"I heard you tell Jim," he began, in his slow way. "You
said you'd send him to the machine-shop with me if he didn't propose
to Miss Vertrees. So I suppose that must be your plan for me. But--"
"But what?" said Sheridan, irritably, as the son paused.
"Isn't there somebody you'd let ME propose to?"
That brought his father sharply round to face him. "You beat the
devil! Bibbs, what IS the matter with you? Why can't you be like
anybody else?"
"Liver, maybe," said Bibbs, gently.
"Boh! Even ole Doc Gurney says there's nothin' wrong with you
organically. No. You're a dreamer, Bibbs; that's what's the matter,
and that's ALL the matter. Oh, not one o' these BIG dreamers that put
through the big deals! No, sir! You're the kind o' dreamer that
just sets out on the back fence and thinks about how much trouble
there must be in the world! That ain't the kind that builds the
bridges, Bibbs; it's the kind that borrows fifteen cents from his
wife's uncle's brother-in-law to get ten cent's worth o' plug tobacco
and a nickel's worth o' quinine!"
He put the finishing touch on this etching with a snort, and turned
again to the window.
"Look out there!" he bade his son.
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