"
Mrs. Sheridan tossed her head fretfully upon the pillow. "You did the
best you could, papa," she said, impatiently, "so come to bed and quit
reproachin' yourself for it."
He glared at her indignantly. "Reproachin' myself!" he snorted.
"I ain't doin' anything of the kind! What in the name o' goodness
would I want to reproach myself for? And it wasn't the 'best I
could,' either. It was the best ANYBODY could! I was givin' him
a chance to show what was in him and make a man of himself--and here
he goes and gets 'nervous dyspepsia' on me!"
He went to the old-fashioned gas-fixture, turned out the light,
and muttered his way morosely into bed.
"What?" said his wife, crossly, bothered by a subsequent mumbling.
"More like hook-worm, I said," he explained, speaking louder. "I
don't know what to do with him!"
CHAPTER III
Beginning at the beginning and learning from the ground up was a long
course for Bibbs at the sanitarium, with milk and "zwieback" as the
basis of instruction; and the months were many and tiresome before
he was considered near enough graduation to go for a walk leaning on
a nurse and a cane. These and subsequent months saw the planning,
the building, and the completion of the New House; and it was to that
abode of Bigness that Bibbs was brought when the cane, without the
nurse, was found sufficient to his support.
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