________________________________________________
_ Sheridan gave forth another dry chuckle, and, going round the table
to her, patted her upon the shoulder with his left hand, his right
being still heavily bandaged, though he no longer wore a sling.
"That's the way it is with you, mamma--got to take your frettin'
out one way if you don't another!"
"No. He don't look well. It ain't exactly the way he looked when
he begun to get sick that time, but he kind o' seems to be losin',
some way."
"Yes, he may 'a' lost something," said Sheridan. "I expect he's
lost a whole 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't readin'."
"Well, why shouldn't he look out the window?"
"He was lookin' over there. He never read a word all afternoon,
I don't believe."
"Look, here!" said Sheridan. "Bibbs might 'a' kept goin' on over
there the rest of his life, moonin' on and on, but what he heard Sibyl
say did one big thing, anyway. It woke him up out of his trance.
Well, he had to go and bust clean out with a bang; and that stopped
his goin' over there, and it stopped his poetry, but I reckon he's
begun to get pretty fair pay for what he lost. I guess a good many
young men have had to get over 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, a year from now I'll bet you he
won't know there ever WAS such a thing as poetry! 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 guess he'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, but it certainly
did the business." He patted his wife's shoulder again, and then,
without any prefatory symptoms, broke into a boisterous laugh.
"Honest, mamma, he works like a gorilla!"
And so Bibbs sat in the porch of the temple with the money-changers.
But no one came to scourge him forth, for this was the temple of
Bigness, and the changing of money was holy worship and true religion.
The priests wore that "settish" look Bibbs's mother had seen beginning
to develop about his mouth and eyes--a wary look which she could not
define, but it comes with service at the temple; and it was the more
marked upon Bibbs for his sharp awakening to the necessities of that
service.
He did as little "useless" thinking as possible, giving himself no
time for it. He worked continuously, keeping his thoughts still on
his work when he came home at night; and he talked of nothing whatever
except his work. But he did not sing at it. He was often in the
streets, and people were not allowed to sing in the streets. They
might make any manner of hideous uproar--they could shake buildings;
they could out-thunder the thunder, deafen the deaf, and kill the
sick with noise; or they could walk the streets or drive through them
bawling, squawking, or screeching, as they chose, if the noise was
traceably connected with business; though street musicians were not
tolerated, being considered a nuisance and an interference. A man or
woman who went singing for pleasure through the streets--like a crazy
Neopolitan--would have been stopped, and belike locked up; for Freedom
does not mean that a citizen is allowed to do every outrageous thing
that comes into his head. The streets were dangerous enough, in all
conscience, without any singing! and the Motor Federation issued
public warnings declaring that the pedestrian's life was in his own
hands, and giving directions how to proceed with the least peril.
However, Bibbs Sheridan had no desire to sing in the streets, or
anywhere. He had gone to his work with an energy that, for the start,
at least, was bitter, and there was no song left in him.
He began to know his active fellow-citizens. Here and there among
them he found a leisurely, kind soul, a relic of the old period
of neighborliness, "pioneer stock," usually; and there were men
--particularly among the merchants and manufacturers--"so honest
they leaned backward"; reputations sometimes attested by stories
of heroic sacrifices to honor; nor were there lacking some instances
of generosity even nobler. Here and there, too, were book-men,
in their little leisure; and, among the Germans, music-men. And
these, with the others, worshiped Bigness and the growth, each man
serving for his own sake and for what he could get out of it, but
all united in their faith in the beneficence and glory of their god.
To almost all alike that service stood as the most important thing
in life, except on occasion of some such vital, brief interregnum as
the dangerous illness of a wife or child. In the way of "relaxation"
some of the servers took golf; some took fishing; some took "shows"
--a mixture of infantile and negroid humor, stockings, and tin music;
some took an occasional debauch; some took trips; some took cards;
and some took nothing. The high priests were vigilant to watch that
no "relaxation" should affect the service. When a man attended to
anything outside his business, eyes were upon him; his credit was
in danger--that is, his life was in danger. And the old priests were
as ardent as the young ones; the million was as eager to be bigger as
the thousand; seventy was as busy as seventeen. They strove mightily
against one another, and the old priests were the most wary, the most
plausible, and the most dangerous. Bibbs learned he must walk charily
among these--he must wear a thousand eyes and beware of spiders
indeed!
And outside the temple itself were the pretenders, the swarming
thieves and sharpers and fleecers, the sly rascals and the open
rascals; but these were feeble folk, not dangerous once he knew them,
and he had a good guide to point them out to him. They were useful
sometimes, he learned, and many of them served as go-betweens in
matters where business must touch politics. He learned also how
breweries and "traction" companies and banks and other institutions
fought one another for 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 journals either to be retained partisans, like
lawyers, or else striving to forward the personal ambitions of their
owners. The control of the city lay not with them, but was usually
obtained by giving the hordes of negroes gin-money, and by other
largesses. The revenues of the people were then distributed as fairly
as possible among a great number of men who had assisted the winning
side. Names and titles of offices went with many of the prizes, and
most of these title-holders were expected to present a busy appearance
at times; and, indeed, some among them did work honestly and
faithfully.
