i)
CHAPTER XXXI} (Continued),
o— Te
Old Man Sheridan, mightily pleased
with Bibbs, has gone to Mary Vertrees
with the purpose of “fixing up” the
“trouble” between her and his son.
He wants to see the young folks
happy.
“I'm sorry,” said Mary. “I hoped
¥ou'd come because we're neighbors.”
He chuckled. “Neighbors!
times people don’t see so much o' their
neighbors as they used to. That is, |
hear so— lately.”
“You'll stay Jong enough to sit down,
won't you?"
“I guess I could manage
much.” And they sat down,
each other and not far apart.
“Of course, it couldn't be called busi
ness, exactly,” he said, more gravely
“Not at all, 1 expect. But
something o' yours it seemed to ma
I ought to give you, and I just thought
it was better to bring it myself and
explain how I happened to have it. It's
this—this letter you wrote 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, 1 expect.”
“Yes,” she sald, In
He sighed. “I'm glad didn’t
Not,” he added, quickly—*"not but what
you did just right to send it. You did
You couldn't acted any way
when it came rig} There
ain't any you
were aboveboard all
d, “Thank youn,” alm
i
Some
that
facing
there's
a low voice.
he
other
down
blame fe i in’ {0 you
1oohy
ost
rr head bowed
“You'll have
1 had
and everyth
the handwritin’, ar
I got started.”
“I'm glad youn did.”
“Well"—he leaned forward
to rise—"1 guess that's
Just thoug! ought
‘hank you for bri
He looked at
her
thought and
foexon
to take
about all I
it you to have IL”
hopefully, as if
wished that she might
jut she
glance,
he
have something more to say
seemed not to be aware of this
and sat with her eyes fixed sorrowfully
upon the floor.
“Well, 1 expect 1 better
back to the offic he said,
perately. “lI told—I told my
I'd be back at two o'clock. and I guess
think I'm a poor business man
if he catches me behind time. 1
to 'k the chalk a 1 straight
line these days—with that fellow keep
in’ tabs on
Mary rose with him. “I've alw
heard you hard driver.”
He guffawed derisively. “Me?
nothin’ to that partner
couldn't guess to sav
he keeps aft me
o' the job. 1
he'd give me the grand bounce
day, and run the whole circus himself
You know how he is—once he goes at
a thing!
“ey .
80,”
be gettin’
a 1? rising des
partner
he'll
eo
3
m
ghty
Walk
me!
ways
were the
I'm
You
how
0’ mine,
your {i
to hold nu
shouldn't
¢
e ie
er p my end
be
0
she smiled “yl al
you had a parte
He laughed, looking away
“It's just way
boy o Bibbs."
He stood then, expectant, star
into the hall with
geniality ie felt { i
least, “How is Bibbs?" but
though he wait
my o'
m y
mine,
an nir of car
that she certainly
must say at
she sald nothing at all,
ed nntil the silence became embarrass
ing.
“Well,
down there be sald
might worry.’
I guess 1 better be gettin’
" at “He
last.
“Goodby-—and thank you,” said Mary
“For what?
“For the
“Oh,” he
weleon Goodby.”
Mary put out
“You'll have to ex«
he said “1 had a
other one.”
letter.”
sald, blankly
her hand. “Goodby
+ oe laf 11 ”
se my left hand,
little accident to the
She gave a pitying cry as she saw.
“Ob, poor Mr. Sheridan!”
“Nothin' at Dictate everything
nowadays, anyhow." He laughed
jovially. “Did anybody tell you how
it happened?”
“I heard yeu hurt your hand, but
no-—not just how.”
“It was this way,” he began, and
both, as if unconsciously, sat down
again. "You may not know ft, but |
used to worry a good deal about the
youngest o' my boys-—the that
used to come to see you sometimes,
after Jim-—that Is, I mean Bibbs, He's
the one 1 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 re
nye or, 1 expect, 1 had him on a
mache over at a plant o' mine; and
sometimes I'd kind o' sneak in there
and see how Le was gettin’ along
Take a doctor with me sometimes, be
cause Bibbs never was so robust, you
might gay. Ole Doe Gurney--1 guess
maybe you know him? Tall, thin man;
actg sleepy"
“Yea”
“Well, one day 1 an’ ole Doe Gur
ney, we were in there, and 1 nnder.
took to show DBibbe haw to ran his
Tit
an
*
one
He told me to look out, but
I wouldn't listen, and I didn't look
out-——and that’s how 1 got my hand
hurt, tryin’ to show Bibbs to do some
thing he knew how to do and I didn’t.
Made me so mad I just wouldn't even
admit to myself it was hurt—and so,
by and by, ole Doe Gurney had to take
kind o' radical measures with me, He's
a right good doctor, too. Don't you
think so, Miss Vertrees?"
