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About Geyser Judith Basin Times (Geyser, Mont.) 1911-1920 | View This Issue
Geyser Judith Basin Times (Geyser, Mont.), 14 July 1916, located at <http://montananewspapers.org/lccn/sn85053135/1916-07-14/ed-1/seq-7/>, image provided by MONTANA NEWSPAPERS, Montana Historical Society, Helena, Montana.
1 GEYSER JUDITH BASIN TIMES • The Turmoil By BOOTH TARKINGTON (001arigaS ISM by Harper & Mothers) SYNOPSIS. Sheridan's attempt to make a business Man of Ids son Bibbs by starting him in the machine shop ends in Bibbs going to a sanitarium, a nervous wreck. On his re- turn Bibb* finds himself an inconsider- able and unconsidered flgure In the -New House\ of the Sheridan.. The Vertreeses, old town family next door and impover- ished, call on the Sheridan., newly -rich, and Mary afterward puts into words her Parents' unspoken wish that she marry one of the Sheridan boys. At the Sheri- dan housewarming banquet Sheridan spreads himself. Mary frankly encourages Jim Sheridan's attentions. Mary shocks her mother by talking of Jim as a matri- monial possibility. Jim tells Mary Hibbs is not a lunatic—\just queer.\ He pro- poses to Mary. who half accepts him. Sheridan tells Bibbs he must go back to the machine shop as soon as he is strong enough, in spite of Hibbs' plea to be al- lowed to write. Edith. Ilibbs' sister. and Sibyl, Roscoe Sheridan's wife, quarrel over Bobby Lamborn; Sibyl goes to Mary for help to keep Lamhorn from marrying Edith, and Mary le; ves her in the room alone. Bibbs has to break to his father the news of Jim's sudden death. All the rest of the family helpless in their grief, Hibbs becomes temporary master of the house At the funeral he meets Mary and rides home with her. Love has awakened in the bosom of Bibbs—shy, hopeless love for something unattainable. The emotion is reflected In his gentleness with kis grief-strick- en father. Will It stir his ambi- tion and impel him to activity that will help him win the girl finally? Will Old Sheridan corns to understand and appreciate? CHAPTER XII—Continued. There came a second explosion, and Uncle Gideon ran out into the hall. Bible; went to the head of tile great staircase, and, looking down, discov- ered the source of the disturbance. Gideon's grandson, a boy of fourteen, oad brought his camera to the funeral Ind was taking \flashlights\ of the Moor. Uncle Gideon. reassured by Bibbs' explanation, would have re- turned to finish his quotation from Eli- ded the Shuttite, but Bibbs detained him, and after a little argument per- suaded him to descend to the dining room whither Bibbs followed, after closing the door of his father's room. He kept his eyes on Gideon after dinner, diplomatically preventing sev- eral attempts on the part of that com- forter to reascend the stairs; and it was a relief to Hibbs when George an- nounced that an automobile was wait- ing to convey the ancient man and his grandson to their train. They were the last to leave, and when they had gone Bibbs went sighing to his own Mom. He stretched himself wearily upon the bed, but presently rose, went to the window, and looked for a long time at the darkened house where Mary Vertrees lived. Then he opened his trunk, took therefrom a small notebook half filled with fragmentary scrib- blings, and began to write; Laughter after a funeral. In thin re- action people will laugh at anything and at nothing. The liand 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. \Dark - town Is Out To -Night.\ That is natural— but there are women whose laughter is Like the whirring of whips.... 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 ceme- tery with his brother, nor would she want the brother to talk.... Neverthe- less, too much silence is open to suspi- cion. It may be reticence, or it may be a vacuum. It may be dignity, or it may be false teeth.... Silence can be golden? Tee. But per- haps If a woman of the world should find hervelf 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 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 tight. She might be right if she thought him about as pleasant a com- panion—as Bildad the Shuhite! Blithe closed his notebook, replacing it in his trunk. Then, after a period of melancholy contemplation, he un- dressed, put on a dressing gown and 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 the evening, to place upon a table in Sheridan's room—but the food was untouched. Bibbs stood listening