"You go on back to your work," he said. "I've had worse snips than
that from a pencil-sharpener."
"Oh no, you haven't!" said Gurney.
"I have, too!" Sheridan retorted, angrily. "Bibbs, you go on back
to your work. There's no reason to stand around here watchin' ole
Doc Gurney tryin' to keep himself awake workin' on a scratch that
only needs a little court-plaster. I slipped, or it wouldn't
happened. You get back on your job."
"All right," said Bibbs.
"HERE!" Sheridan bellowed, as his son was passing out of the door.
"You watch out when you're runnin' that machine! You hear what I say?
I slipped, or I wouldn't got scratched, but you--YOU'RE liable to get
your whole hand cut off! You keep your eyes open!"
"Yes, sir." And Bibbs returned to the zinc-eater thoughtfully.
Half an hour later, Gurney touched him on the shoulder and beckoned
him outside, where conversation was possible. "I sent him home,
Bibbs. He'll have to be careful of that hand. Go get your overalls
off. I'll take you for a drive and leave you at home."
"Can't," said Bibbs. "Got to stick to my job till the whistle blows."
"No, you don't," the doctor returned, smothering a yawn.
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