“Yea”
“Yes, he is so!" Sheridan now had
the air of a rambling talker and gossip
with all day on his hands. “Take him
on Bibbs" cage. I was talkin’ about
Bibbs' case with him this morning.
Well, you'd laugh to hear the way ole
(Gurney talks about that! ‘Course he
is just as much a friend as he i3 doc
tor—and he takes as much interest
In Bibbs as if he was In the family.
He thinks Bibbs isn't anyways bad
off vet:
machine,
and he thinks he could stand
the pace and get fat on it if—well, this
“Bibbs Isn't Like Qther Men.”
fs what'd make yon langh if you'd beer
there, M
a
Vertrees—honest it wonid!
chuckle, a
She was gazing straight
Ha
paused to and stole
siance at her
before
narted.
ing
that she
her at the wall; her lips were
and-—visibly—she was breath
He feared
ig farionsly
what he to
determined now
He leaned forward and
to of
tt in it
me which indiea
nilon
iredd with her
and quickly
heavily
WAR grow
ie] to
went on,
angry.
wanted
volce one confiden
gh he still
ted that
was only a
“Yes, gir, you
1! Why, that
something to
iness,
nain ned a te
ole Doe Gurmey's op!
ke he st
certainly would ‘a’ laugl
thinks you got
do with it. You'll
r lady,
He
ole man
have to blame
if it mai
to whip
this th
it on
ef you feel
out
rot
got
somebmdy
cory: be says
he
orked over there at the shop because
kept him and
And he says if you could man
just stand him hangin’ round
maybe but just
ed it'd do
wl "Course
anid Me,
ing about that; but
I never saw any
iprovement in any
as 1 have lately In
you'd find him a
rood deal more entertaluing than what
to be——and 1 know it's a kind
of embarrassing thing to suggest after
the way piled in over here that
day to ask you to stand up before the
with him, but accordin’ to
ole Doe Gurney, he's got you on his
brain so bad"
Mary jumped
exclaimed
He sighed profoundly,
noticed you were gettin’
didn’t"
“No, no, no!” she cried. “But |
don’t . understand--and 1 think you
don't. What is It yon want me to do?"
He sighed again, but this time with
relief. “Well, well!” he sald. “You're
right. It'll be easier to talk plain. |
ought to known 1 could with you, all
the time. [I just hoped you'd let that
boy come and see youn sometimes, once
more. Could you?
“You don’t understand.” Khe clasped
her hands together in a sorrowful Kes.
ture. “Yes, we must talk plain. Bibbs
heard that I'd tried to make your
oldest son eare for me because 1 was
poor, and so Dilbs came and asked
me to marry him-—becanse he was
sorry for me. And I can't see him nny
more.” she cried in distress. “1 can't!”
Sheridan cleared his throat uncom
fortably. “You mean because he
thought that about yout”
"No, no! What he thought was true!”
gettin® better while
you cheered up feelin’
good
to
a little much,
sometimes-—again, | Delle
age
not
Bibbs a mighty k ' Rot
» doctor
i . ale
Hats oniy
I don't
I can say t!
know
1 expect
he used
he
preacher
“Mr. Bheridan!” she
“There!
mad.
| “Well—you mean he was so much
[ tn ~-you mean he thought so much of
iy
| iwkward upon Sheridan's tongue: he
seemed to be in doubt even about pro
t nouncing them, but
pnuse he bravely repeated them. “You
mean he thought so much of you that
you just couldn't stand him around?
“No! He was sorry for me. He
sired for me; he was fond of me; and
he'd respected me—too much! In the
finest way he loved me, if you like,
and he'd have done anything on earth
for me, as I would for him, and as
he knew I would. It was beautiful,
Mr. Sheridan,” she sald. “But the
cheap, bad things one has done seem
always to come back-—they walt, and
pull you down when you're happlest.
Bibbs found me out, you see: and he
wasn't ‘in love’ with me at all”
“He wasn't?
he gave up everything he wanted to
you—"_. The words were inconceivably
9
wanted it mighty bad—he just threw
he
it
the job he swore never would
just for you. And looks to
if a man that'd do that must
quite a heap o' the girl he does it for!
me as
sorry, but let me tell you there's only
one girl he could feel that sorry for!
Yes, sir!™
“No, no,” she sald. “Bibbs isn't like
other men
anybody."
