Part 42 (1/2)
”Bibbs,” he said, ”I don't like to b.u.t.t 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She rang, and told George to have coffee made, and when he had withdrawn she said querulously, ”I just know there's something wrong.”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--”