME! He died, not ever havin' heard it, though he chasedhim off the front steps of his house once. The day after Tracy died hisold-maid daughter married the cigarette--and there AIN'T any Tracy bankany more! And now"--his voice rose again--"and now I got a cigaretteson-in-law!"

Gurney pointed to the flourishing right hand without speaking, andSheridan once more returned it to the sling. 

"My son-in-law likes Florida this winter, " Sheridan went on. "That'sgood, and my son-in-law better enjoy it, because I don't think he'll bethere next winter. They got twelve-thousand dollars to spend, and I hearit can be done in Florida by rich sons-in-law. When Roscoe's woman gotme to spend that much on a porch for their new house, Edith wouldn'tgive me a minute's rest till I turned over the same to her. And she'sgot it, besides what I gave her to go East on. It'll be gone long beforethis time next year, and when she comes home and leaves the cigarettebehind--for good--she'll get some more. MY name ain't Tracy, and thereain't goin' to be any Tracy business in the Sheridan family. And thereain't goin' to be any college foundin' and endowin' and trusteein', nor God-knows-what to keep my property alive when I'm gone! Edith'llbe back, and she'll get a girl's share when she's through with thatcigarette, but--"

"By the way, " interposed Gurney, "didn't Mrs. Sheridan tell me thatBibbs warned you Edith would marry Lamhorn in New York?"

Sheridan went completely to pieces: he swore, while his wife screamedand stopped her ears. And as he swore he pounded the table with hiswounded hand, and when the doctor, after storming at him ineffectively, sprang to catch and protect that hand, Sheridan wrenched it away, tearing the bandage. He hammered the table till it leaped. 

"Fool!" he panted, choking. "If he's shown gumption enough to guessright the first time in his life, it's enough for me to begin learnin'him on!" And, struggling with the doctor, he leaned toward Bibbs, thrusting forward his convulsed face, which was deathly pale. "My nameain't Tracy, I tell you!" he screamed, hoarsely. "You give in, youstubborn fool! I've had my way with you before, and I'll have my waywith you now!"

Bibbs's face was as white as his father's, but he kept remembering that"splendid look" of Mary's which he had told her would give him couragein a struggle, so that he would "never give up. "

"No. You can't have your way, " he said. And then, obeying a significantmotion of Gurney's head, he went out quickly, leaving them struggling. 

CHAPTER XXVII

Mrs. Sheridan, in a wrapper, noiselessly opened the door of herhusband's room at daybreak the next morning, and peered within thedarkened chamber. At the "old" house they had shared a room, but thearchitect had chosen to separate them at the New, and they had not knownhow to formulate an objection, although to both of them something seemedvaguely reprehensible in the new arrangement. 

Sheridan did not stir, and she was withdrawing her head from theaperture when he spoke. 

"Oh, I'm AWAKE! Come in, if you want to, and shut the door. "

She came and sat by the bed. "I woke up thinkin' about it, " sheexplained. "And the more I thought about it the surer I got I mustbe right, and I knew you'd be tormentin' yourself if you was awake, so--well, you got plenty other troubles, but I'm just sure you ain'tgoin' to have the worry with Bibbs it looks like. "

"You BET I ain't!" he grunted. 

"Look how biddable he was about goin' back to the Works, " she continued. "He's a right good-hearted boy, really, and sometimes I honestly have tosay he seems right smart, too. Now and then he'll say something soundsright bright. 'Course, most always it doesn't, and a good deal of thetime, when he says things, why, I have to feel glad we haven't gotcompany, because they'd think he didn't have any gumption at all. Yet, look at the way he did when Jim--when Jim got hurt. He took right holdo' things. 'Course he'd been sick himself so much and all--and the restof us never had, much, and we were kind o' green about what to do inthat kind o' trouble--still, he did take hold, and everything went offall right; you'll have to say that much, papa. And Dr. Gurney says he'sgot brains, and you can't deny but what the doctor's right considerableof a man. He acts sleepy, but that's only because he's got such a largepractice--he's a pretty wide-awake kind of a man some ways. Well, whathe says last night about Bibbs himself bein' asleep, and how much he'damount to if he ever woke up--that's what I got to thinkin' about. Youheard him, papa; he says, 'Bibbs'll be a bigger business man than whatJim and Roscoe was put together--if he ever wakes up, ' he says. Wasn'tthat exactly what he says?"

"I suppose so, " said Sheridan, without exhibiting any interest. "Gurney's crazier'n Bibbs, but if he wasn't--if what he says wastrue--what of it?"

"Listen, papa. Just suppose Bibbs took it into his mind to get married. You know where he goes all the time--"

"Oh, Lord, yes!" Sheridan turned over in the bed, his face to the wall, leaving visible of himself only the thick grizzle of his hair. "Youbetter go back to sleep. He runs over there--every minute she'll lethim, I suppose. Go back to bed. There's nothin' in it. "

"WHY ain't there?" she urged. "I know better--there is, too! You waitand see. There's just one thing in the world that'll wake the sleepiestyoung man alive up--yes, and make him JUMP up--and I don't care who heis or how sound asleep it looks like he is. That's when he takes itinto his head to pick out some girl and settle down and have a home andchuldern of his own. THEN, I guess, he'll go out after the money! You'llsee. I've known dozens o' cases, and so've you--moony, no-'count youngmen, all notions and talk, goin' to be ministers, maybe or something;and there's just this one thing takes it out of 'em and brings 'em rightdown to business. Well, I never could make out just what it isBibbs wants to be, really; doesn't seem he wants to be a ministerexactly--he's so far-away you can't tell, and he never SAYS--but I knowthis is goin' to get him right down to common sense. Now, I don't saythat Bibbs has got the idea in his head yet--'r else he wouldn't betalkin' that fool-talk about nine dollars a week bein' good enough forhim to live on. But it's COMIN', papa, and he'll JUMP for whatever youwant to hand him out. He will! And I can tell you this much, too: he'llwant all the salary and stock he can get hold of, and he'll hustle tokeep gettin' more. That girl's the kind that a young husband just goescrazy to give things to! She's pretty and fine-lookin', and things looknice on her, and I guess she'd like to have 'em about as well as thenext. And I guess she isn't gettin' many these days, either, and she'llbe pretty ready for the change. I saw her with her sleeves rolled up atthe kitchen window the other day, and Jackson told me yesterday theircook left two weeks ago, and they haven't tried to hire another one. Hesays her and her mother been doin' the housework a good while, and nowthey're doin' the cookin, ' too. 'Course Bibbs wouldn't know thatunless she's told him, and I reckon she wouldn't; she's kind o'stiffish-lookin', and Bibbs is too up in the clouds to notice anythinglike that for himself. They've never asked him to a meal in the house, but he wouldn't notice that, either--he's kind of innocent. Now I wasthinkin'--you know, I don't suppose we've hardly mentioned the girl'sname at table since Jim went, but it seems to me maybe if--"

Sheridan flung out his arms, uttering a sound half-groan, half-yawn. "You're barkin' up the wrong tree! Go on back to bed, mamma!"

"Why am I?" she demanded, crossly. "Why am I barkin' up the wrong tree?"

"Because you are. There's nothin' in it. "

"I'll bet you, " she said, rising--"I'll bet you he goes to church withher this morning. What you want to bet?"

"Go back to bed, " he commanded. "I KNOW what I'm talkin' about; there'snothin' in it, I tell you. "

She shook her head perplexedly. "You think because--because Jim wasrunnin' so much with her it wouldn't look right?"

"No. Nothin' to do with it. "

"Then--do you know something about it that you ain't told me?"

"Yes, I do, " he grunted. "Now go on. Maybe I can get a little sleep. Iain't had any yet!"

"Well--" She went to the door, her expression downcast. "I thoughtmaybe--but--" She coughed prefatorily. "Oh, papa, something else Iwanted to tell you. I was talkin' to Roscoe over the 'phone last nightwhen the telegram came, so I forgot to tell you, but--well, Sibyl wantsto come over this afternoon. Roscoe says she has something she wants tosay to us. It'll be the first time she's been out since she was able tosit up--and I reckon she wants to tell us she's sorry for what happened. They expect to get off by the end o' the week, and I reckon she wants tofeel she's done what she could to kind o' make up. Anyway, that'swhat he said. I 'phoned him again about Edith, and he said it wouldn'tdisturb Sibyl, because she'd been expectin' it; she was sure allalong it was goin' to happen; and, besides, I guess she's got all thatfoolishness pretty much out of her, bein' so sick. But what I thoughtwas, no use bein' rough with her, papa--I expect she's suffered agood deal--and I don't think we'd ought to be, on Roscoe's account. You'll--you'll be kind o' polite to her, won't you, papa?"

He mumbled something which was smothered under the coverlet he hadpulled over his head. 

"What?" she said, timidly. "I was just sayin' I hoped you'd treat Sibylall right when she comes, this afternoon. You will, won't you, papa?"

He threw the coverlet off furiously. "I presume so!" he roared. 

She departed guiltily. 

But if he had accepted her proffered wager that Bibbs would go tochurch with Mary Vertrees that morning, Mrs. Sheridan would have lost. Nevertheless, Bibbs and Mary did certainly set out from Mr. Vertrees'shouse with the purpose of going to church. That was their intention, andthey had no other. They meant to go to church. 

But it happened that they were attentively preoccupied in a conversationas they came to the church; and though Mary was looking to the right andBibbs was looking to the left, Bibbs's leftward glance converged withMary's rightward glance, and neither was looking far beyond the otherat this time. It also happened that, though they were a little jostledamong groups of people in the vicinity of the church, they passed thissomewhat prominent edifice without being aware of their proximity to it, and they had gone an incredible number of blocks beyond it beforethey discovered their error. However, feeling that they might beembarrassingly late if they returned, they decided that a walk wouldmake them as good. It was a windless winter morning, with an inch ofcrisp snow over the ground. So they walked, and for the most part theywere silent, but on their way home, after they had turned back at noon, they began to be talkative again. 

"Mary, " said Bibbs, after a time, "am I a sleep-walker?"

She laughed a little, then looked grave. "Does your father say you are?"

"Yes--when he's in a mood to flatter me. Other times, other names. Hehas quite a list. "

"You mustn't mind, " she said, gently. "He's been getting some prettysevere shocks. What you've told me makes me pretty sorry for him, Bibbs. I've always been sure he's very big. "

"Yes. Big and--blind. He's like a Hercules without eyes and without anyconsciousness except that of his strength and of his purpose to growstronger. Stronger for what? For nothing. "

"Are you sure, Bibbs? It CAN'T be for nothing; it must be stronger forsomething, even though he doesn't know what it is. Perhaps what he andhis kind are struggling for is something so great they COULDN'T seeit--so great none of us could see it. "

"No, he's just like some blind, unconscious thing heaving underground--"

"Till he breaks through and leaps out into the daylight, " she finishedfor him, cheerily. 

"Into the smoke, " said Bibbs. "Look at the powder of coal-dust alreadydirtying the decent snow, even though it's Sunday. That's from thelittle pigs; the big ones aren't so bad, on Sunday! There's a fleck ofsoot on your cheek. Some pig sent it out into the air; he might as wellhave thrown it on you. It would have been braver, for then he'd havetaken his chance of my whipping him for it if I could. "

"IS there soot on my cheek, Bibbs, or were you only saying sorhetorically? IS there?"

"Is there? There ARE soot on your cheeks, Mary--a fleck on each. Onelanded since I mentioned the first. "

She halted immediately, giving him her handkerchief, and he succeeded intransferring most of the black from her face to the cambric. They wereentirely matter-of-course about it. 

