He was a sleeper clinging to a dream
--a rough hand stretched to shake him and waken him. He went to a
table and made vague drawings upon it with a finger, and as he spoke
he kept his eyes lowered. "You weren't altogether right about the
shop--that is, in one way you weren't, father." He glanced up
apprehensively. Sheridan stood facing him, expressionless, and made
no attempt to interrupt. "That's difficult to explain," Bibbs
continued, lowering his eyes again, to follow the tracings of his
finger. "I--I believe the shop might have done for me this time if
I hadn't--if something hadn't helped me to--oh, not only to bear it,
but to be happy in it. Well, I AM happy in it. I want to go on just
as I am. And of all things on earth that I don't want, I don't want
to live a business life--I don't want to be drawn into it. I don't
think it IS living--and now I AM living. I have the healthful toil
--and I can think. In business as important as yours I couldn't think
anything but business. I don't--I don't think making money is worth
while."
"Go on," said Sheridan, curtly, as Bibbs paused timidly.
"It hasn't seemed to get anywhere, that I can see," said Bibbs.
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