The lid of his trunk stood open, and the
large upper tray, which she remembered to have seen full of papers
and note-books, was empty. And somehow she understood that Bibbs
had given up the mysterious vocation he had hoped to follow--and
that he had given it up for ever. She thought it was the wisest
thing he could have done--and yet, for an unknown reason, she sat
upon the bed and wept a little before she went down-stairs.
So Sheridan had his way with Bibbs, all through.
CHAPTER XXIX
As Bibbs came out of the New House, a Sunday trio was in course of
passage upon the sidewalk: an ample young woman, placid of face;
a black-clad, thin young man, whose expression was one of habitual
anxiety, habitual wariness and habitual eagerness. He propelled a
perambulator containing the third--and all three were newly cleaned,
Sundayfied, and made fit to dine with the wife's relatives.
"How'd you like for me to be THAT young fella, mamma?" the husband
whispered. "He's one of the sons, and there ain't but two left
now."
The wife stared curiously at Bibbs. "Well, I don't know," she
returned. "He looks to me like he had his own troubles."
"I expect he has, like anybody else," said the young husband, "but
I guess we could stand a good deal if we had his money.
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