"You know wh' I think?" he went on. "I think Bibbs only one the
fam'ly any 'telligence at all. Won' work, an' di'n' get married.
Jim worked, an' he got killed. I worked, an' I got married. Look
at me! Jus' look at me, I ask you. Fine 'dustriss young business
man. Look whass happen' to me! Fine!" He lifted his hand from
the sustaining chair in a deplorable gesture, and, immediately
losing his balance, fell across the chair and caromed to the floor
with a crash, remaining prostrate for several minutes, during which
Sheridan did not relax his apparent attention to the newspaper.
He did not even look round at the sound of Roscoe's fall.
Roscoe slowly climbed to an upright position, pulling himself up
by holding to the chair. He was slightly sobered outwardly, having
progressed in the prostrate interval to a state of befuddlement less
volatile. He rubbed his dazed eyes with the back of his left hand.
"What--what you ask me while ago?" he said.
"Nothin'."
"Yes, you did. What--what was it?"
"Nothin'. You better sit down."
"You ask' me what I thought about Lamhorn. You did ask me that.
Well, I won't tell you. I won't say dam' word 'bout him!"
The telephone-bell tinkled.
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