An elderly couple, it chanced, had been walking behind Bibbs and Maryfor the last block or so, and passed ahead during the removal of thesoot. "There!" said the elderly wife. "You're always wrong whenyou begin guessing about strangers. Those two young people aren'thoneymooners at all--they've been married for years. A blind man couldsee that. "

"I wish I did know who threw that soot on you, " said Bibbs, looking upat the neighboring chimneys, as they went on. "They arrest children forthrowing snowballs at the street-cars, but--"

"But they don't arrest the street-cars for shaking all the pictures inthe houses crooked every time they go by. Nor for the uproar they make. I wonder what's the cost in nerves for the noise of the city each year. Yes, we pay the price for living in a 'growing town, ' whether we havemoney to pay or none. "

"Who is it gets the pay?" said Bibbs. 

"Not I!" she laughed. 

"Nobody gets it. There isn't any pay; there's only money. And only someof the men down-town get much of that. That's what my father wants me toget. "

"Yes, " she said, smiling to him, and nodding. "And you don't want it, and you don't need it. "

"But you don't think I'm a sleep-walker, Mary?" He had told her of hisfather's new plans for him, though he had not described the vigor andpicturesqueness of their setting forth. "You think I'm right?"

"A thousand times!" she cried. "There aren't so many happy people inthis world, I think--and you say you've found what makes you happy. Ifit's a dream--keep it!"

"The thought of going down there--into the money shuffle--I hate it asI never hated the shop!" he said. "I hate it! And the city itself, thecity that the money shuffle has made--just look at it! Look at it inwinter. The snow's tried hard to make the ugliness bearable, but theugliness is winning; it's making the snow hideous; the snow's gettingdirty on top, and it's foul underneath with the dirt and disease of theunclean street. And the dirt and the ugliness and the rush and the noisearen't the worst of it; it's what the dirt and ugliness and rush andnoise MEAN--that's the worst! The outward things are insufferable, butthey're only the expression of a spirit--a blind embryo of a spirit, notyet a soul--oh, just greed! And this 'go ahead' nonsense! Oughtn't itall to be a fellowship? I shouldn't want to get ahead if I could--I'dwant to help the other fellow to keep up with me. "

"I read something the other day and remembered it for you, " said Mary. "It was something Burne-Jones said of a picture he was going to paint:'In the first picture I shall make a man walking in the street ofa great city, full of all kinds of happy life: children, and loverswalking, and ladies leaning from the windows all down great lengths ofa street leading to the city walls; and there the gates are wide open, letting in a space of green field and cornfield in harvest; and allround his head a great rain of swirling autumn leaves blowing from alittle walled graveyard. "

"And if I painted, " Bibbs returned, "I'd paint a lady walking in thestreet of a great city, full of all kinds of uproarious and futilelife--children being taught only how to make money, and lovers hurryingto get richer, and ladies who'd given up trying to wash their windowsclean, and the gates of the city wide open, letting in slums andslaughter-houses and freight-yards, and all round this lady's head agreat rain of swirling soot--" He paused, adding, thoughtfully: "And yetI believe I'm glad that soot got on your cheek. It was just as if I wereyour brother--the way you gave me your handkerchief to rub it off foryou. Still, Edith never--"

"Didn't she?" said Mary, as he paused again. 

"No. And I--" He contented himself with shaking his head instead ofoffering more definite information. Then he realized that they werepassing the New House, and he sighed profoundly. "Mary, our walk'salmost over. "

She looked as blank. "So it is, Bibbs. "

They said no more until they came to her gate. As they drifted slowlyto a stop, the door of Roscoe's house opened, and Roscoe came out withSibyl, who was startlingly pale. She seemed little enfeebled by herillness, however, walking rather quickly at her husband's side and nottaking his arm. The two crossed the street without appearing to see Maryand her companion, and entering the New House, were lost to sight. Marygazed after them gravely, but Bibbs, looking at Mary, did not see them. 

"Mary, " he said, "you seem very serious. Is anything bothering you?"

"No, Bibbs. " And she gave him a bright, quick look that made himinstantly unreasonably happy. 

"I know you want to go in--" he began. 

"No. I don't want to. "

"I mustn't keep you standing here, and I mustn't go in with you--but--Ijust wanted to say--I've seemed very stupid to myself this morning, grumbling about soot and all that--while all the time I--Mary, I thinkit's been the very happiest of all the hours you've given me. I do. And--I don't know just why--but it's seemed to me that it was one I'dalways remember. And you, " he added, falteringly, "you look so--sobeautiful to-day!"

"It must have been the soot on my cheek, Bibbs. "

"Mary, will you tell me something?" he asked. 

"I think I will. "

"It's something I've had a lot of theories about, but none of themever just fits. You used to wear furs in the fall, but now it's so muchcolder, you don't--you never wear them at all any more. Why don't you?"

Her eyes fell for a moment, and she grew red. Then she looked up gaily. "Bibbs, if I tell you the answer will you promise not to ask any morequestions?"

"Yes. Why did you stop wearing them?"

"Because I found I'd be warmer without them!" She caught his handquickly in her own for an instant, laughed into his eyes, and ran intothe house. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

It is the consoling attribute of unused books that their decorativewarmth will so often make even a ready-made library the actual"living-room" of a family to whom the shelved volumes are indeed sealed. Thus it was with Sheridan, who read nothing except newspapers, business letters, and figures; who looked upon books as he looked uponbric-a-brac or crocheting--when he was at home, and not abed or eating, he was in the library. 

He stood in the many-colored light of the stained-glass window at thefar end of the long room, when Roscoe and his wife came in, and heexhaled a solemnity. His deference to the Sabbath was manifest, as always, in the length of his coat and the closeness of hisSaturday-night shave; and his expression, to match this religious pomp, was more than Sabbatical, but the most dismaying of his demonstrationswas his keeping his hand in his sling. 

Sibyl advanced to the middle of the room and halted there, not lookingat him, but down at her muff, in which, it could be seen, her hands werenervously moving. Roscoe went to a chair in another part of the room. There was a deadly silence. 

But Sibyl found a shaky voice, after an interval of gulping, though shewas unable to lift her eyes, and the darkling lids continued to veilthem. She spoke hurriedly, like an ungifted child reciting somethingcommitted to memory, but her sincerity was none the less evident forthat. 

"Father Sheridan, you and mother Sheridan have always been so kind tome, and I would hate to have you think I don't appreciate it, from theway I acted. I've come to tell you I am sorry for the way I did thatnight, and to say I know as well as anybody the way I behaved, and itwill never happen again, because it's been a pretty hard lesson;and when we come back, some day, I hope you'll see that you've got adaughter-in-law you never need to be ashamed of again. I want to askyou to excuse me for the way I did, and I can say I haven't any feelingstoward Edith now, but only wish her happiness and good in her new life. I thank you for all your kindness to me, and I know I made a poor returnfor it, but if you can overlook the way I behaved I know I would feel agood deal happier--and I know Roscoe would, too. I wish to promise notto be as foolish in the future, and the same error would never occuragain to make us all so unhappy, if you can be charitable enought toexcuse it this time. "

He looked steadily at her without replying, and she stood before him, never lifting her eyes; motionless, save where the moving fur proved theagitation of her hands within the muff. 

"All right, " he said at last. 

She looked up then with vast relief, though there was a revelation ofheavy tears when the eyelids lifted. 

"Thank you, " she said. "There's something else--about somethingdifferent--I want to say to you, but I want mother Sheridan to hear it, too. "

"She's up-stairs in her room, " said Sheridan. "Roscoe--"

Sibyl interrupted. She had just seen Bibbs pass through the hall andbegin to ascend the stairs; and in a flash she instinctively perceivedthe chance for precisely the effect she wanted. 

"No, let me go, " she said. "I want to speak to her a minute first, anyway. "

And she went away quickly, gaining the top of the stairs in time to seeBibbs enter his room and close the door. Sibyl knew that Bibbs, in hisroom, had overheard her quarrel with Edith in the hall outside; forbitter Edith, thinking the more to shame her, had subsequently informedher of the circumstance. Sibyl had just remembered this, and withthe recollection there had flashed the thought--out of her ownexperience--that people are often much more deeply impressed by wordsthey overhear than by words directly addressed to them. Sibylintended to make it impossible for Bibbs not to overhear. She did nothesitate--her heart was hot with the old sore, and she believed whollyin the justice of her cause and in the truth of what she was going tosay. Fate was virtuous at times; it had delivered into her hands thegirl who had affronted her. 

Mrs. Sheridan was in her own room. The approach of Sibyl and Roscoe haddriven her from the library, for she had miscalculated her husband'smood, and she felt that if he used his injured hand as a mark ofemphasis again, in her presence, she would (as she thought of it) "havea fit right there. " She heard Sibyl's step, and pretended to be puttinga touch to her hair before a mirror. 

"I was just coming down, " she said, as the door opened. 

"Yes, he wants you to, " said Sibyl. "It's all right, mother Sheridan. He's forgiven me. "

Mrs. Sheridan sniffed instantly; tears appeared. She kissed herdaughter-in-law's cheek; then, in silence, regarded the mirror afresh, wiped her eyes, and applied powder. 

"And I hope Edith will be happy, " Sibyl added, inciting moreapplications of Mrs. Sheridan's handkerchief and powder. 

"Yes, yes, " murmured the good woman. "We mustn't make the worst ofthings. "

"Well, there was something else I had to say, and he wants you to hearit, too, " said Sibyl. "We better go down, mother Sheridan. "

She led the way, Mrs. Sheridan following obediently, but when they cameto a spot close by Bibbs's door, Sibyl stopped. "I want to tell youabout it first, " she said, abruptly. "It isn't a secret, of course, inany way; it's something the whole family has to know, and the sooner thewhole family knows it the better. It's something it wouldn't be RIGHTfor us ALL not to understand, and of course father Sheridan most of all. But I want to just kind of go over it first with you; it'll kind of helpme to see I got it all straight. I haven't got any reason for saying itexcept the good of the family, and it's nothing to me, one way or theother, of course, except for that. I oughtn't to've behaved the way Idid that night, and it seems to me if there's anything I can do to helpthe family, I ought to, because it would help show I felt the right way. Well, what I want to do is to tell this so's to keep the family frombeing made a fool of. I don't want to see the family just made use ofand twisted around her finger by somebody that's got no more heart thanso much ice, and just as sure to bring troubles in the long run as--asEdith's mistake is. Well, then, this is the way it is. I'll just tellyou how it looks to me and see if it don't strike you the same way. "

Within the room, Bibbs, much annoyed, tapped his ear with his pencil. Hewished they wouldn't stand talking near his door when he was trying towrite. He had just taken from his trunk the manuscript of a poem begunthe preceding Sunday afternoon, and he had some ideas he wanted tofix upon paper before they maliciously seized the first opportunityto vanish, for they were but gossamer. Bibbs was pleased with thebeginnings of his poem, and if he could carry it through he meant todare greatly with it--he would venture it upon an editor. For he hadhis plan of life now: his day would be of manual labor and thinking--hecould think of his friend and he could think in cadences for poems, tothe crashing of the strong machine--and if his father turned him out ofhome and out of the Works, he would work elsewhere and live elsewhere. His father had the right, and it mattered very little to Bibbs--he facedthe prospect of a working-man's lodging-house without trepidation. Hecould find a washstand to write upon, he thought; and every evening whenhe left Mary he would write a little; and he would write on holidays andon Sundays--on Sundays in the afternoon. In a lodging-house, at leasthe wouldn't be interrupted by his sister-in-law's choosing the immediatevicinity of his door for conversations evidently important to herself, but merely disturbing to him. He frowned plaintively, wishing he couldthink of some polite way of asking her to go away. But, as she went on, he started violently, dropping manuscript and pencil upon the floor. 

