Part 27 (2/2)
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 pa.s.sed along the lines of workmen.
Their great master had come among them, and they grinned to see him standing with Dr. Gurney behind the unconscious Bibbs. Sheridan nodded to those nearest him--he had personal acquaintance with nearly all of them--but he kept his attention upon his son. Bibbs worked steadily, never turning from his machine. Now and then he varied his musical programme with remarks addressed to the zinc-eater.
”Go on, you old crash-basher! Chew it up! It's good for you, if you don't try to bolt your vittles. Fletcherize, you pig! That's right--YOU'LL never get a lump in your gizzard. Want some more? Here's a nice, s.h.i.+ny one.”
The words were indistinguishable, but Sheridan inclined his head to Gurney's ear and shouted fiercely: ”Talkin' to himself! By George!”
Gurney laughed rea.s.suringly, 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 you how to run a strip through there. The foreman says you're some better'n you used to be, but that's no way to handle--Get out the way and let me show you once.”
”Better be careful,” Bibbs warned him, stepping to one side.
”Careful? Boh!” Sheridan seized a strip of zinc from the box. ”What you talkin' to yourself about? Tryin' to make yourself think you're so abused you're goin' wrong in the head?”
”'Abused'? No!” shouted Bibbs. ”I was SINGING--because I 'like it'! I told 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 it awkwardly--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 was not upon it. He continued to talk. ”All you got to look out for is to keep 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 sprang forward. But Sheridan's right hand had followed the strip too far, and the 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 drops over himself and Bibbs, but Gurney grasped his wrist, and said, sharply:
”Come out of here. Come over to the lavatory in the office. Bibbs, fetch my bag. It's in my machine, outside.”
And when Bibbs brought the bag to the washroom he found the doctor still grasping Sheridan's wrist, holding the injured hand over a basin.
Sheridan had lost color, and temper, too. He glared over his shoulder at his son as the latter handed the bag to Gurney.
”You go on back to your work,” he said. ”I've had worse snips than that from a pencil-sharpener.”
”Oh no, you haven't!” said Gurney.
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