" Having
read the legend, Sheridan walked up and down the spacious office,
exhaling the breath of contempt. "Dam' fool!" he mumbled. But
this was no new thought, nor was the contrariness of Bibbs's notes
a surpise to him; and presently he dismissed the matter from his
mind.
He felt very lonely, and this was, daily, his hardest hour. For
a long time he and Jim had lunched together habitually. Roscoe
preferred a club luncheon, but Jim and his father almost always went
to a small restaurant near the Sheridan Building, where they spent
twenty minutes in the consumption of food, and twenty in talk, with
cigars. Jim came for his father every day, at five minutes after
twelve, and Sheridan was again in his office at five minutes before
one. But now that Jim no longer came, Sheridan remained alone in
his office; he had not gone out to lunch since Jim's death, nor did
he have anything sent to him--he fasted until evening.
It was the time he missed Jim personally the most--the voice and eyes
and handshake, all brisk and alert, all business-like. But these
things were not the keenest in Sheridan's grief; his sense of loss
went far deeper. Roscoe was dependable, a steady old wheel-horse, and
that was a great comfort; but it was in Jim that Sheridan had most
happily perceived his own likeness.
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