The Turmoil Booth Tarkington (best reads .txt) 📖

months ago, but all the time I was ready to bust, and didn’t know it. Now, then, I don’t want you to blame Sibyl, and if I were you I wouldn’t speak of her as ‘that woman,’ because she’s your daughter-in-law and going to stay that way. She didn’t do anything wicked. It was a shock to me, and I don’t deny it, to find what she had done⁠—encouraging that fellow to hang around her after he began trying to flirt with her, and losing her head over him the way she did. I don’t deny it was a shock and that it’ll always be a hurt inside of me I’ll never get over. But it was my fault; I didn’t understand a woman’s nature.” Poor Roscoe spoke in the most profound and desolate earnest. “A woman craves society, and gaiety, and meeting attractive people, and traveling. Well, I can’t give her the other things, but I can give her the traveling⁠—real traveling, not just going to Atlantic City or New Orleans, the way she has, two, three times. A woman has to have something in her life besides a business man. And that’s all I was. I never understood till I heard her talking when she was so sick, and I believe if you’d heard her then you wouldn’t speak so hard-heartedly about her; I believe you might have forgiven her like I have. That’s all. I never cared anything for any girl but her in my life, but I was so busy with business I put it ahead of her. I never thought about her, I was so busy thinking business. Well, this is where it’s brought us to⁠—and now when you talk about ‘business’ to me I feel the way you do when anybody talks about Gurney to you. The word ‘business’ makes me dizzy⁠—it makes me honestly sick at the stomach. I believe if I had to go downtown and step inside that office door I’d fall down on the floor, deathly sick. You talk about a ‘month’s vacation’⁠—and I get just as sick. I’m rattled⁠—I can’t plan⁠—I haven’t got any plans⁠—can’t make any, except to take my girl and get just as far away from that office as I can⁠—and stay. We’re going to Japan first, and if we⁠—”

His father rustled the paper. “I said goodbye, Roscoe.”

“Goodbye,” said Roscoe, listlessly.

XXIV

Sheridan waited until he heard the sound of the outer door closing; then he rose and pushed a tiny disk set in the wall. Jackson appeared.

“Has Bibbs got home from work?”

“Mist’ Bibbs? No, suh.”

“Tell him I want to see him, soon as he comes.”

“Yessuh.”

Sheridan returned to his chair and fixed his attention fiercely upon the newspaper. He found it difficult to pursue the items beyond their explanatory rubrics⁠—there was nothing unusual or startling to concentrate his attention:

“Motorman Puts Blame on Brakes. Three Killed when Car Slides.” “Burglars Make Big Haul.” “Board Works Approve Big Car-line Extension.” “Holdup Men Injure Two. Man Found in Alley, Skull Fractured.” “Sickening Story Told in Divorce Court.” “Plan New Eighteen-story Structure.” “Schoolgirl Meets Death under Automobile.” “Negro Cuts Three. One Dead.” “Life Crushed Out. Third Elevator Accident in Same Building Causes Action by Coroner.” “Declare Militia will be Menace. Polish Societies Protest to Governor in Church Rioting Case.” “Short $3,500 in Accounts, Trusted Man Kills Self with Drug.” “Found Frozen. Family Without Food or Fuel. Baby Dead when Parents Return Home from Seeking Work.” “Minister Returned from Trip Abroad Lectures on Big Future of Our City. Sees Big Improvement during Short Absence. Says No European City Holds Candle.” (Sheridan nodded approvingly here.)

Bibbs came through the hall whistling, and entered the room briskly. “Well, father, did you want me?”

“Yes. Sit down.” Sheridan got up, and Bibbs took a seat by the fire, holding out his hands to the crackling blaze, for it was cold outdoors.

“I came within seven of the shop record today,” he said. “I handled more strips than any other workman has any day this month. The nearest to me is sixteen behind.”

“There!” exclaimed his father, greatly pleased. “What’d I tell you? I’d like to hear Gurney hint again that I wasn’t right in sending you there⁠—I would just like to hear him! And you⁠—ain’t you ashamed of makin’ such a fuss about it? Ain’t you?”

“I didn’t go at it in the right spirit the other time,” Bibbs said, smiling brightly, his face ruddy in the cheerful firelight. “I didn’t know the difference it meant to like a thing.”

“Well, I guess I’ve pretty thoroughly vindicated my judgement. I guess I have! I said the shop’d be good for you, and it was. I said it wouldn’t hurt you, and it hasn’t. It’s been just exactly what I said it would be. Ain’t that so?”

“Looks like it!” Bibbs agreed, gaily.

“Well, I’d like to know any place I been wrong, first and last! Instead o’ hurting you, it’s been the makin’ of you⁠—physically. You’re a good inch taller’n what I am, and you’d be a bigger man than what I am if you’d get some flesh on your bones; and you are gettin’ a little. Physically, it’s started you out to be the huskiest one o’ the whole family. Now, then, mentally⁠—that’s different. I don’t say it unkindly, Bibbs, but you got to do something for yourself mentally, just like what’s begun physically. And I’m goin’ to help you.”

Sheridan decided to sit down again. He brought his chair close to his son’s, and, leaning over, tapped Bibbs’s knee confidentially. “I got plans for you, Bibbs,” he said.

Bibbs instantly looked thoroughly alarmed. He drew back. “I⁠—I’m all right now, father.”

“Listen.” Sheridan settled himself in his chair, and spoke in the tone of a reasonable man reasoning. “Listen here, Bibbs. I had another blow today, and it was a hard one and right in the face, though I have been expectin’ it some little time back. Well, it’s got to be met. Now I’ll be frank with you.