Outside the door for several minutes. • There came no sound from within, and he went back to his own room and to bed. In the morning he woke to a state of being hitherto unknown in his ex- perience. Sometimes in the process of waking there is a little pause— sleep has gone, but coherent thought has not begun. It is the moment, as we say, before we \remember:\ and for the first time in Bibbs' life it came to him bringing a vague happiness. However, it was a brief visitation and was gone before he had finished dress- ing. It left a little trail, the pleased recollection of it and the puzzle of it, which remained unsolved. And, in fact, waking happily In the morning is s• not usually the result of a drive home from a funeral. No wonder the se- quence evaded Bibbs Sheridan! His father had gone when be came downstairs. \Went on down to 's office, jes' same,\ Jackson informed him. \Came sat breakfas' table, all by hnself; eat flotilla'. George bring nice breakfas', but he di'n' eat a thing. Yessub, went on downtown, jes' same he yoosta do. Yeseuh, I reckon putty much ev'ything goin' on same as it yoosta do.\ It struck Hibbs that Jackson was right. The day passed as other days had passed. Mrs. Sheridan and Edith were in black, and Mrs. Sheridan cried a little, now and then, but no other external difference was to be seen. Bibbs went for his drive, and his mother went with him, as she some- times did when the weather was pleas- ant. Altogether, the usualness of things was rather startling to Bibbs. During the drive Mrs. Sheridan talked fragmentarily of Jim's child- hood. \But you wouldn't remember that,\ she said, after narrating an epi- sode: \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 reckon it'll just about kill your father to put some- body In his place as president of the Realty company, Hibbs. I know he can't move Roscoe over; he told me last week he'd already put as much on Roscoe as any one man could nandle and not go crazy. Oh, It's a pity—\ She stopped to wipe her eyes. \It's a pity you didn't run more with Jim, Hibbs, and kind o' pick up his ways. Think what It'd meant to papa now! You never did run with either Roscoe or Jim any, even before you got sick. Of course you were younger; but it always did seem queer—and you three beta' brothers like that. I don't be- lieve I ever saw you and Jim sit down together for a good talk In my life.\ \Mother I've been away so long,\ Bibbs returned, gently. \And since I came home I— He was busy, you see, and I hadn't much to say about the things that interested him, because I don't know much about them.\ \It's a pity! Oh, it's a pity!\ she moaned. \And you'll have to learn to know about 'em now, Bibbs. I haven't said much to you, because I felt it was all between your father and you, but I honestly do believe it will just 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 bow he's grieved over you, and now he can't stand any more —he just can't! Whatever he says for you to do, you do it Bibbs, you do iti I want you to promise me you will.\ \I would if I could,\ be said, sor- rowfully. \No no! Why can't you?\ she cried, clutching his arm. \Ile wants you to go back to. the machine shop and all on earth be asks is for you tO go back in a cheerful spirit, so it Won't hurt you! That's all be asks. Look, Bibbs, we're gettin' back near home, but before we get there I want you to 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 see him better, and it blew out on the stmoky wind. He readjusted it for her before be 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 I want- ed you to say.\ \Don't give me any credit,\ he said. ruefully. \There isn't anything else for me to do.\ \No don't begin talkin' that way!\ \No no,\ he soothed her. \We'll have to begin to make the spirit a cheerful one. We may—\ They were turning into their own driveway as he spoke, and he glanced at the old house next door. Mary Vertrees was visible in the twilight, standing upon the front steps, bareheaded, the door open be- hind her. She bowed gravely. \'We may'—what?\ asked Mrs. Sheridan, with a slight impatience. \What is it mother?\ \Of all the queer boys!\ she cried. \You always were. Always! You haven't forgot what you Just promised me, have you?\ \No he answered, as the car stopped. \No the spirit will be as cheerful as the flesh will let it, mother. It won't do to behave like—\ His voice was low, and in her move- ment to descend from the car she failed to bear his final words. \Behave like who, Hibbs?