"I don't know whether you heard it, mother Sheridan, " she said, "butthis old Vertrees house, next door, had been sold on foreclosure, andall THEY got out of it was an agreement that let's 'em live there alittle longer. Roscoe told me, and he says he heard Mr. Vertrees hasbeen up and down the streets more'n two years, tryin' to get a job hecould call a 'position, ' and couldn't land it. You heard anything aboutit, mother Sheridan?"

"Well, I DID know they been doin' their own house-work a good whileback, " said Mrs. Sheridan. "And now they're doin' the cookin', too. "

Sibyl sent forth a little titter with a sharp edge. "I hope they findsomething to cook! She sold her piano mighty quick after Jim died!"

Bibbs jumped up. He was trembling from head to foot and he was dizzy--ofall the real things he could never have dreamed in his dream the lastwould have been what he heard now. He felt that something incredible washappening, and that he was powerless to stop it. It seemed to him thatheavy blows were falling on his head and upon Mary's; it seemed tohim that he and Mary were being struck and beaten physically--and thatsomething hideous impended. He wanted to shout to Sibyl to be silent, but he could not; he could only stand, swallowing and trembling. 

"What I think the whole family ought to understand is just this, " saidSibyl, sharply. "Those people were so hard up that this Miss Vertreesstarted after Bibbs before they knew whether he was INSANE or not!They'd got a notion he might be, from his being in a sanitarium, andMrs. Vertrees ASKED me if he was insane, the very first day Bibbs tookthe daughter out auto-riding!" She paused a moment, looking at Mrs. Sheridan, but listening intently. There was no sound from within theroom. 

"No!" exclaimed Mrs. Sheridan. 

"It's the truth, " Sibyl declared, loudly. "Oh, of course we were allcrazy about that girl at first. We were pretty green when we moved uphere, and we thought she'd get us IN--but it didn't take ME long to readher! Her family were down and out when it came to money--and they had togo after it, one way or another, SOMEHOW! So she started for Roscoe; butshe found out pretty quick he was married, and she turned right aroundto Jim--and she landed him! There's no doubt about it, she had Jim, andif he'd lived you'd had another daughter-in-law before this, as sure asI stand here telling you the God's truth about it! Well--when Jim wasleft in the cemetery she was waiting out there to drive home with Bibbs!Jim wasn't COLD--and she didn't know whether Bibbs was insane or not, but he was the only one of the rich Sheridan boys left. She had to gethim. "

The texture of what was the truth made an even fabric with what was not, in Sibyl's mind; she believed every word that she uttered, and she spokewith the rapidity and vehemence of fierce conviction. 

"What I feel about it is, " she said, "it oughtn't to be allowed to goon. It's too mean! I like poor Bibbs, and I don't want to see him madesuch a fool of, and I don't want to see the family made such a fool of!I like poor Bibbs, but if he'd only stop to think a minute himself he'dhave to realize he isn't the kind of man ANY girl would be apt to fallin love with. He's better-looking lately, maybe, but you know how heWAS--just kind of a long white rag in good clothes. And girls likemen with some SO to 'em--SOME sort of dashingness, anyhow! Nobody everlooked at poor Bibbs before, and neither'd she--no, SIR! not till she'dtried both Roscoe and Jim first! It was only when her and her family gotdesperate that she--"

Bibbs--whiter than when he came from the sanitarium--opened the door. He stepped across its threshold and stook looking at her. Both womenscreamed. 

"Oh, good heavens!" cried Sibyl. "Were you in THERE? Oh, I wouldn't--"She seized Mrs. Sheridan's arm, pulling her toward the stairway. "Comeon, mother Sheridan!" she urged, and as the befuddled and confused ladyobeyed, Sibyl left a trail of noisy exclamations: "Good gracious! Oh, I wouldn't--too bad! I didn't DREAM he was there! I wouldn't hurt hisfeelings! Not for the world! Of course he had to know SOME time! But, good heavens--"

She heard his door close as she and Mrs. Sheridan reached the top ofthe stairs, and she glanced over her shoulder quickly, but Bibbs was notfollowing; he had gone back into his room. 

"He--he looked--oh, terrible bad!" stammered Mrs. Sheridan. "I--Iwish--"

"Still, it's a good deal better he knows about it, " said Sibyl. "Ishouldn't wonder it might turn out the very best thing could happened. Come on!"

And completing their descent to the library, the two made theirappearance to Roscoe and his father. Sibyl at once gave a full andtruthful account of what had taken place, repeating her own remarks, and omitting only the fact that it was through her design that Bibbs hadoverheard them. 

"But as I told mother Sheridan, " she said, in conclusion, "it might turnout for the very best that he did hear--just that way. Don't you thinkso, father Sheridan?"

He merely grunted in reply, and sat rubbing the thick hair on the topof his head with his left hand and looking at the fire. He had given nosign of being impressed in any manner by her exposure of Mary Vertrees'scharacter; but his impassivity did not dismay Sibyl--it was Bibbs whomshe desired to impress, and she was content in that matter. 

"I'm sure it was all for the best, " she said. "It's over now, andhe knows what she is. In one way I think it was lucky, because, justhearing a thing that way, a person can tell it's SO--and he knows Ihaven't got any ax to grind except his own good and the good of thefamily. "

Mrs. Sheridan went nervously to the door and stood there, looking towardthe stairway. "I wish--I wish I knew what he was doin', " she said. "Hedid look terrible bad. It was like something had been done to himthat was--I don't know what. I never saw anybody look like he did. He looked--so queer. It was like you'd--" She called down the hall, "George!"

"Yes'm?"

"Were you up in Mr. Bibbs's room just now?"

"Yes'm. He ring bell; tole me make him fiah in his grate. I done buil'him nice fiah. I reckon he ain' feelin' so well. Yes'm. " He departed. 

"What do you expect he wants a fire for?" she asked, turning toward herhusband. "The house is warm as can be, I do wish I--"

"Oh, quit frettin'!" said Sheridan. 

"Well, I--I kind o' wish you hadn't said anything, Sibyl. I know youmeant it for the best and all, but I don't believe it would been so muchharm if--"

"Mother Sheridan, you don't mean you WANT that kind of a girl in thefamily? Why, she--"

"I don't know, I don't know, " the troubled woman quavered. "If he likedher it seems kind of a pity to spoil it. He's so queer, and he hasn'tever taken much enjoyment. And besides, I believe the way it was, therewas more chance of him bein' willin' to do what papa wants him to. Ifshe wants to marry him--"

Sheridan interrupted her with a hooting laugh. "She don't!" he said. "You're barkin' up the wrong tree, Sibyl. She ain't that kind of agirl. "

"But, father Sheridan, didn't she--"

He cut her short. "That's enough. You may mean all right, but you guesswrong. So do you, mamma. "

Sibyl cried out, "Oh! But just LOOK how she ran after Jim--"

"She did not, " he said, curtly. "She wouldn't take Jim. She turned himdown cold. "

"But that's impossi--"

"It's not. I KNOW she did. "

Sibyl looked flatly incredulous. 

"And YOU needn't worry, " he said, turning to his wife. "This won't haveany effect on your idea, because there wasn't any sense to it, anyhow. D'you think she'd be very likely to take Bibbs--after she wouldn't takeJIM? She's a good-hearted girl, and she lets Bibbs come to see her, but if she'd ever given him one sign of encouragement the way you womenthink, he wouldn't of acted the stubborn fool he has--he'd 'a' been atme long ago, beggin' me for some kind of a job he could support a wifeon. There's nothin' in it--and I've got the same old fight with him onmy hands I've had all his life--and the Lord knows what he won't doto balk me! What's happened now'll probably only make him twice asstubborn, but--"

"SH!" Mrs. Sheridan, still in the doorway, lifted her hand. "That's hisstep--he's comin' down-stairs. " She shrank away from the door as ifshe feared to have Bibbs see her. "I--I wonder--" she said, almost in awhisper--"I wonder what he'd goin'--to do. "

Her timorousness had its effect upon the others. Sheridan rose, frowning, but remained standing beside his chair; and Roscoe movedtoward Sibyl, who stared uneasily at the open doorway. They listened asthe slow steps descended the stairs and came toward the library. 

Bibbs stopped upon the threshold, and with sick and haggard eyes lookedslowly from one to the other until at last his gaze rested upon hisfather. Then he came and stood before him. 

"I'm sorry you've had so much trouble with me, " he said, gently. "Youwon't, any more. I'll take the job you offered me. "

Sheridan did not speak--he stared, astounded and incredulous; and Bibbshad left the room before any of its occupants uttered a sound, though hewent as slowly as he came. Mrs. Sheridan was the first to move. She wentnervously back to the doorway, and then out into the hall. Bibbs hadgone from the house. 

Bibbs's mother had a feeling about him then that she had never knownbefore; it was indefinite and vague, but very poignant--something in hermourned for him uncomprehendingly. She felt that an awful thing had beendone to him, though she did not know what it was. She went up to hisroom. 

The fire George had built for him was almost smothered under thick, charred ashes of paper. The lid of his trunk stood open, and thelarge upper tray, which she remembered to have seen full of papers andnote-books, was empty. And somehow she understood that Bibbs had givenup the mysterious vocation he had hoped to follow--and that he hadgiven it up for ever. She thought it was the wisest thing he could havedone--and yet, for an unknown reason, she sat upon the bed and wept alittle before she went down-stairs. 

So Sheridan had his way with Bibbs, all through. 

CHAPTER XXIX

As Bibbs came out of the New House, a Sunday trio was in course ofpassage upon the sidewalk: an ample young woman, placid of face;a black-clad, thin young man, whose expression was one of habitualanxiety, habitual wariness and habitual eagerness. He propelled aperambulator containing the third--and all three were newly cleaned, Sundayfied, and made fit to dine with the wife's relatives. 

"How'd you like for me to be THAT young fella, mamma?" the husbandwhispered. "He's one of the sons, and there ain't but two left now. "

The wife stared curiously at Bibbs. "Well, I don't know, " she returned. "He looks to me like he had his own troubles. "

"I expect he has, like anybody else, " said the young husband, "but Iguess we could stand a good deal if we had his money. "

"Well, maybe, if you keep on the way you been, baby'll be as well fixedas the Sheridans. You can't tell. " She glanced back at Bibbs, who hadturned north. "He walks kind of slow and stooped over, like. "

"So much money in his pockets it makes him sag, I guess, " said the younghusband, with bitter admiration. 

Mary, happening to glance from a window, saw Bibbs coming, and shestarted, clasping her hands together in a sudden alarm. She met him atthe door. 

"Bibbs!" she cried. "What is the matter? I saw something was terriblywrong when I--You look--" She paused, and he came in, not lifting hiseyes to hers. Always when he crossed that threshold he had come withhis head up and his wistful gaze seeking hers. "Ah, poor boy!" she said, with a gesture of understanding and pity. "I know what it is!"

He followed her into the room where they always sat, and sank into achair. 

"You needn't tell me, " she said. "They've made you give up. Yourfather's won--you're going to do what he wants. You've given up. "

Still without looking at her, he inclined his head in affirmation. 

She gave a little cry of compassion, and came and sat near him. "Bibbs, "she said. "I can be glad of one thing, though it's selfish. I can beglad you came straight to me. It's more to me than even if you'd comebecause you were happy. " She did not speak again for a little while;then she said: "Bibbs--dear--could you tell me about it? Do you wantto?"

Still he did not look up, but in a voice, shaken and husky he asked hera question so grotesque that at first she thought she had misunderstoodhis words. 

"Mary, " he said, "could you marry me?"

"What did you say, Bibbs?" she asked, quietly. 

His tone and attitude did not change. "Will you marry me?"

Both of her hands leaped to her cheeks--she grew red and then white. She rose slowly and moved backward from him, staring at him, at firstincredulously, then with an intense perplexity more and more luminousin her wide eyes; it was like a spoken question. The room filled withstrangeness in the long silence--the two were so strange to each other. At last she said:

"What made you say that?"