Bibbs had been very ignorant. All these simple things, so well known
and customary, astonished him at first, and once--in a brief moment
of forgetting that he was done with writing--he thought that if he
had known them and written of them, how like a satire the plainest
relation of them must have seemed! Strangest of all to him was the
vehement and sincere patriotism. On every side he heard it--it was
a permeation; the newest school-child caught it, though just from
Hungary and learning to stammer a few words of the local language.
Everywhere the people shouted of the power, the size, the riches,
and the growth of their city. Not only that, they said that the
people of their city were the greatest, the "finest," the strongest,
the Biggest people on earth. They cited no authorities, and felt
the need of none, being themselves the people thus celebrated. And
if the thing was questioned, or if it was hinted that there might be
one small virtue in which they were not perfect and supreme, they
wasted no time examining themselves to see if what the critic said
was true, but fell upon him and hooted him and cursed him, for they
were sensitive. So Bibbs, learning their ways and walking with them,
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 had
established that intimacy. One morning in February, when Bibbs was
alone, Sheridan came in, some sheets of typewritten memoranda in his
hand.
"Bibbs," he said, "I don't like to butt in very often this way, and
when I do I usually wish I hadn't--but for Heaven's sake what have
you been buying that ole busted inter-traction stock for?"
Bibbs leaned back from his desk. "For eleven hundred and fifty-five
dollars. That's all it cost."
"Well, it ain't worth eleven hundred and fifty-five cents. You ought
to know 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 it from?"
"A broker--Fansmith."
"Well, he must 'a' got it from one o' the crowd o' poor ninnies that
was soaked 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
to his 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 he looked in again.
"I reckon you won't mind lunchin' alone to-day"--he was shuffling
himself into his overcoat--"because I just thought I'd go up to the
house and get THIS over with mamma." He glanced apologetically toward
his right hand as it emerged from the sleeve of the overcoat. The
bandages had been removed, finally, that morning, revealing but three
fingers--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 than
her dinner. I'll be back about two."
But he calculated the time of his arrival at the New House so
accurately that Mrs. Sheridan's lunch was not disturbed, and she
was rising from the lonely table when he came into the dining-room.
He had left his overcoat 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
withdrawn she said querulously, "I just know there's something
wrong."
"Nothin' in the world," he responded, heartily, taking a seat at the
head 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
BEFORE anything's the matter. You don't suppose I'm goin' to take
any chances with BIBBS, do you? Well, afterwards, I shut the door,
and I an' ole Gurney had a talk. He's a mighty disagreeable man;
he rubbed it in on me what he said about Bibbs havin' brains if he
ever woke up. Then I thought he must want to get something out
o' me, he go so flattering--for a minute! 'Bibbs couldn't help havin'
business brains,' he says, 'bein' YOUR son. Don't be surprised,' he
says--'don't be surprised at his makin' a success,' he says. 'He
couldn't get over his heredity; he couldn't HELP bein' a business
success--once you got him into it. It's in his blood. Yes, sir'
he says, 'it doesn't need MUCH brains,' he says, 'an only third-rate
brains, at that,' he says, 'but it 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 a start, 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 kind o' 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
this cup with my left hand, mamma?"
"You been doin' that all winter. What did--"
"It's wonderful," he interrupted, admiringly, "what a fellow can do
with his left hand. I can sign my name with mine now, well's I ever
could with my right. It came a little hard at first, but now, honest,
I believe 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
the top of the cup unctuously. "Good coffee, mamma! Well, about
Bibbs. Ole Gurney 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 get to feelin' about business the way he felt
about the shop--not the poetry and writin' part, but--" He paused,
supplementing his remarks with a motion of his head toward the old
house next door. "He says Bibbs is older and harder'n what he was
when he broke down that time, and besides, he ain't the kind o' dreamy
way he was then--and I should say he AIN'T! I'd like 'em to show ME
anybody his age that's any wider awake! 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 know yourself she wouldn't have Jim."
"Who's talkin' about her havin' anybody? But, my Lord! she might let
him LOOK at her! She needn't 'a' got so mad, just because he asked
her, that she 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 the Bible, but Gurney kind o' got me in the way o'
thinkin' that if she'd let him come back and set around with her an
evening or two sometimes--not reg'lar, I don't mean--why--Well, I just
thought I'd see what YOU'D think of it. There ain't any way to talk
about it to Bibbs himself--I don't suppose he'd let you, anyhow--but
I thought maybe you could kind o' slip over there some day, and sort
o' fix up to have a little talk with her, and kind o' hint around till
you see how the land lays, and ask her--"
"ME!" Mrs. Sheridan looked both helpless and frightened. "No."
She shook her 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
I believe 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're runnin' after 'em they think you're cheap, and then they won't
do as much for you as if you let 'em alone. I don't believe it's any
use, and I couldn't do it if it was."
He sighed with resignation. "All right, mamma. That's all." Then,
in a livelier tone, he said: "Ole Gurney took the bandages off my
hand this morning. All healed up. Says I don't need 'em any more."
"Why, that's splendid, papa!" she cried, beaming. "I was afraid--
Let's see." _
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