\ \Nothing.\ But she was fretful In her grief. \You said It wouldn't do to behave like somebody. Behave like who?\ \It was just nonsense,\ be explained, turning to go in. \An obscure person I don't think much of lately.\ \Behave like who?\ she repeated, and upon bin yielding to her petulant Insistence, she made up her mind that the only thing to do wan to tell Dr. Gurney about it \Like Bildad the &bathe!\ was what Bibbs said. CHAPTER XIIL The outward usualness of things continued after dinner. la the library, while his wife sat in her customary chair, gazing at the fire, Sheridan let the unfolded evening paper rest upon his lap, though now and then he lifted It, as if to read. Hibbs came in noise- lessly and sat in a corner, doing noth- ing; and from a \reception room\ across the hall an indistinct vocal mur- mur became just audible at intervals. Once, when this murmur grew louder, under stress qf some irrepressible mer- riment, Edith's voice could be heard— \Bobby aren't you awful!\ and Sheri- dan glanced across at his wife appeal- ingly. She rose at once and went into the \reception room:\ there was a flurry of whispering, and the sound of tiptoeing in the hall—Edith and her suitor changing quarters to a more distant room. Mrs. Sheridan returned to 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 be wanted to come up this evening, and I said I thought he'd better wait a few days, but she said she'd already told him be could.\ She paused, then added, rather guiltily: \I got kind of a notion maybe Roscoe don't like him as much as he used to. Maybe—maybe you Let- ter ask Roscoe, imps.\ And as Sher- idan nodded solemnly, she concluded, In haste. \Don't say I said to. I might be wrong about it, anyway.\ He nodded again, and they sat for borne time in a silence which Mrs. Sheridan broke with a little sniff, hav- ing fallen into a reverie that brought tears. \That Miss Vertrees was a good girl,\ she said. \She was all right.\ Her husband evidently had no diffi- culty in following her train of thought, for he nodded once wore, affirma- tively. \Did you— How did you fix ti about the—the Realty company?\ he fal- tered. \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. He went to tier, put his hand upon her shoulder, and drew a long, audible, tre- mendous breath. \It's my bedtime, mamma; I'm goin' up.\ When he reached the door lie stopped and spoke again, without turning to look at her, antly: and be seated himself in a her because you beard them quarrel - leather easy -chair near them. lug!\ \Meat is 10\ asked Edith, 'dandy \That's it. If you want to know askaashed. what's •Oietweete people, you can—by \Nothing he returned, smiling. the way they quarrel.\ She frowned. \Did you want some- \You'll kill me, Bibbs! What were thin:;\ she asked, they quarreling about?\ • \ NDC11111g in the world. Father and \Nothing. That's how I know. Pep - mother have gone upstairs; 1 sha'n't ple who quarrel over nothiugl—it's be going up for several hours, and always certain—\ there didn't seem to be anybody left for an. to chat with except you and Mr. Lamborn.\ \'ilnit with'!\ she echoed, incredu- lously. \I can talk about almost anything.\ said Bibbs with an air of genial polite- ness. \It doesn't matter to me. I don't know much about business—if that's what you happened to he talking about. But you aree't in business, are you. Mr. Lamborn?\ \Not now,\ returned shortly. \I'm not, either,\ said Bilks. \It was getting cloudier than usual. I no- ticed, just before dark, and there was wind from the southwest. Rain to- morrow, I shouldn't be surprised.\ Ile seemed to feel that he had begun a conversation the support of which had now become the pleasurable duty of other parties; and he sat expectant- ly, looking first at his sister, then at Latahorn, an if implying that it was their turn to speak. Edith returned his gaze with a mixture of astonish- ment and increasing auger, while Mr. Lnailiorti was obviously disturbed, though Hibbs had been as considerate as possible in presenting the weather as a topic. Mobs had perceived that Lanthorn bad nothing in his mind at any time except \persontilities\—he could talk about people and he could make love. Midis, wishing to be cour- teous, offered the weather. I.:tinhorn refused it, and concluded front Hibbs' luxurious attitude in the leatLer chair that this half-crazy broth- er was a permanent fixture for the rest of the evening. There was no rea- son to