He did not answer. 

"Bibbs, look at me!" Her voice was loud and clear. "What made you saythat? Look at me!"

He could not look at her, and he could not speak. 

"What was it that made you?" she said. "I want you to tell me. "

She went closer to him, her eyes ever brighter and wider with thatintensity of wonder. "You've given up--to your father, " she said, slowly, "and then you came to ask me--" She broke off. "Bibbs, do youwant me to marry you?"

"Yes, " he said, just audibly. 

"No!" she cried. "You do not. Then what made you ask me? What is itthat's happened?"

"Nothing. "

"Wait, " she said. "Let me think. It's something that happened since ourwalk this morning--yes, since you left me at noon. Something happenedthat--" She stopped abruptly, with a tremulous murmur of amazement anddawning comprehension. She remembered that Sibyl had gone to the NewHouse. 

Bibbs swallowed painfully and contrived to say, "I do--I do want youto--marry me, if--if--you could. "

She looked at him, and slowly shook her head. "Bibbs, do you--" Hervoice was as unsteady as his--little more than a whisper. "Do you thinkI'm--in love with you?"

"No, " he said. 

Somewhere in the still air of the room there was a whispered word; itdid not seem to come from Mary's parted lips, but he was aware of it. "Why?"

"I've had nothing but dreams, " Bibbs said, desolately, "but they weren'tlike that. Sibyl said no girl could care about me. " He smiled faintly, though still he did not look at Mary. "And when I first came home Edithtold me Sibyl was so anxious to marry that she'd have married ME. Shemeant it to express Sibyl's extremity, you see. But I hardly neededeither of them to tell me. I hadn't thought of myself as--well, not asparticularly captivating!"

Oddly enough, Mary's pallor changed to an angry flush. "Those two!" sheexclaimed, sharply; and then, with thoroughgoing contempt: "Lamhorn!That's like them!" She turned away, went to the bare little blackmantel, and stood leaning upon it. Presently she asked: "WHEN did Mrs. Roscoe Sheridan say that 'no girl' could care about you?"

"To-day. "

Mary drew a deep breath. "I think I'm beginning to understand--alittle. " She bit her lip; there was anger in good truth in her eyes andin her voice. "Answer me once more, " she said. "Bibbs, do you know nowwhy I stopped wearing my furs?"

"Yes. "

"I thought so! Your sister-in-law told you, didn't she?"

"I--I heard her say--"

"I think I know what happened, now. " Mary's breath came fast and hervoice shook, but she spoke rapidly. "You 'heard her say' more than that. You 'heard her say' that we were bitterly poor, and on that account Itried first to marry your brother--and then--" But now she faltered, andit was only after a convulsive effort that she was able to go on. "Andthen--that I tried to marry--you! You 'heard her say' that--and youbelieve that I don't care for you and that 'no girl' could care foryou--but you think I am in such an 'extremity, ' as Sibyl was--that you--And so, not wanting me, and believing that I could not want you--exceptfor my 'extremity'--you took your father's offer and then came to askme--to marry you! What had I shown you of myself that could make you--"

Suddenly she sank down, kneeling, with her face buried in her arms uponthe lap of a chair, tears overwhelming her. 

"Mary, Mary!" he cried, helplessly. "Oh NO--you--you don't understand. "

"I do, though!" she sobbed. "I do!"

He came and stood beside her. "You kill me!" he said. "I can't make itplain. From the first of your loveliness to me, I was all self. It wasalways you that gave and I that took. I was the dependent--I did nothingbut lean on you. We always talked of me, not of you. It was all about myidiotic distresses and troubles. I thought of you as a kind of wonderfulbeing that had no mortal or human suffering except by sympathy. Youseemed to lean down--out of a rosy cloud--to be kind to me. I neverdreamed I could do anything for YOU! I never dreamed you could needanything to be done for you by anybody. And to-day I heard that--thatyou--"

"You heard that I needed to marry--some one--anybody--with money, " shesobbed. "And you thought we were so--so desperate--you believed that Ihad--"

"No!" he said, quickly. "I didn't believe you'd done one kind thingfor me--for that. No, no, no! I knew you'd NEVER thought of me exceptgenerously--to give. I said I couldn't make it plain!" he cried, despairingly. 

"Wait!" She lifted her head and extended her hands to him unconsciously, like a child. "Help me up, Bibbs. " Then, when she was once more upon herfeet, she wiped her eyes and smiled upon him ruefully and faintly, butreassuringly, as if to tell him, in that way, that she knew he hadnot meant to hurt her. And that smile of hers, so lamentable, but sofaithfully friendly, misted his own eyes, for his shamefacedness loweredthem no more. 

"Let me tell you what you want to tell me, " she said. "You can't, because you can't put it into words--they are too humiliating for meand you're too gentle to say them. Tell me, though, isn't it true? Youdidn't believe that I'd tried to make you fall in love with me--"

"Never! Never for an instant!"

"You didn't believe I'd tried to make you want to marry me--"

"No, no, no!"

"I believe it, Bibbs. You thought that I was fond of you; you knew Icared for you--but you didn't think I might be--in love with you. But you thought that I might marry you without being in love with youbecause you did believe I had tried to marry your brother, and--"

"Mary, I only knew--for the first time--that you--that you were--"

"Were desperately poor, " she said. "You can't even say that! Bibbs, itwas true: I did try to make Jim want to marry me. I did!" And she sankdown into the chair, weeping bitterly again. Bibbs was agonized. 

"Mary, " he groaned, "I didn't know you COULD cry!"

"Listen, " she said. "Listen till I get through--I want you tounderstand. We were poor, and we weren't fitted to be. We never hadbeen, and we didn't know what to do. We'd been almost rich; there wasplenty, but my father wanted to take advantage of the growth of thetown; he wanted to be richer, but instead--well, just about the timeyour father finished building next door we found we hadn't anything. People say that, sometimes, meaning that they haven't anything incomparison with other people of their own kind, but we really hadn'tanything--we hadn't anything at all, Bibbs! And we couldn't DO anything. You might wonder why I didn't 'try to be a stenographer'--and I wondermyself why, when a family loses its money, people always say thedaughters 'ought to go and be stenographers. ' It's curious!--as if awave of the hand made you into a stenographer. No, I'd been raised to beeither married comfortably or a well-to-do old maid, if I chose notto marry. The poverty came on slowly, Bibbs, but at last it was allthere--and I didn't know how to be a stenographer. I didn't know howto be anything except a well-to-do old maid or somebody's wife--andI couldn't be a well-to-do old maid. Then, Bibbs, I did what I'd beenraised to know how to do. I went out to be fascinating and be married. Idid it openly, at least, and with a kind of decent honesty. I told yourbrother I had meant to fascinate him and that I was not in love withhim, but I let him think that perhaps I meant to marry him. I think Idid mean to marry him. I had never cared for anybody, and I thoughtit might be there really WASN'T anything more than a kind of excitedfondness. I can't be sure, but I think that though I did mean tomarry him I never should have done it, because that sort of a marriageis--it's sacrilege--something would have stopped me. Something did stopme; it was your sister-in-law, Sibyl. She meant no harm--but she washorrible, and she put what I was doing into such horrible words--andthey were the truth--oh! I SAW myself! She was proposing a miserablecompact with me--and I couldn't breathe the air of the same room withher, though I'd so cheapened myself she had a right to assume that IWOULD. But I couldn't! I left her, and I wrote to your brother--just aquick scrawl. I told him just what I'd done; I asked his pardon, and Isaid I would not marry him. I posted the letter, but he never got it. That was the afternoon he was killed. That's all, Bibbs. Now you knowwhat I did--and you know--ME!" She pressed her clenched hands tightlyagainst her eyes, leaning far forward, her head bowed before him. 

Bibbs had forgotten himself long ago; his heart broke for her. "Couldn'tyou--Isn't there--Won't you--" he stammered. "Mary, I'm going withfather. Isn't there some way you could use the money without--without--"

She gave a choked little laugh. 

"You gave me something to live for, " he said. "You kept me alive, Ithink--and I've hurt you like this!"

"Not you--oh no!"

"You could forgive me, Mary?"

"Oh, a thousand times!" Her right hand went out in a faltering gesture, and just touched his own for an instant. "But there's nothing toforgive. "

"And you can't--you can't--"

"Can't what, Bibbs?"

"You couldn't--"

"Marry you?" she said for him. 

"Yes. "

"No, no, no!" She sprang up, facing him, and, without knowing what shedid, she set her hands upon his breast, pushing him back from her alittle. "I can't, I can't! Don't you SEE?"

"Mary--"

"No, no! And you must go now, Bibbs; I can't bear any more--please--"

"MARY--"

"Never, never, never!" she cried, in a passion of tears. "You mustn'tcome any more. I can't see you, dear! Never, never, never!"

Somehow, in helpless, stumbling obedience to her beseeching gesture, hegot himself to the door and out of the house. 

CHAPTER XXX

Sibyl and Roscoe were upon the point of leaving when Bibbs returned tothe New House. He went straight to Sibyl and spoke to her quietly, butso that the others might hear. 

"When you said that if I'd stop to think, I'd realize that no one wouldbe apt to care enough about me to marry me, you were right, " he said. "Ithought perhaps you weren't, and so I asked Miss Vertrees to marry me. It proved what you said of me, and disproved what you said of her. Sherefused. "

And, having thus spoken, he quitted the room as straightforwardly as hehad entered it. 

"He's SO queer!" Mrs. Sheridan gasped. "Who on earth would thought ofhis doin' THAT?"

"I told you, " said her husband, grimly. 

"You didn't tell us he'd go over there and--"

"I told you she wouldn't have him. I told you she wouldn't have JIM, didn't I?"

Sibyl was altogether taken aback. "Do you supose it's true? Do yousuppose she WOULDN'T?"

"He didn't look exactly like a young man that had just got things fixedup fine with his girl, " said Sheridan. "Not to me, he didn't!"

"But why would--"

"I told you, " he interrupted, angrily, "she ain't that kind of a girl!If you got to have proof, well, I'll tell you and get it over with, though I'd pretty near just as soon not have to talk a whole lot aboutmy dead boy's private affairs. She wrote to Jim she couldn't take him, and it was a good, straight letter, too. It came to Jim's office; henever saw it. She wrote it the afternoon he was hurt. "

"I remember I saw her put a letter in the mail-box that afternoon, " saidRoscoe. "Don't you remember, Sibyl? I told you about it--I was waitingfor you while you were in there so long talking to her mother. It wasjust before we saw that something was wrong over here, and Edith cameand called me. "

Sibyl shook her head, but she remembered. And she was not cast down, for, although some remnants of perplexity were left in her eyes, theywere dimmed by an increasing glow of triumph; and she departed--aftersome further fragmentary discourse--visibly elated. After all, theguilty had not been exalted; and she perceived vaguely, but none theless surely, that her injury had been copiously avenged. She bestowed acontented glance upon the old house with the cupola, as she and Roscoecrossed the street. 

When they had gone, Mrs. Sheridan indulged in reverie, but after a whileshe said, uneasily, "Papa, you think it would be any use to tell Bibbsabout that letter?"

"I don't know, " he answered, walking moodily to the window. "I beenthinkin' about it. " He came to a decision. "I reckon I will. " And hewent up to Bibbs's room. 

"Well, you goin' back on what you said?" he inquired, brusquely, as heopened the door. "You goin' to take it back and lay down on me again?"

"No, " said Bibbs. 

