Two men came
from the crowd behind her, talking earnestly, and started across.
Both wore black; one was tall and broad and thick, and the other
was taller, but noticeably slender. And Mary caught her breath, for
they were Bibbs and his father. They did not see her, and she caught
a phrase in Bibbs's mellow voice, which had taken a crisper ring:
"Sixty-eight thousand dollars? Not sixty-eight thousand buttons!"
It startled her queerly, and as there was a glimpse of his profile
she saw for the first time a resemblance to his father.
She watched them. In the middle of the street Bibbs had to step ahead
of his father, and the two were separated. But the reckless passing
of a truck, beyond the second line of rails, frightened a group of
country women who were in course of passage; they were just in front
of Bibbs, and shoved backward upon him violently. To extricate
himself from them he stepped back, directly in front of a moving
trolley-car--no place for absent-mindedness, but Bibbs was still
absorbed in thoughts concerned with what he had been saying to his
father. There were shrieks and yells; Bibbs looked the wrong way--and
then Mary saw the heavy figure of Sheridan plunge straight forward in
front of the car.
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