Sheridan grinned.
much as you think, 1
nowadays.’ he said
he doesn’t believe In ‘sentiment in busi
But neither hers
there. What he wanted was, just plain
and simple, for you to marry him
Well, I was afrald his thinkin’ so much
of you had kind you of
him-—the way it does sometimes
ness.’ that's
o' slckened
you talk, I understand
that ain't t trouble.” He coughe
and his volce ibled a litt
{ here, Miss Vertrees, 1 don’
4 1 '
from the
way
3
ue
tres
tell you-—hee
i
i 1
ise you see tl
caperately
BR
looki
and it
“Well, 1 mustn't press you,” he said
mtly
At
her hands an« } her face
‘Ah! He was only sorry for me!"
Mary
that sh ried out, and
m see
He gazed at her intently
it confessed the truth of her now: she
| was helpless It was so clear
Khoerida and
to Then a
came over him: gloom fell from
and he grew radian
“Don't! Don't!"
mustn't
“I won't tell
from
body asuything!”
oven
y amazed
was able fee change
cried
sald Sheridan
the dooary “I won't tell Any
CHAPTER XXXII,
There
after
sanctuary
was a heavy town-fog that
oke-mist, densest in the
of the temple. The
wont in it, busy and
thickening thelr outside and
linings of coal-tar, sulphurous
acid, oll of vitri and the other famil
iar things the men 8
to have upon their skins a
and
sweethearts
Hoon, a sn
pennie
dirty
inside
about
asphalt,
kewl to breathe and
nd garments
babies and
the city
upon their wives and
The growth
Was visible in the smoke and the noise
and the
of
18h
mn There was more smoke
than there had been this day of Febru
ary a year earlier; there was more
hoise and the crowds were thicker
| ¥et quicker In spite of that, The traf
{ ic policeman had a bard time. for
the people were independent-they re
tained some habits of the old market
town period, and would
street anywhere and anyhow,
not only got them killed more frequent
Iy than if they clung to the legal cross
ings, but kept the motormen. the chauf
feurs and the truck drivers in a stew
of profane nervousness. So the traf
fic policemen led harried lives: they
i
i
Cross
a certain periodicity, but their main
the citizens realize that it was actu
ally and mortally perilous to go about
their city. It was strange, for there
were probably no citizens of any
length of residence who had not per.
sonally known either someone who had
| been killed or injured in an accident
or someone who liad accidentally killed
or Injured others. And yet, perhaps
it was not strange, seeing the sharp
preoccupation of the faces——the people
had something on their minds; they
could not stop to bother about dirt and
danger.
Mary Vertrees was not often down.
town; she had nbver seen an accident
until this afternoon, She had come
tipon errands for her mother connected
with a timorous refurbishment; and as
she did these, In and out of the depart
ment stores, she had an Insistént con:
sciousness of the Sheridan building
From the street, anywhere, it was al
most always in sight, like some mon
strons geometrical shadow, murk co!
ored and rising Hmitlessly into the
swimnming heights of the smoke-mist.
It was gunat and grimy and repellent;
it had nothing but strength and size
but in that consclousness of Mary's
the great structure may have partaken
of beauty. Bheridan had
made some
to She went
they began
with her,
and over them-—and
ieem true: “Only one girl he
feel that sorry for!” “Gurney says |
he’s got you on his brain so bad
The man's clumsy talk began to sing
in her heart. The
there when she saw the accident,
She was directly opposite the Sheri
dan bullding then, waiting for the traf
fic to thin before she crossed, though |
other people were risking the passn ge, {
darting and halting and dodging par
lously. Two men came from the
behind her, talking
started across. Both
was tall and broad and
other was taller, but
der. And Mary caught her breath. for
they were Bibbs and his father
did not her,
phrase of Bibbs’
taken a
remain over
to
could
soug was begun |
1
crowa
earnestly, and |
wore black; one
thick, and the
noticeably slen
and she
Heo
NOlioe, Wil
Sixty «
Not
lars?
It star
re was a
for the fir
sand buttons!
file she saw
his father
watched them
Bibbs had
, and the two were g
} Pp ging of
the second ine of ra
biance to
She
the street
his father
But
bey ond
to
the rod Kies
ened a group of country w
course of pn ge
in front of 1}
moekward upon him
tricate himself
back, directly
ir
trolley car no
in bis
hs
Just }
viole
from then
front
for
in
edness, but
in
thou
Prowean
He Hurled Himself at Bibbs.
youn. F don’t know I got any eall to
blow, though-—becanse 1 tried to Cross |
after you did. That's how | happened |
to run into you. Well, you remember |
to look out after this. We were talkin’
about Murtrie's askin' sixty-eight thou |
sand flat for that ninety-nine.year |
lease. It's his lookout if he'd rather
take It that way, and I don't know
but."
“No,” sald Bibbs, emphatically, as
the elevator stopped: “he won't get it.