"Well, perhaps I didn't have any call to accuse you of that. I don'tknow as you ever did go back on anything you said, exactly, though theLord knows you've laid down on me enough. You certainly have!" Sheridanwas baffled. This was not what he wished to say, but his words wereunmanageable; he found himself unable to control them, and his querulousabuse went on in spite of him. "I can't say I expect much of you--notfrom the way you always been, up to now--unless you turn over a newleaf, and I don't see any encouragement to think you're goin' to doTHAT! If you go down there and show a spark o' real GIT-up, I reckon thewhole office'll fall in a faint. But if you're ever goin' to show any, you better begin right at the beginning and begin to show it to-morrow. "

"Yes--I'll try. "

"You better, if it's in you!" Sheridan was sheerly nonplussed. He hadalways been able to say whatever he wished to say, but his tongue seemedbewitched. He had come to tell Bibbs about Mary's letter, and to his ownangry astonishment he found it impossible to do anything except to scoldlike a drudge-driver. "You better come down there with your mind madeup to hustle harder than the hardest workin'-man that's under you, or you'll not get on very good with me, I tell you! The way to getahead--and you better set it down in your books--the way to get ahead isto do ten times the work of the hardest worker that works FOR you. Butyou don't know what work is, yet. All you've ever done was just standaround and feed a machine a child could handle, and then come homeand take a bath and go callin'. I tell you you're up against a mightydifferent proposition now, and if you're worth your salt--and you nevershowed any signs of it yet--not any signs that stuck out enough to bangsomebody on the head and make 'em sit up and take notice--well, I wantto say, right here and now--and you better listen, because I want to sayjust what I DO say. I say--"

He meandered to a full stop. His mouth hung open, and his mind was ahopeless blank. 

Bibbs looked up patiently--an old, old look. "Yes, father; I'mlistening. "

"That's all, " said Sheridan, frowning heavily. "That's all I came tosay, and you better see't you remember it!"

He shook his head warningly, and went out, closing the door behind himwith a crash. However, no sound of footsteps indicated his departure. He stopped just outside the door, and stood there a minute or more. Then abruptly he turned the knob and exhibited to his son a foreheadliberally covered with perspiration. 

"Look here, " he said, crossly. "That girl over yonder wrote Jim aletter--"

"I know, " said Bibbs. "She told me. "

"Well, I thought you needn't feel so much upset about it--" The doorclosed on his voice as he withdrew, but the conclusion of the sentencewas nevertheless audible--"if you knew she wouldn't have Jim, either. "

And he stamped his way down-stairs to tell his wife to quit her frettin'and not bother him with any more fool's errands. She was about toinquire what Bibbs "said, " but after a second thought she decided notto speak at all. She merely murmured a wordless assent, and verbalcommunication was given over between them for the rest of thatafternoon. 

Bibbs and his father were gone when Mrs. Sheridan woke, the nextmorning, and she had a dreary day. She missed Edith woefully, and sheworried about what might be taking place in the Sheridan Building. Shefelt that everything depended on how Bibbs "took hold, " and upon herhusband's return in the evening she seized upon the first opportunityto ask him how things had gone. He was non-committal. What could anybodytell by the first day? He'd seen plenty go at things well enough rightat the start and then blow up. Pretty near anybody could show up fairthe first day or so. There was a big job ahead. This material, such asit was--Bibbs, in fact--had to be broken in to handling the work Roscoehad done; and then, at least as an overseer, he must take Jim's positionin the Realty Company as well. He told her to ask him again in a month. 

But during the course of dinner she gathered from some disjointedremarks of his that he and Bibbs had lunched together at the smallrestaurant where it had been Sheridan's custom to lunch with Jim, andshe took this to be an encouraging sign. Bibbs went to his room as soonas they left the table, and her husband was not communicative afterreading his paper. 

She became an anxious spectator of Bibbs's progress as a man ofbusiness, although it was a progress she could glimpse but dimly andonly in the evening, through his remarks and his father's at dinner. Usually Bibbs was silent, except when directly addressed, but on thefirst evening of the third week of his new career he offered an opinionwhich had apparently been the subject of previous argument. 

"I'd like you to understand just what I meant about those storage-rooms, father, " he said, as Jackson placed his coffee before him. "Abercrombieagreed with me, but you wouldn't listen to him. "

"You can talk, if you want to, and I'll listen, " Sheridan returned, "butyou can't show me that Jim ever took up with a bad thing. The rooffell because it hadn't had time to settle and on account of weatherconditions. I want that building put just the way Jim planned it. "

"You can't have it, " said Bibbs. "You can't, because Jim planned for thebuilding to stand up, and it won't do it. The other one--the one thatdidn't fall--is so shot with cracks we haven't dared use it for storage. It won't stand weight. There's only one thing to do: get both buildingsdown as quickly as we can, and build over. Brick's the best and cheapestin the long run for that type. "

Sheridan looked sarcastic. "Fine! What we goin' to do for storage-roomswhile we're waitin' for those few bricks to be laid?"

"Rent, " Bibbs returned, promptly. "We'll lose money if we don't rent, anyhow--they were waiting so long for you to give the warehouse matteryour attention after the roof fell. You don't know what an amount ofstuff they've got piled up on us over there. We'd have to rent untilwe could patch up those process perils--and the Krivitch ManufacturingCompany's plant is empty, right across the street. I took an option onit for us this morning. "

Sheridan's expression was queer. "Look here!" he said, sharply. "Did yougo and do that without consulting me?"

"It didn't cost anything, " said Bibbs. "It's only until to-morrowafternoon at two o'clock. I undertook to convince you before then. "

"Oh, you did?" Sheridan's tone was sardonic. "Well, just suppose youcouldn't convince me. "

"I can, though--and I intend to, " said Bibbs, quietly. "I don't thinkyou understand the condition of those buildings you want patched up. "

"Now, see here, " said Sheridan, with slow emphasis; "suppose I had mymind set about this. JIM thought they'd stand, and suppose it was--well, kind of a matter of sentiment with me to prove he was right. "

Bibbs looked at him compassionately. "I'm sorry if you have a sentimentabout it, father, " he said. "But whether you have or not can't make adifference. You'll get other people hurt if you trust that process, andthat won't do. And if you want a monument to Jim, at least you wantone that will stand. Besides, I don't think you can reasonably defendsentiment in this particular kind of affair. "

"Oh, you don't?"

"No, but I'm sorry you didn't tell me you felt it. "

Sheridan was puzzled by his son's tone. "Why are you 'sorry'?" he asked, curiously. 

"Because I had the building inspector up there, this noon, " said Bibbs, "and I had him condemn both those buildings. "

"What?"

"He'd been afraid to do it before, until he heard from us--afraid you'dsee he lost his job. But he can't un-condemn them--they've got to comedown now. "

Sheridan gave him a long and piercing stare from beneath lowered brows. Finally he said, "How long did they give you on that option to convinceme?"

"Until two o'clock to-morrow afternoon. "

"All right, " said Sheridan, not relaxing. "I'm convinced. "

Bibbs jumped up. "I thought you would be. I'll telephone the Krivitchagent. He gave me the option until to-morrow, but I told him I'd settleit this evening. "

Sheridan gazed after him as he left the room, and then, though hisexpression did not alter in the slightest, a sound came from him thatstartled his wife. It had been a long time since she had heard anythingresembling a chuckle from him, and this sound--although it was grim anddry--bore that resemblance. 

She brightened eagerly. "Looks like he was startin' right well don't it, papa?"

"Startin'? Lord! He got me on the hip! Why, HE knew what Iwanted--that's why he had the inspector up there, so't he'd have me beatbefore we even started to talk about it. And did you hear him? 'Can'treasonably defend SENTIMENT!' And the way he says 'Us': 'Took an optionfor Us'! 'Stuff piled up on Us'!"

There was always an alloy for Mrs. Sheridan. "I don't just like the wayhe looks, though, papa. "

"Oh, there's got to be something! Only one chick left at home, so youstart to frettin' about IT!"

"No. He's changed. There's kind of a settish look to his face, and--"

"I guess that's the common sense comin' out on him, then, " saidSheridan. "You'll see symptoms like that in a good many business men, Iexpect. "

"Well, and he don't have as good color as he was gettin' before. Andhe'd begun to fill out some, but--"

Sheridan gave forth another dry chuckle, and, going round the table toher, patted her upon the shoulder with his left hand, his right beingstill heavily bandaged, though he no longer wore a sling. "That's theway it is with you, mamma--got to take your frettin' out one way if youdon't another!"

"No. He don't look well. It ain't exactly the way he looked when hebegun to get sick that time, but he kind o' seems to be losin', someway. "

"Yes, he may 'a' lost something, " said Sheridan. "I expect he's lost awhole lot o' foolishness besides his God-forsaken notions about writin'poetry and--"

"No, " his wife persisted. "I mean he looks right peakid. And yesterday, when he was settin' with us, he kept lookin' out the window. He wasn'treadin'. "

"Well, why shouldn't he look out the window?"

"He was lookin' over there. He never read a word all afternoon, I don'tbelieve. "

"Look, here!" said Sheridan. "Bibbs might 'a' kept goin' on over therethe rest of his life, moonin' on and on, but what he heard Sibyl say didone big thing, anyway. It woke him up out of his trance. Well, he hadto go and bust clean out with a bang; and that stopped his goin' overthere, and it stopped his poetry, but I reckon he's begun to get prettyfair pay for what he lost. I guess a good many young men have had to getover worries like his; they got to lose SOMETHING if they're goin'to keep ahead o' the procession nowadays--and it kind o' looks to me, mamma, like Bibbs might keep quite a considerable long way ahead. Why, ayear from now I'll bet you he won't know there ever WAS such a thing aspoetry! And ain't he funny? He wanted to stick to the shop so's he could'think'! What he meant was, think about something useless. Well, I guesshe's keepin' his mind pretty occupied the other way these days. Yes, sir, it took a pretty fair-sized shock to get him out of his trance, butit certainly did the business. " He patted his wife's shoulder again, andthen, without any prefatory symptoms, broke into a boisterous laugh. 

"Honest, mamma, he works like a gorilla!"

CHAPTER XXI

And so Bibbs sat in the porch of the temple with the money-changers. Butno one came to scourge him forth, for this was the temple of Bigness, and the changing of money was holy worship and true religion. Thepriests wore that "settish" look Bibbs's mother had seen beginningto develop about his mouth and eyes--a wary look which she could notdefine, but it comes with service at the temple; and it was the moremarked upon Bibbs for his sharp awakening to the necessities of thatservice. 

He did as little "useless" thinking as possible, giving himself no timefor it. He worked continuously, keeping his thoughts still on his workwhen he came home at night; and he talked of nothing whatever except hiswork. But he did not sing at it. He was often in the streets, and peoplewere not allowed to sing in the streets. They might make any manner ofhideous uproar--they could shake buildings; they could out-thunder thethunder, deafen the deaf, and kill the sick with noise; or theycould walk the streets or drive through them bawling, squawking, orscreeching, as they chose, if the noise was traceably connected withbusiness; though street musicians were not tolerated, being considereda nuisance and an interference. A man or woman who went singing forpleasure through the streets--like a crazy Neopolitan--would have beenstopped, and belike locked up; for Freedom does not mean that a citizenis allowed to do every outrageous thing that comes into his head. Thestreets were dangerous enough, in all conscience, without any singing!and the Motor Federation issued public warnings declaring that thepedestrian's life was in his own hands, and giving directions how toproceed with the least peril. However, Bibbs Sheridan had no desire tosing in the streets, or anywhere. He had gone to his work with an energythat, for the start, at least, was bitter, and there was no song left inhim. 

He began to know his active fellow-citizens. Here and there amongthem he found a leisurely, kind soul, a relic of the old periodof neighborliness, "pioneer stock, " usually; and there weremen--particularly among the merchants and manufacturers--"so honest theyleaned backward"; reputations sometimes attested by stories of heroicsacrifices to honor; nor were there lacking some instances of generosityeven nobler. Here and there, too, were book-men, in their littleleisure; and, among the Germans, music-men. And these, with the others, worshiped Bigness and the growth, each man serving for his own sake andfor what he could get out of it, but all united in their faith in thebeneficence and glory of their god. 