hope that he would move. and Lamborn found himself in danger of looking silly. \I was just going,\ he said, rising. \Oh nor\ Edith cried. sharply. \Yes. Good night! I think Im\ \Too bad,\ said Hibbs, gt‘fally, walking to the door with the visitor, while Edith stood staring as the two disappeared in the hall. She beard \The Realty company'll go right on Hibbs offering to \help\ I.:tinhorn with just the same,\ he said. \It's like— his overcoat and the latter rather curt - It's like sand, mamma. It puts me in ly declining assfetance. these episodes mind of chuldren Masan' in a sand- of departure being followed by the pile. One of 'em sticks his finger in closing of the outer door. She ran Into the sand -pile and makes a hole, and the hall. another of 'em 'II pat the place with \What's the matter with your' she his hand, and all the little grains of sand run in and fill 'it up and set- tle against one another; and then, right away 'it's flat on top again, and you can't tell there ever was a hole there. The Realty company 'II go on all right. mamma. There ain't any - things anywhere, I reckon, that wouldn't go right on—just the same.\ And be passed out slowly into the hall; then they heard his heavy tread upon the stairs. Mrs. Sheridan rising to follow him, turned a piteous face to her son. \It's ought to been more considerate.\ so forlorn,\ she said. chokingly. \That's Bibbs smiled faintly, noting that the first time he spoke since he came Edith's door was open, with Edith's In the house this evening. I know it naive shadow motionless across its must 'a' hurt him to hear Edith threshold. \Yes he said. \He' doesn't laughin' with that Lamborn. She'd appear to be much of a 'man's man.' oughtn't to let him come, right the very He ran at just a glimpse of one.\ first evening this way; she'd oughtn't Edith's shadow moved; her voice to done it! She just seems to lose her head over him, and it scares me. You heard what Sibyl 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 as if They Looked Up in No Welcoming Manner, movin' up to this new house had brought us awful bad luck! It seares me!\ She put both her hands over her face. \Oh Bibbs, Itibbsl if you only wasn't so queer! If you cola.] only been a kind of dependable son! I 1 nrt know what we're all comin' to:\ A:A, weeping, she followed her hugband. `India gazed for a while at the fire: then he rose abruptly, like a man who 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 in no welcoming manner, at Bibbs' entrance, and moved their chairs to a less con- spicuous adjacency. \Good evening,\ said MM, pleas - Lamborn, cried, furiously. \What do you mean? How did you dare come in here when you knew—\ Iler voice broke; she made a gesture of rage and despair, and ran up the stairs, sobbing. She fled to her moth- er's room, and when Ilibbs canal l up, a few minutes later, Mrs. Sheridan met him at his door. \Oh ilibba.\ she said, shaking her head woefully, \you'd oughtn't to dis- tress your sister? She says you drove that young man out of the house. You'd came quavering: \You call yourself one?\ \No no,\ be answered. \I said 'just a glimpse of one.' I didn't claim—\ But her door slammed augrily; and be turned to his mother. \There he said. sighing. \That's almost the first time In my life I ever tried to be a man of action, mother. and I succeeded perfectly in what 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 too rough, 'Ebbs.\ Ile looked upon her wanly. \That's my trouble. mother.\ he murmured. \I'm a plain, blunt fellow. I have rough ways, and I'm a rough man.\ For once she perceived some mean- ing In his queerness. \Hush your non- sense!\ she sail, good-naturedly, the astral of a troubled smile appearing. \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 mis- apprehension,\ he warned her, when they were alone in the dining room. \Do what under a what?\ she asked. \Speak to we. I came into the Smoking room last night 'on purpose,'\ he told her. gravely. \I have a preju- dice against that young man.\ She laughed. \I guess you think it means a great deal who you have prejudices against!\ In mockery she adopted the manner of one who im- plores. \Bibbs. for pity's sake promise me, don't use your influence with papa against him!\ And idle laughed louder. \Listen he sail. with pecu:iar earn- estness. \I•:1 tell you now. 'IseCIIIISO— because I've dedded I'm one of the family.\ And then, as If the earnest- ness were too heavy for film to carry it further, he continued, in his usual tone, \I'm druillwith power, Edith.