Sheridan looked both helpless and frightened. "No."
She shook her head decidedly. "It wouldn't do any good."
"You won't try it?"
"I won't risk her turnin' me out o' the house. Some way, that's what
I believe she did to Sibyl, from what Roscoe said once. No, I CAN'T
--and, what's more, it'd only make things worse. If people find out
you're runnin' after 'em they think you're cheap, and then they won't
do as much for you as if you let 'em alone. I don't believe it's any
use, and I couldn't do it if it was."
He sighed with resignation. "All right, mamma. That's all." Then,
in a livelier tone, he said: "Ole Gurney took the bandages off my
hand this morning. All healed up. Says I don't need 'em any more."
"Why, that's splendid, papa!" she cried, beaming. "I was afraid--
Let's see."
She came toward him, but he rose, still keeping his hand in his
pocket. "Wait a minute," he said, smiling. "Now it may give you just
a teeny bit of a shock, but the fact is--well, you remember that
Sunday when Sibyl came over here and made all that fuss about nothin'
--it was the day after I got tired o' that statue when Edith's
telegram came--"
"Let me see your hand!" she cried.
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