To almost all alike that service stood as the most important thing inlife, except on occasion of some such vital, brief interregnum as thedangerous illness of a wife or child. In the way of "relaxation" some ofthe servers took golf; some took fishing; some took "shows"--a mixtureof infantile and negroid humor, stockings, and tin music; some tookan occasional debauch; some took trips; some took cards; and some tooknothing. The high priests were vigilant to watch that no "relaxation"should affect the service. When a man attended to anything outside hisbusiness, eyes were upon him; his credit was in danger--that is, hislife was in danger. And the old priests were as ardent as the youngones; the million was as eager to be bigger as the thousand; seventy wasas busy as seventeen. They strove mightily against one another, andthe old priests were the most wary, the most plausible, and the mostdangerous. Bibbs learned he must walk charily among these--he must weara thousand eyes and beware of spiders indeed!

And outside the temple itself were the pretenders, the swarming thievesand sharpers and fleecers, the sly rascals and the open rascals; butthese were feeble folk, not dangerous once he knew them, and he hada good guide to point them out to him. They were useful sometimes, he learned, and many of them served as go-betweens in matters wherebusiness must touch politics. He learned also how breweries and"traction" companies and banks and other institutions fought one anotherfor the political control of the city. The newspapers, he discovered, had lost their ancient political influence, especially with the knowing, who looked upon them with a skeptical humor, believing the journalseither to be retained partisans, like lawyers, or else striving toforward the personal ambitions of their owners. The control of the citylay not with them, but was usually obtained by giving the hordes ofnegroes gin-money, and by other largesses. The revenues of the peoplewere then distributed as fairly as possible among a great number of menwho had assisted the winning side. Names and titles of offices went withmany of the prizes, and most of these title-holders were expected topresent a busy appearance at times; and, indeed, some among them didwork honestly and faithfully. 

Bibbs had been very ignorant. All these simple things, so well knownand customary, astonished him at first, and once--in a brief momentof forgetting that he was done with writing--he thought that if he hadknown them and written of them, how like a satire the plainest relationof them must have seemed! Strangest of all to him was the vehement andsincere patriotism. On every side he heard it--it was a permeation; thenewest school-child caught it, though just from Hungary and learning tostammer a few words of the local language. Everywhere the people shoutedof the power, the size, the riches, and the growth of their city. Notonly that, they said that the people of their city were the greatest, the "finest, " the strongest, the Biggest people on earth. They cited noauthorities, and felt the need of none, being themselves the people thuscelebrated. And if the thing was questioned, or if it was hinted thatthere might be one small virtue in which they were not perfect andsupreme, they wasted no time examining themselves to see if what thecritic said was true, but fell upon him and hooted him and cursed him, for they were sensitive. So Bibbs, learning their ways and walking withthem, harkened to the voice of the people and served Bigness with them. For the voice of the people is the voice of their god. 

Sheridan had made the room next to his own into an office for Bibbs, and the door between the two rooms usually stood open--the father hadestablished that intimacy. One morning in February, when Bibbs wasalone, Sheridan came in, some sheets of typewritten memoranda in hishand. 

"Bibbs, " he said, "I don't like to butt in very often this way, and whenI do I usually wish I hadn't--but for Heaven's sake what have you beenbuying that ole busted inter-traction stock for?"

Bibbs leaned back from his desk. "For eleven hundred and fifty-fivedollars. That's all it cost. "

"Well, it ain't worth eleven hundred and fifty-five cents. You ought toknow that. I don't get your idea. That stuff's deader'n Adam's cat!"

"It might be worth something--some day. "

"How?"

"It mightn't be so dead--not if we went into it, " said Bibbs, coolly. 

"Oh!" Sheridan considered this musingly; then he said, "Who'd you buy itfrom?"

"A broker--Fansmith. "

"Well, he must 'a' got it from one o' the crowd o' poor ninnies that wassoaked with it. Don't you know who owned it?"

"Yes, I do. "

"Ain't sayin', though? That it? What's the matter?"

"It belonged to Mr. Vertrees, " said Bibbs, shortly, applying himself tohis desk. 

"So!" Sheridan gazed down at his son's thin face. "Excuse me, " he said. "Your business. " And he went back to his own room. But presently helooked in again. 

"I reckon you won't mind lunchin' alone to-day"--he was shufflinghimself into his overcoat--"because I just thought I'd go up to thehouse and get THIS over with mamma. " He glanced apologetically towardhis right hand as it emerged from the sleeve of the overcoat. Thebandages had been removed, finally, that morning, revealing but threefingers--the forefinger and the finger next to it had been amputated. "She's bound to make an awful fuss, and better to spoil her lunch thanher dinner. I'll be back about two. "

But he calculated the time of his arrival at the New House so accuratelythat Mrs. Sheridan's lunch was not disturbed, and she was rising fromthe lonely table when he came into the dining-room. He had left hisovercoat in the hall, but he kept his hands in his trousers pockets. 

"What's the matter, papa?" she asked, quickly. "Has anything gone wrong?You ain't sick?"

"Me!" He laughed loudly. "Me SICK?"

"You had lunch?"

"Didn't want any to-day. You can give me a cup o' coffee, though. "

She rang, and told George to have coffee made, and when he had withdrawnshe said querulously, "I just know there's something wrong. "

"Nothin' in the world, " he responded, heartily, taking a seat at thehead of the table. "I thought I'd talk over a notion o' mine with you, that's all. It's more women-folks' business than what it is man's, anyhow. "

"What about?"

"Why, ole Doc Gurney was up at the office this morning awhile--"

"To look at your hand? How's he say it's doin'?"

"Fine! Well, he went in and sat around with Bibbs awhile--"

Mrs. Sheridan nodded pessimistically. "I guess it's time you had him, too. I KNEW Bibbs--"

"Now, mamma, hold your horses! I wanted him to look Bibbs over BEFOREanything's the matter. You don't suppose I'm goin' to take any chanceswith BIBBS, do you? Well, afterwards, I shut the door, and I an' oleGurney had a talk. He's a mighty disagreeable man; he rubbed it in onme what he said about Bibbs havin' brains if he ever woke up. ThenI thought he must want to get something out o' me, he go soflattering--for a minute! 'Bibbs couldn't help havin' business brains, 'he says, 'bein' YOUR son. Don't be surprised, ' he says--'don't besurprised at his makin' a success, ' he says. 'He couldn't get over hisheredity; he couldn't HELP bein' a business success--once you got himinto it. It's in his blood. Yes, sir' he says, 'it doesn't need MUCHbrains, ' he says, 'an only third-rate brains, at that, ' he says, 'butit does need a special KIND o' brains, ' he says, 'to be a millionaire. I mean, ' he says, 'when a man's given a start. If nobody gives him astart, why, course he's got to have luck AND the right kind o' brains. The only miracle about Bibbs, ' he says, 'is where he got the OTHER kindo' brains--the brains you made him quit usin' and throw away. '"

"But what'd he say about his health?" Mrs. Sheridan demanded, impatiently, as George placed a cup of coffee before her husband. Sheridan helped himself to cream and sugar, and began to sip the coffee. 

"I'm comin' to that, " he returned, placidly. "See how easy I manage thiscup with my left hand, mamma?"

"You been doin' that all winter. What did--"

"It's wonderful, " he interrupted, admiringly, "what a fellow can do withhis left hand. I can sign my name with mine now, well's I ever couldwith my right. It came a little hard at first, but now, honest, Ibelieve I RATHER sign with my left. That's all I ever have to write, anyway--just the signature. Rest's all dictatin'. " He blew across thetop of the cup unctuously. "Good coffee, mamma! Well, about Bibbs. OleGurney says he believes if Bibbs could somehow get back to the state o'mind he was in about the machine-shop--that is, if he could some way getto feelin' about business the way he felt about the shop--not the poetryand writin' part, but--" He paused, supplementing his remarks with amotion of his head toward the old house next door. "He says Bibbsis older and harder'n what he was when he broke down that time, andbesides, he ain't the kind o' dreamy way he was then--and I shouldsay he AIN'T! I'd like 'em to show ME anybody his age that's any widerawake! But he says Bibbs's health never need bother us again if--"

Mrs. Sheridan shook her head. "I don't see any help THAT way. You knowyourself she wouldn't have Jim. "

"Who's talkin' about her havin' anybody? But, my Lord! she might let himLOOK at her! She needn't 'a' got so mad, just because he asked her, thatshe won't let him come in the house any more. He's a mighty funny boy, and some ways I reckon he's pretty near as hard to understand as theBible, but Gurney kind o' got me in the way o' thinkin' that ifshe'd let him come back and set around with her an evening or twosometimes--not reg'lar, I don't mean--why--Well, I just thought I'd seewhat YOU'D think of it. There ain't any way to talk about it to Bibbshimself--I don't suppose he'd let you, anyhow--but I thought maybe youcould kind o' slip over there some day, and sort o' fix up to have alittle talk with her, and kind o' hint around till you see how the landlays, and ask her--"

"ME!" Mrs. Sheridan looked both helpless and frightened. "No. " She shookher head decidedly. "It wouldn't do any good. "

"You won't try it?"

"I won't risk her turnin' me out o' the house. Some way, that's what Ibelieve she did to Sibyl, from what Roscoe said once. No, I CAN'T--and, what's more, it'd only make things worse. If people find out you'rerunnin' after 'em they think you're cheap, and then they won't do asmuch for you as if you let 'em alone. I don't believe it's any use, andI couldn't do it if it was. "

He sighed with resignation. "All right, mamma. That's all. " Then, in alivelier tone, he said: "Ole Gurney took the bandages off my hand thismorning. All healed up. Says I don't need 'em any more. "

"Why, that's splendid, papa!" she cried, beaming. "I was afraid--Let'ssee. "

She came toward him, but he rose, still keeping his hand in his pocket. "Wait a minute, " he said, smiling. "Now it may give you just a teeny bitof a shock, but the fact is--well, you remember that Sunday when Sibylcame over here and made all that fuss about nothin'--it was the dayafter I got tired o' that statue when Edith's telegram came--"

"Let me see your hand!" she cried. 

"Now wait!" he said, laughing and pushing her away with his left hand. "The truth is, mamma, that I kind o' slipped out on you that morning, when you wasn't lookin', and went down to ole Gurney's office--he'd toldme to, you see--and, well, it doesn't AMOUNT to anything. " And he heldout, for her inspection, the mutilated hand. "You see, these days whenit's all dictatin', anyhow, nobody'd mind just a couple o'--"

He had to jump for her--she went over backward. For the second time inher life Mrs. Sheridan fainted. 

CHAPTER XXXII

It was a full hour later when he left her lying upon a couch in her ownroom, still lamenting intermittently, though he assured her with heatthat the "fuss" she was making irked him far more than his physicalloss. He permitted her to think that he meant to return directly to hisoffice, but when he came out to the open air he told the chauffeur inattendance to await him in front of Mr. Vertrees's house, whither hehimself proceeded on foot. 

Mr. Vertrees had taken the sale of half of his worthless stock asmanna in the wilderness; it came from heaven--by what agency he didnot particularly question. The broker informed him that "parties wereinterested in getting hold of the stock, " and that later there mightbe a possible increase in the value of the large amount retained by hisclient. It might go "quite a ways up" within a year or so, he said, andhe advised "sitting tight" with it. Mr. Vertrees went home and prayed. 

