Sheridan broke with a little sniff, having 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 difficulty in following her train of
thought, for he nodded once more, affirmatively.
"Did you--How did you fix it about the--the Realty Company?" she
faltered. "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. "I moved Cantwell up, and
put Johnston in Cantwell's place, and split up Johnston's work among
the four men with salaries high enough to take it." He went to her,
put his hand upon her shoulder, and drew a long, audible, tremulous
breath. "It's my bedtime, mamma; I'm goin' up." He dropped the hand
from her shoulder and moved slowly away, but when he reached the door
he stopped and spoke again, without turning to look at her. "The
Realty Company'll go right on just the same," he said. "It's like--
it's like sand, mamma. It puts me in mind of chuldern playin' in a
sand-pile. One of 'em sticks his finger in the sand and makes a
hole, and another of 'em'll pat the place with his hand, and all the
little grains of sand run in and fill it up and settle against one
another; and then, right away it's flat on top again, and you can't
tell there ever was a hole there.
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