"It's
enough. I shouldn't mind at all."
"Who's payin' you that nine dollars a week?"
"My work!" Bibbs answered. "And I've done so well on that clipping-
machine I believe I could work up to fifteen or even twenty a week
at another job. I could be a fair plumber in a few months, I'm sure.
I'd rather have a trade than be in business--I should, infinitely!"
"You better set about learnin' one pretty dam' quick!" But Sheridan
struggled with his temper and again was partially successful in
controlling it. "You better learn a trade over Sunday, because you're
either goin' down with me to my office Monday morning--or--you can go
to plumbing!"
"All right," said Bibbs, gently. "I can get along."
Sheridan raised his hands sardonically, as in prayer. "O God," he
said, "this boy was crazy enough before he began to earn his nine
dollars a week, and now his money's gone to his head! Can't You do
nothin' for him?" Then he flung his hands apart, palms outward, in
a furious gesture of dismissal. "Get out o' this room! You got a
skull that's thicker'n a whale's thigh-bone, but it's cracked spang
all the way across! You hated the machine-shop so bad when I sent you
there, you went and stayed sick for over two years--and now, when I
offer to take you out of it and give you the mint, you holler for the
shop like a calf for its mammy! You're cracked! Oh, but I got a fine
layout here! One son died, one quit, and one's a loon! The loon's
all I got left! H.
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