He rose from his knees feeling that he was surely coming into his ownagain. It was more than a mere gasp of temporary relief with him, andhis wife shared his optimism; but Mary would not let him buy back herpiano, and as for furs--spring was on the way, she said. But they paidthe butcher, the baker, and the candlestick-maker, and hired a cookonce more. It was this servitress who opened the door for Sheridan andpresently assured him that Miss Vertrees would "be down. "

He was not the man to conceal admiration when he felt it, and he flushedand beamed as Mary made her appearance, almost upon the heels of thecook. She had a look of apprehension for the first fraction of a second, but it vanished at the sight of him, and its place was taken in her eyesby a soft brilliance, while color rushed in her cheeks. 

"Don't be surprised, " he said. "Truth is, in a way it's sort of onbusiness I looked in here. It'll only take a minute, I expect. "

"I'm sorry, " said Mary. "I hoped you'd come because we're neighbors. "

He chuckled. "Neighbors! Sometimes people don't see so much o' theirneighbors as they used to. That is, I hear so--lately. "

"You'll stay long enough to sit down, won't you?"

"I guess I could manage that much. " And they sat down, facing each otherand not far apart. 

"Of course, it couldn't be called business, exactly, " he said, moregravely. "Not at all, I expect. But there's something o' yours it seemedto me I ought to give you, and I just thought it was better to bring itmyself and explain how I happened to have it. It's this--this letter youwrote my boy. " He extended the letter to her solemnly, in his left hand, and she took it gently from him. "It was in his mail, after he was hurt. You knew he never got it, I expect. "

"Yes, " she said, in a low voice. 

He sighed. "I'm glad he didn't. Not, " he added, quickly--"not but whatyou did just right to send it. You did. You couldn't acted any other waywhen it came right down TO it. There ain't any blame comin' to you--youwere above-board all through. "

Mary said, "Thank you, " almost in a whisper, and with her head bowedlow. 

"You'll have to excuse me for readin' it. I had to take charge of allhis mail and everything; I didn't know the handwritin', and I read itall--once I got started. "

"I'm glad you did. "

"Well"--he leaned forward as if to rise--"I guess that's about all. Ijust thought you ought to have it. "

"Thank you for bringing it. "

He looked at her hopefully, as if he thought and wished that she mighthave something more to say. But she seemed not to be aware of thisglance, and sat with her eyes fixed sorrowfully upon the floor. 

"Well, I expect I better be gettin' back to the office, " he said, risingdesperately. "I told--I told my partner I'd be back at two o'clock, and I guess he'll think I'm a poor business man if he catches me behindtime. I got to walk the chalk a mighty straight line these days--withTHAT fellow keepin' tabs on me!"

Mary rose with him. "I've always heard YOU were the hard driver. "

He guffawed derisively. "Me? I'm nothin' to that partner o' mine. Youcouldn't guess to save your life how he keeps after me to hold up my endo' the job. I shouldn't be surprised he'd give me the grand bounce someday, and run the whole circus by himself. You know how he is--once hegoes AT a thing!"

"No, " she smiled. "I didn't know you had a partner. I'd always heard--"

He laughed, looking away from her. "It's just my way o' speakin' o' thatboy o' mine, Bibbs. "

He stood then, expectant, staring out into the hall with an air ofcareless geniality. He felt that she certainly must at least say, "HowIS Bibbs?" but she said nothing at all, though he waited until thesilence became embarrassing. 

"Well, I guess I better be gettin' down there, " he said, at last. "Hemight worry. "

"Good-by--and thank you, " said Mary. 

"For what?"

"For the letter. "

"Oh, " he said, blankly. "You're welcome. Good-by. "

Mary put out her hand. "Good-by. "

"You'll have to excuse my left hand, " he said. "I had a little accidentto the other one. "

She gave a pitying cry as she saw. "Oh, poor Mr. Sheridan!"

"Nothin' at all! Dictate everything nowadays, anyhow. " He laughedjovially. "Did anybody tell you how it happened?"

"I heard you hurt your hand, but no--not just how. "

"It was this way, " he began, and both, as if unconsciously, sat downagain. "You may not know it, but I used to worry a good deal about theyoungest o' my boys--the one that used to come to see you sometimes, after Jim--that is, I mean Bibbs. He's the one I spoke of as my partner;and the truth is that's what it's just about goin' to amount to, one o'these days--if his health holds out. Well, you remember, I expect, Ihad him on a machine over at a plant o' mine; and sometimes I'd kind o'sneak in there and see how he was gettin' along. Take a doctor with mesometimes, because Bibbs never WAS so robust, you might say. Ole DocGurney--I guess maybe you know him? Tall, thin man; acts sleepy--"

"Yes. "

"Well, one day I an' ole Doc Gurney, we were in there, and I undertookto show Bibbs how to run his machine. He told me to look out, but Iwouldn't listen, and I didn't look out--and that's how I got my handhurt, tryin' to show Bibbs how to do something he knew how to do andI didn't. Made me so mad I just wouldn't even admit to myself it WAShurt--and so, by and by, ole Doc Gurney had to take kind o' radicalmeasures with me. He's a right good doctor, too. Don't you think so, Miss Vertrees?"

"Yes. "

"Yes, he is so!" Sheridan now had the air of a rambling talker andgossip with all day on his hands. "Take him on Bibbs's case. I wastalkin' about Bibbs's case with him this morning. Well, you'd laugh tohear the way ole Gurney talks about THAT! 'Course he IS just as much afriend as he is doctor--and he takes as much interest in Bibbs as ifhe was in the family. He says Bibbs isn't anyways bad off YET; andhe thinks he could stand the pace and get fat on it if--well, this iswhat'd made YOU laugh if you'd been there, Miss Vertrees--honest itwould!" He paused to chuckle, and stole a glance at her. She was gazingstraight before her at the wall; her lips were parted, and--visibly--shewas breathing heavily and quickly. He feared that she was growingfuriously angry; but he had led to what he wanted to say, and he wenton, determined now to say it all. He leaned forward and altered hisvoice to one of confidential friendliness, though in it he stillmaintained a tone which indicated that ole Doc Gurney's opinion was onlya joke he shared with her. "Yes, sir, you certainly would 'a' laughed!Why, that ole man thinks YOU got something to do with it. You'll have toblame it on him, young lady, if it makes you feel like startin' outto whip somebody! He's actually got THIS theory: he says Bibbs got togettin' better while he worked over there at the shop because you kepthim cheered up and feelin' good. And he says if you could manage tojust stand him hangin' around a little--maybe not much, but justSOMEtimes--again, he believed it'd do Bibbs a mighty lot o' good. 'Course, that's only what the doctor said. Me, I don't know anythingabout that; but I can say this much--I never saw any such a MENTALimprovement in anybody in my life as I have lately in Bibbs. I expectyou'd find him a good deal more entertaining than what he used tobe--and I know it's a kind of embarrassing thing to suggest after theway he piled in over here that day to ask you to stand up before thepreacher with him, but accordin' to ole Doc GURNEY, he's got you on hisbrain so bad--"

Mary jumped. "Mr. Sheridan!" she exclaimed. 

He sighed profoundly. "There! I noticed you were gettin' mad. Ididn't--"

"No, no, no!" she cried. "But I don't understand--and I think you don't. What is it you want me to do?"

He sighed again, but this time with relief. "Well, well!" he said. "You're right. It'll be easier to talk plain. I ought to known I couldwith you, all the time. I just hoped you'd let that boy come and see yousometimes, once more. Could you?"

"You don't understand. " She clasped her hands together in a sorrowfulgesture. "Yes, we must talk plain. Bibbs heard that I'd tried to makeyour oldest son care for me because I was poor, and so Bibbs came andasked me to marry him--because he was sorry for me. And I CAN'T see himany more, " she cried in distress. "I CAN'T!"

Sheridan cleared his throat uncomfortably. "You mean because he thoughtthat about you?"

"No, no! What he thought was TRUE!"

"Well--you mean he was so much in--you mean he thought so much of you--"The words were inconceivably awkward upon Sheridan's tongue; he seemedto be in doubt even about pronouncing them, but after a ghastly pause hebravely repeated them. "You mean he thought so much of you that you justcouldn't stand him around?"

"NO! He was sorry for me. He cared for me; he was fond of me; and he'drespected me--too much! In the finest way he loved me, if you like, andhe'd have done anything on earth for me, as I would for him, and as heknew I would. It was beautiful, Mr. Sheridan, " she said. "But the cheap, bad things one has done seem always to come back--they wait, and pullyou down when you're happiest. Bibbs found me out, you see; and hewasn't 'in love' with me at all. "

"He wasn't? Well, it seems to me he gave up everything he wanted todo--it was fool stuff, but he certainly wanted it mighty bad--he justthrew it away and walked right up and took the job he swore he neverwould--just for you. And it looks to me as if a man that'd do thatmust think quite a heap o' the girl he does it for! You say it was onlybecause he was sorry, but let me tell you there's only ONE girl he couldfeel THAT sorry for! Yes, sir!"

"No, no, " she said. "Bibbs isn't like other men--he would do anythingfor anybody. "

Sheridan grinned. "Perhaps not so much as you think, nowadays, " hesaid. "For instance, I got kind of a suspicion he doesn't believe in'sentiment in business. ' But that's neither here nor there. What hewanted was, just plain and simple, for you to marry him. Well, I wasafraid his thinkin' so much OF you had kind o' sickened you of him--theway it does sometimes. But from the way you talk, I understand thatain't the trouble. " He coughed, and his voice trembled a little. "Nowhere, Miss Vertrees, I don't have to tell you--because you see thingseasy--I know I got no business comin' to you like this, but I had tomake Bibbs go my way instead of his own--I had to do it for the sake o'my business and on his own account, too--and I expect you got some ideahow it hurt him to give up. Well, he's made good. He didn't come inhalf-hearted or mean; he came in--all the way! But there isn't anythingin it to him; you can see he's just shut his teeth on it and goin' aheadwith dust in his mouth. You see, one way of lookin' at it, he'sgot nothin' to work FOR. And it seems to me like it cost him yourfriendship, and I believe--honest--that's what hurt him the worst. Nowyou said we'd talk plain. Why can't you let him come back?"

She covered her face desperately with her hands. "I can't!"

He rose, defeated, and looking it. 

"Well, I mustn't press you, " he said, gently. 

At that she cried out, and dropped her hands and let him see her face. "Ah! He was only sorry for me!"

He gazed at her intently. Mary was proud, but she had a fatal honesty, and it confessed the truth of her now; she was helpless. It was so clearthat even Sheridan, marveling and amazed, was able to see it. Then achange came over him; gloom fell from him, and he grew radiant. 

"Don't! Don't" she cried. "You mustn't--"

"I won't tell him, " said Sheridan, from the doorway. "I won't tellanybody anything!"

CHAPTER XXXIII

There was a heavy town-fog that afternoon, a smoke-mist, densest in thesanctuary of the temple. The people went about in it, busy and dirty, thickening their outside and inside linings of coal-tar, asphalt, sulphurous acid, oil of vitriol, and the other familiar things the menliked to breathe and to have upon their skins and garments and upontheir wives and babies and sweethearts. The growth of the city wasvisible in the smoke and the noise and the rush. There was more smokethan there had been this day of February a year earlier; there was morenoise; and the crowds were thicker--yet quicker in spite of that. Thetraffic policeman had a hard time, for the people were independent--theyretained some habits of the old market-town period, and would crossthe street anywhere and anyhow, which not only got them killed morefrequently than if they clung to the legal crossings, but kept themotormen, the chauffeurs, and the truck-drivers in a stew of profanenervousness. So the traffic policemen led harried lives; they themselveswere killed, of course, with a certain periodicity, but their maintrouble was that they could not make the citizens realize that it wasactually and mortally perilous to go about their city. It was strange, for there were probably no citizens of any length of residence who hadnot personally known either some one who had been killed or injured inan accident, or some one who had accidentally killed or injured others. And yet, perhaps it was not strange, seeing the sharp preoccupation ofthe faces--the people had something on their minds; they could not stopto bother about dirt and danger. 