\ ''What do you want to tell toe?' she demanded, brusquely. \Lamborn made love to Sibyl,\ he said. Edith hooted. \She did to him:\ \No he said. gravely. \I /now.\ \flow?\ - I was there, one day a week ago, with Roscoe, and I heard Sibyl and Lamhorti—\ Edith screamed with laughter. \You were with Roscoe—and you heard Lamborn making hove to Sibyl!\ \No. I heard them quarreling.\ \You're funnier than ever, Bibb'!\ sbe cried. \You say he made hove to Edith stopped laughing abruptly, but continued her mockery. \You ought to know. You've had no much experi- ence. yourself!\ \I haven't any, Edith,\ be said. \My life has been about as exciting as an 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 know \Your Father Telephoned Me Yester- day Afternoon.\ what effect such stuff would have up- on inel\ She rose. vis:bly agitates]. - What if it was true?\ she demanded, bitterly. \What if It was true a hun- dred times over? You sit there with your slily face half ready to giggle and half ready to sniffle, and tell me stories like that, about Sibyl picking on Bobby Lamborn and worrying hint to death. and you think It matters to me? What if I already knew all about their 'quar- reling'? What If I understood why she—\ She broke off with a violent gesture, a sweep of her arm extended at full length, as if she hurled some- thing to the ground. \Do you think a girl that really cared for a man would pay any 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 be nodded slowly, as if she had spoken and he meant to agree with what she said. \Ah yes,\ be said. \I won't come Into the smoking room again. I'm sorry, Edith. Nobody can make you see anything now. You'll never see until you see for yourself. The rest of us will do better to keep out of it— especially me!\ \That's sensible,\ she responded, curtly. \You're most surprising of all when you're sensible, Bibbs.\ \Yep he sighed. ...I'm a dull, dog._ Shake hands and foegive me, Edith.\ Thawing so far as to smile, she un- derwent this brief ceremony, and George appeared, summoning Bibbs to the library; Doctor Gurney was wait- ing there, he announced. And Bibbs gave his sister a shy but friendly touch upon the shoulder as a complement to the handshaking, and left her. Doctor Gurney was sitting by the log fire, alone in the room, and be merely glanced over his shoulder when his patient came in. Ile was not over fifty. In spite of Sheridan's habitual \ole Doc Gurney.\ He was gray, how- ever, almost as thin as Bibbs, and nearly always he looked drowsy. \Your father telephoned me yester- day afternoon, Bibbs,\ he said, not ris- ing. \Wants we to 'look you over' again. Come around here in front of me—between me and the fire. I want to see if I can see through you.\ \You mean you're too sleepy to move,\ returnee Bibbs, complying. \I think you'll rotice 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 much better Fll have to use some machinery oii you before we can know just where you are. You come down to my p:ace this afternoon. Walk down—all the u - 3y. I suppose you know why your father wants to know.\ Bibbs nodded. \Machine shop.\ - Still bate it?\ Midis nodded ar, in. eii,aft blame you:\ the doCtor grunt- ed. •'Yes, I expect it'll make a lump in your gizzard again. Well, what do you say? Shall I tell hint you've got the old lump there yet? You still want to xvt•te. do your' \What's the use?\ Baths said, stall- ing rueftilly. \My kind of writing:\ - Yes.\ the doctor agreed. \I suppose if you broke away and lived on roots and berries until you began to 'attract the favorable attention of editors' you might be able to hope for an income of four or five ensnared del!ars a year by the time you're fifty.\ \That's about it,\ Flibba murmurod I \Of course I know what you want to do,\ said Gurney, drowsily, \You don't bate the machine shop only; you hate the whole show—the noise and Jar and dirt, the scramble—the whole bloomint craze to 'get on.' You'd like to go somewhere in Algiers, or to Taormina, perhaps, and bask on a balcony, swell- ing flowers and writing Sonnets. You'd grow fat on it and have a delicate lit- tle life all to yourself. Well, what do you say? I can lie like sixty, Bibbsi Shall I tell your father he'll lose an- other of 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 his patient a sharp glance. \It's a risk,\ he said. \I think we'll find you're so much bet- ter he'll send you back to the shop pretty quick. Something's got hold of you lately; you're not quite so lack- adaisical as you used to be. But I warn you: I think the shop will knock you just as it did before, and perhaps ever harder, Bibbs.