Not from Us, he won't, and I'll show
you why. 1 can convince you in five |
minutes” He followed his father into |
the office antercom-—and convinced
him. Then, having been diligently
brushed by a youth of color, Bibbs!
went into bis own room and closed the |
door
He was more shaken than he bad |
allowed his father to perceive, and his
sore where Bheridan had
gtruck him. He desired to be alone:
he wanted to rub himself and, for once
wns
‘
that his father had not “ha
pened” to run into him; he knew that |
Sheridan had instantly and fnstinet
proved that he held his own life |
no account
of his
of
that
whatever compared fo
son and heir Bibbs had
it; for Sheridan,
had swept the nn
know
wtinet
Just as In
iter aside
all
immediately to
vely
-fin of gince
well
no importance,
reverting
was
busi
int
perceived, as he had never
of
Bibbs began to think of his
father. Hq
ently
before, the shad 2
indomitable
unted
enormous
and lawless;
the I of nature's
nt the lightning
mutilation:
not to
wi
an
conquering
hile For the
began to
meaning
01
:
He ld be the
fo etl
eforth, though,
ww had
wy
Ver
1 roses
ivered t!
w
had
f ing her Uk
head
hat
she wonld
known her
“You sh
fO every
ind Driver! For your res
M
d you
You
ives, yon
wt 0 Winn g ug iNness
orship of |
ugliness still
g Me
perish know
And
my perish
worehinin
iren shall
i ibbz closed the win
his father's
he
but
tight, heard
booming in the next
could not distingnish words,
the tone was exultant—and there came
thump! thump! of the malmed
Bibbs guessed that Sheridan
was bragging of the city and of the
to some visitor from out of |
volee room.
the
town.
And he thought how truly fheridan |
was the high priest of Bigness But
with the old, old thought again, “What i
for? Ribbs caught a glimmer of far. |
faint light. Ile saw that Sheridan had |
all his life struggled and conquered. |
and nist all his life go on struggling |
a vast impulse not his own. Sheridan |
served blindly—but was the impulse |
blind? Bibbs asked himself If it was |
not he who had been in the greater |
hurry, after all. The kiln must be |
fired before the vase is glazed, and the |
Acropolis was not erowned with |
Then the volee eame to him again,
but there was a strain in it as of some
huge music struggling to be born of |
the turmoil. “Ugly | am,” it seemed |
to say to bim, “but never forget that |
I am a god!” And the voice grew in
“The |
highest should serve,
you worehlp me for
will not serve you. it
makes me ugly,
ir
but =e lonr as
ike |
in who
by his worship of me
would let me him, |
beautifnl™
Looking ounce me
Bilibs
IEOe nnd
my own
is In
man
he
BOIr'ye
+
ire fre bic
win
himself
Hn
dow, cuiptured for
a
rHions of the moke and
fog above the roof : ££ ic figure
with feet pedestaied upon the
ail
clouds, 8 colo Io ee}
ckened
ig
great
appearing
and
Bibbs
there
in
thought that
unseen from below,
ids in the
had a
there per
i1dren
and shoulders
in the
carried h
war still a little
back of his }
up over the cloud
the giant abe
Clean
fancy further—for
poet lingering
i the
ead--and he
red with his hat
sunshine Bibbs
glimpse of made
for a
and
what he
fel
» ¢hildren that
owship of the of
were children now
ble and Joyous city
white
- .
It was the
nog lercel)
He
fron
the
tio zav.™ he eried
voice
don’
excem
y hear your
Mary 1-1
anything
wai! It is you
‘Mary —1I've seen you from my win
only five times since [—
You looked
It like
catching a glimpse
Mary
Fi
nee then oh, how ear
man chained
of the
Mary, won't you-—let
ain—near? 1 think }
you really forgive me
to"
then”
wi
I tel] yon?
a
bine sky
was
faYe
me sow Ml az
make
have
“1 did
“No-not
have said
more.”
wouldn't
me any
really
you
3
conldn't
rou
gee
“That wasn't the reason ™
wag very low
“Mary.” he said, even more tremu.
lously than before, “1 can't — you
couldn't mean It was because-—you
“ant mean it was because you-—ecare?™
There was no asswer,
"Mary? he called, huskily.
mean that-—you'd let me
wouldn't you?"
And now the volee was so low he
could not be sure it spoke at all, but if
it did, the words were. “Yes, Ribbs—
dear.”
But the volce was not in the Instra
ment-—it was so gentle and so Nght,
#0 almost nothing, it seemed to be
made of air—and It came from the
alr,
Slowly and incredulously he turned
~and glory fell upon his shining eyes.
The door of his father's room hed
opened,
Mary stood upon the threshold.
THE END.
Work and the Colt.
The newly broken colt should not
be worked too hard this spring. Too
much work just now may ruin him.
The voice
“If you
see you
———