Mary Vertrees was not often down-town; she had never seen an accidentuntil this afternoon. She had come upon errands for her mother connectedwith a timorous refurbishment; and as she did these, in and out of thedepartment stores, she had an insistent consciousness of the SheridanBuilding. From the street, anywhere, it was almost always in sight, likesome monstrous geometrical shadow, murk-colored and rising limitlesslyinto the swimming heights of the smoke-mist. It was gaunt and grimyand repellent; it had nothing but strength and size--but in thatconsciousness of Mary's the great structure may have partaken of beauty. Sheridan had made some of the things he said emphatic enough to remainwith her. She went over and over them--and they began to seem true:"Only ONE girl he could feel THAT sorry for!" "Gurney says he's got youon his brain so bad--" The man's clumsy talk began to sing in her heart. The song was begun there when she saw the accident. 

She was directly opposite the Sheridan Building then, waiting for thetraffic to thin before she crossed, though other people were risking thepassage, darting and halting and dodging parlously. Two men came fromthe crowd behind her, talking earnestly, and started across. Both woreblack; one was tall and broad and thick, and the other was taller, butnoticeably slender. And Mary caught her breath, for they were Bibbs andhis father. They did not see her, and she caught a phrase in Bibbs'smellow voice, which had taken a crisper ring: "Sixty-eight thousanddollars? Not sixty-eight thousand buttons!" It startled her queerly, and as there was a glimpse of his profile she saw for the first time aresemblance to his father. 

She watched them. In the middle of the street Bibbs had to step aheadof his father, and the two were separated. But the reckless passing ofa truck, beyond the second line of rails, frightened a group of countrywomen who were in course of passage; they were just in front of Bibbs, and shoved backward upon him violently. To extricate himself from themhe stepped back, directly in front of a moving trolley-car--no place forabsent-mindedness, but Bibbs was still absorbed in thoughts concernedwith what he had been saying to his father. There were shrieks andyells; Bibbs looked the wrong way--and then Mary saw the heavy figureof Sheridan plunge straight forward in front of the car. Withabsolute disregard of his own life, he hurled himself at Bibbs like afootball-player shunting off an opponent, and to Mary it seemedthat they both went down together. But that was all she couldsee--automobiles, trucks, and wagons closed in between. She made outthat the trolley-car stopped jerkily, and she saw a policeman breakinghis way through the instantly condensing crowd, while the traffic cameto a standstill, and people stood up in automobiles or climbed uponthe hubs and tires of wheels, not to miss a chance of seeing anythinghorrible. 

Mary tried to get through; it was impossible. Other policemen came tohelp the first, and in a minute or two the traffic was in motion again. The crowd became pliant, dispersing--there was no figure upon theground, and no ambulance came. But one of the policemen was detained bythe clinging and beseeching of a gloved hand. 

"What IS the matter, lady?"

"Where are they?" Mary cried. 

"Who? Ole man Sheridan? I reckon HE wasn't much hurt!"

"His SON--"

"Was that who the other one was? I seen him knock him--oh, he's not badoff, I guess, lady. The ole man got him out of the way all right. Thefender shoved the ole man around some, but I reckon he only got shookup. They both went on in the Sheridan Building without any help. Excuseme, lady. "

Sheridan and Bibbs, in fact, were at that moment in the elevator, ascending. "Whisk-broom up in the office, " Sheridan was saying. "You gotto look out on those corners nowadays, I tell you. I don't know I gotany call to blow, though--because I tried to cross after you did. That'show I happened to run into you. Well, you want to remember to look outafter this. We were talkin' about Murtrie's askin' sixty-eight thousandflat for that ninety-nine-year lease. It's his lookout if he'd rathertake it that way, and I don't know but--"

"No, " said Bibbs, emphatically, as the elevator stopped; "he won't getit. Not from us, he won't, and I'll show you why. I can convince youin five minutes. " He followed his father into the office anteroom--andconvinced him. Then, having been diligently brushed by a youth of color, Bibbs went into his own room and closed the door. 

He was more shaken than he had allowed his father to perceive, and hisside was sore where Sheridan had struck him. He desired to be alone; hewanted to rub himself and, for once, to do some useless thinking again. He knew that his father had not "happened" to run into him; he knew thatSheridan had instantly--and instinctively--proved that he held his ownlife of no account whatever compared to that of his son and heir. Bibbshad been unable to speak of that, or to seem to know it; for Sheridan, just as instinctively, had swept the matter aside--as of no importance, since all was well--reverting immediately to business. 

Bibbs began to think intently of his father. He perceived, as hehad never perceived before, the shadowing of something enormous andindomitable--and lawless; not to be daunted by the will of nature'svery self; laughing at the lightning and at wounds and mutilation;conquering, irresistible--and blindly noble. For the first time in hislife Bibbs began to understand the meaning of being truly this man'sson. 

He would be the more truly his son henceforth, though, as Sheridan said, Bibbs had not come down-town with him meanly or half-heartedly. Hehad given his word because he had wanted the money, simply, for MaryVertrees in her need. And he shivered with horror of himself, thinkinghow he had gone to her to offer it, asking her to marry him--with hishead on his breast in shameful fear that she would accept him! He hadnot known her; the knowing had lost her to him, and this had been hisreal awakening; for he knew now how deep had been that slumber whereinhe dreamily celebrated the superiority of "friendship"! The sleep-walkerhad wakened to bitter knowledge of love and life, finding himself afailure in both. He had made a burnt offering of his dreams, and thesacrifice had been an unforgivable hurt to Mary. All that was left forhim was the work he had not chosen, but at least he would not fail inthat, though it was indeed no more than "dust in his mouth. " If therehad been anything "to work for--"

He went to the window, raised it, and let in the uproar of the streetsbelow. He looked down at the blurred, hurrying swarms and he lookedacross, over the roofs with their panting jets of vapor, into the vast, foggy heart of the smoke. Dizzy traceries of steel were rising dimlyagainst it, chattering with steel on steel, and screeching in steam, while tiny figures of men walked on threads in the dull sky. Buildingswould overtop the Sheridan. Bigness was being served. 

But what for? The old question came to Bibbs with a new despair. Here, where his eyes fell, had once been green fields and running brooks, andhow had the kind earth been despoiled and disfigured! The pioneers hadbegun the work, but in their old age their orators had said for themthat they had toiled and risked and sacrificed that their posteritymight live in peace and wisdom, enjoying the fruits of the earth. Well, their posterity was here--and there was only turmoil. Where was thepromised land? It had been promised by the soldiers of all the wars; ithad been promised to this generation by the pioneers; but here was thevery posterity to whom it had been promised, toiling and risking andsacrificing in turn--for what?

The harsh roar of the city came in through the open window, continuouslybeating upon Bibbs's ear until he began to distinguish a pulsation init--a broken and irregular cadence. It seemed to him that it was likea titanic voice, discordant, hoarse, rustily metallic--the voice ofthe god, Bigness. And the voice summoned Bibbs as it summoned all itsservants. 

"Come and work!" it seemed to yell. "Come and work for Me, all men! Byyour youth and your hope I summon you! By your age and your despair Isummon you to work for Me yet a little, with what strength you have. Byyour love of home I summon you! By your love of woman I summon you! Byyour hope of children I summon you!

"You shall be blind slaves of Mine, blind to everything but Me, yourMaster and Driver! For your reward you shall gaze only upon my ugliness. You shall give your toil and your lives, you shall go mad for love andworship of my ugliness! You shall perish still worshipping Me, and yourchildren shall perish knowing no other god!"

And then, as Bibbs closed the window down tight, he heard his father'svoice booming in the next room; he could not distinguish the words butthe tone was exultant--and there came the THUMP! THUMP! of the maimedhand. Bibbs guessed that Sheridan was bragging of the city and ofBigness to some visitor from out-of-town. 

And he thought how truly Sheridan was the high priest of Bigness. Butwith the old, old thought again, "What for?" Bibbs caught a glimmer offar, faint light. He saw that Sheridan had all his life struggledand conquered, and must all his life go on struggling and inevitablyconquering, as part of a vast impulse not his own. Sheridan servedblindly--but was the impulse blind? Bibbs asked himself if it was nothe who had been in the greater hurry, after all. The kiln must be firedbefore the vase is glazed, and the Acropolis was not crowned with marblein a day. 

Then the voice came to him again, but there was a strain in it as ofsome high music struggling to be born of the turmoil. "Ugly I am, " itseemed to say to him, "but never forget that I AM a god!" And the voicegrew in sonorousness and in dignity. "The highest should serve, but solong as you worship me for my own sake I will not serve you. It is manwho makes me ugly, by his worship of me. If man would let me serve him, I should be beautiful!"

Looking once more from the window, Bibbs sculptured for himself--inthe vague contortions of the smoke and fog above the roofs--a giganticfigure with feet pedestaled upon the great buildings and shouldersdisappearing in the clouds, a colossus of steel and wholly blackenedwith soot. But Bibbs carried his fancy further--for there was still alittle poet lingering in the back of his head--and he thought that upover the clouds, unseen from below, the giant labored with his handsin the clean sunshine; and Bibbs had a glimpse of what he madethere--perhaps for a fellowship of the children of the children thatwere children now--a noble and joyous city, unbelievably white--

It was the telephone that called him from his vision. It rang fiercely. 

He lifted the thing from his desk and answered--and as the small voiceinside it spoke he dropped the receiver with a crash. He trembledviolently as he picked it up, but he told himself he was wrong--he hadbeen mistaken--yet it was a startlingly beautiful voice; startlinglykind, too, and ineffably like the one he hungered most to hear. 

"Who?" he said, his own voice shaking--like his hand. 

"Mary. "

He responded with two hushed and incredulous words: "IS IT?"

There was a little thrill of pathetic half-laughter in the instrument. "Bibbs--I wanted to--just to see if you--"

"Yes--Mary?"

"I was looking when you were so nearly run over. I saw it, Bibbs. They said you hadn't been hurt, they thought, but I wanted to know formyself. "

"No, no, I wasn't hurt at all--Mary. It was father who came nearer it. He saved me. "

"Yes, I saw; but you had fallen. I couldn't get through the crowd untilyou had gone. And I wanted to KNOW. "

"Mary--would you--have minded?" he said. 

There was a long interval before she answered. 

"Yes. "

"Then why--"

"Yes, Bibbs?"

"I don't know what to say, " he cried. "It's so wonderful to hear yourvoice again--I'm shaking, Mary--I--I don't know--I don't know anythingexcept that I AM talking to you! It IS you--Mary?"

"Yes, Bibbs!"

"Mary--I've seen you from my window at home--only five times sinceI--since then. You looked--oh, how can I tell you? It was like a manchained in a cave catching a glimpse of the blue sky, Mary. Mary, won'tyou--let me see you again--near? I think I could make you really forgiveme--you'd have to--"

"I DID--then. "

"No--not really--or you wouldn't have said you couldn't see me anymore. "

"That wasn't the reason. " The voice was very low. 

"Mary, " he said, even more tremulously than before, "I can't--youCOULDN'T mean it was because--you can't mean it was because you--care?"

There was no answer. 

"Mary?" he called, huskily. "If you mean THAT--you'd let me seeyou--wouldn't you?"

And now the voice was so low he could not be sure it spoke at all, butif it did, the words were, "Yes, Bibbs--dear. "

But the voice was not in the instrument--it was so gentle and so light, so almost nothing, it seemed to be made of air--and it came from theair. 

Slowly and incredulously he turned--and glory fell upon his shiningeyes. The door of his father's room had opened. 

Mary stood upon the threshold. 

THE END