\ Ile rose, shook himself, and rubbed his eyelids. \Well when we go over you this afternoon what are we going to say about it?\ \Tell him I'm ready,\ said Hibbs, looking at the floor. \Oh no.\ Gurney laughed: \Not quite yet; but you may be almost. We'll see. Don't forget I said to walk down.\ And when the examination was con- cluded, that afternoon, the doctor in- formed Hibbs that the result was much too satisfactory to be pleasing. \Here's a new 'situation' for a one -act farce,\ he said, gloomily, to his next patient when Hibbs had gone. \Doctor tells a man he's well, and that's hls death sentence, likely. Dam' funny world!\ Ilibtls decided to walk home. It was a dingy afternoon, and the smoke was evident not only to Bibbs' sight, but to his nostrils, though most of the pedes- trians were so saturated with the smell that they could no longer detect it. This incited a train of thought which continued till he approached the new house. As he came to the corner of Mr. Vertrees' lot Mr. Vertrees' daugh- ter emerged from the front door and walk-et thoughtfully down the path to the picket gate. She was 1211C011SCJOU8 of the approach of the pedestrian and did not see him until she had openk Ow gate and he was almost beside her. Then she looked up, and as she saw him she started visibly. And if this thing had happened to Robert Lam- born, he would have had a thought far beyond the horizon of faint-hearted Hibbs' thoughts. Lamborn, indeed, would have spoken his thought. He would have said: \You jumped because you ''sver• thinking of me!\ CHAPTER XIV. Mary was the picture of a lady flus- tered. LIMB had paused in his slow stride, and there elapsed an instant be- fore either spoke or moved—it was no longer than that, and yet it sufficed for each to seem to say, by look and at- titude, \Why it's you!\ Then they both spoke at once, each hurriedly pronouncing the other's name as if about to deliver a mes- sage of importance. Then both came to a stop simultaneously, but Bibbs made a heroic effort, and as they be- gan to walk on together he contrived to find his voice. \1-1—hate a frozen fish myself. ° be said. \I think three miles was too long for you to put up with one.\ \Good gracious!\ she cried, turning to him a glowing face from which restraint and embarrassment had sud- denly fled.- \Mr. Sheridan.- you're lovely to put It that way. It was an Imposition for me to have made you bring me home, and after I went Into the house I decided I should have walked. Besides. It wasn't three miles to the car line. I never thought of it!\ \No said Bibbs. earnestly. \I didn't, either. I might have said some- thing if I'd thought of anything. I'm talking now, though; I must remember that, and not worry about It Inter. I think I'm talking, though it doesn't sound intelligent even to me. I made up my mind that if I ever met you again I'd turn on my voice and keep it going, no matter what it said. I—\ She interrupted him with laughter. and Mary Vertrees' laugh was one which Bibbs' fattier had declared, after the house-warming, \a cripple would crawl [lye miles to hear.\ And at the merry lilting of it Bibbs' father's son took heart to forget some of his trepi- dation. \I'll be any kind of idiot.\ he said. \If you'll laugh at me some more. It won't be difficult for me.\ She did; and Bibbs' cheeks showed a little actual color, which Mary per- ceived. They had passed the new house without either of them showing—or possessing—any consciousness that it had been the destination of one of them. \I'll keep on talking,\ Bibbs con- tinued, cheerfully. \and you keep on laughing. I'm amounting to something in the world this afternoon. I'm mak- ing a noise, and that makes you make WRAC. Don't he bothered by my bleat- ing. out such things as that. I'm real - If frightened. I don't remember talk - big as litueli as this more than once or twice in my life. I suppose it was always In me to do it, though, the first time I met anyone who didn't know me well enough not to listen.\ \But you're not really talking to me,\ said Mary. \You're just think- ing aloud.\ Do you think that Mary's warm friendship for Bibbs will help him to endure the machine shop long enough to Impress his father with hip usefulness In #1 better job' (TC BE CONTINUED.)
