Bibbs went in and stood
before him. "I'm cured, father," he said. "When do I go back to
the shop? I'm ready."
The desolate and grim old man did not relax. "I was sittin' up to
give you a last chance to say something like that. I reckon it's
about time! I just wanted to see if you'd have manhood enough not
to make me take you over there by the collar. Last night I made up
my mind I'd give you just one more day. Well, you got to it before
I did--pretty close to the eleventh hour! All right. Start in
to-morrow. It's the first o' the month. Think you can get up in
time?"
"Six o'clock," Bibbs responded, briskly. "And I want to tell you--
I'm going in a 'cheerful spirit.' As you said, I'll go and I'll
'like it'!"
"That's YOUR lookout!" his father grunted. "They'll put you back on
the clippin'-machine. You get nine dollars a week."
"More than I'm worth, too," said Bibbs, cheerily. "That reminds me,
I didn't mean YOU by 'Midas' in that nonsense I'd been writing. I
meant--"
"Makes a hell of a lot o' difference what you meant!"
"I just wanted you to know. Good night, father."
"G'night!"
The sound of the young man's footsteps ascending the stairs became
inaudible, and the house was quiet.
Pages:
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259