The Turmoil Booth Tarkington (best reads .txt) đ
- Author: Booth Tarkington
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Sheridan looked sarcastic. âFine! What we goinâ to do for storage-rooms while weâre waitinâ for those few bricks to be laid?â
âRent,â Bibbs returned, promptly. âWeâll lose money if we donât rent, anyhowâ âthey were waiting so long for you to give the warehouse matter your attention after the roof fell. You donât know what an amount of stuff theyâve got piled up on us over there. Weâd have to rent until we could patch up those process perilsâ âand the Krivitch Manufacturing Companyâs plant is empty, right across the street. I took an option on it for us this morning.â
Sheridanâs expression was queer. âLook here!â he said, sharply. âDid you go and do that without consulting me?â
âIt didnât cost anything,â said Bibbs. âItâs only until tomorrow afternoon at two oâclock. I undertook to convince you before then.â
âOh, you did?â Sheridanâs tone was sardonic. âWell, just suppose you couldnât convince me.â
âI can, thoughâ âand I intend to,â said Bibbs, quietly. âI donât think you understand the condition of those buildings you want patched up.â
âNow, see here,â said Sheridan, with slow emphasis; âsuppose I had my mind set about this. Jim thought theyâd stand, and suppose it wasâ âwell, kind of a matter of sentiment with me to prove he was right.â
Bibbs looked at him compassionately. âIâm sorry if you have a sentiment about it, father,â he said. âBut whether you have or not canât make a difference. Youâll get other people hurt if you trust that process, and that wonât do. And if you want a monument to Jim, at least you want one that will stand. Besides, I donât think you can reasonably defend sentiment in this particular kind of affair.â
âOh, you donât?â
âNo, but Iâm sorry you didnât tell me you felt it.â
Sheridan was puzzled by his sonâs tone. âWhy are you âsorryâ?â he asked, curiously.
âBecause I had the building inspector up there, this noon,â said Bibbs, âand I had him condemn both those buildings.â
âWhat?â
âHeâd been afraid to do it before, until he heard from usâ âafraid youâd see he lost his job. But he canât un-condemn themâ âtheyâve got to come down now.â
Sheridan gave him a long and piercing stare from beneath lowered brows. Finally he said, âHow long did they give you on that option to convince me?â
âUntil two oâclock tomorrow afternoon.â
âAll right,â said Sheridan, not relaxing. âIâm convinced.â
Bibbs jumped up. âI thought you would be. Iâll telephone the Krivitch agent. He gave me the option until tomorrow, but I told him Iâd settle it this evening.â
Sheridan gazed after him as he left the room, and then, though his expression did not alter in the slightest, a sound came from him that startled his wife. It had been a long time since she had heard anything resembling a chuckle from him, and this soundâ âalthough it was grim and dryâ âbore that resemblance.
She brightened eagerly. âLooks like he was startinâ right well donât it, papa?â
âStartinâ? Lord! He got me on the hip! Why, he knew what I wantedâ âthatâs why he had the inspector up there, soât heâd have me beat before we even started to talk about it. And did you hear him? âCanât reasonably defend sentiment!â And the way he says âUsâ: âTook an option for Usâ! âStuff piled up on Usâ!â
There was always an alloy for Mrs. Sheridan. âI donât just like the way he looks, though, papa.â
âOh, thereâs got to be something! Only one chick left at home, so you start to frettinâ about it!â
âNo. Heâs changed. Thereâs kind of a settish look to his face, andâ ââ
âI guess thatâs the common sense cominâ out on him, then,â said Sheridan. âYouâll see symptoms like that in a good many business men, I expect.â
âWell, and he donât have as good color as he was gettinâ before. And heâd begun to fill out some, butâ ââ
Sheridan gave forth another dry chuckle, and, going round the table to her, patted her upon the shoulder with his left hand, his right being still heavily bandaged, though he no longer wore a sling. âThatâs the way it is with you, mammaâ âgot to take your frettinâ out one way if you donât another!â
âNo. He donât look well. It ainât exactly the way he looked when he begun to get sick that time, but he kind oâ seems to be losinâ, some way.â
âYes, he may âaâ lost something,â said Sheridan. âI expect heâs lost a whole lot oâ foolishness besides his Godforsaken notions about writinâ poetry andâ ââ
âNo,â his wife persisted. âI mean he looks right peakid. And yesterday, when he was settinâ with us, he kept lookinâ out the window. He wasnât readinâ.â
âWell, why shouldnât he look out the window?â
âHe was lookinâ over there. He never read a word all afternoon, I donât believe.â
âLook, here!â said Sheridan. âBibbs might âaâ kept goinâ on over there the rest of his life, mooninâ on and on, but what he heard Sibyl say did one big thing, anyway. It woke him up out of his trance. Well, he had to go and bust clean out with a bang; and that stopped his goinâ over there, and it stopped his poetry, but I reckon heâs begun to get pretty fair pay for what he lost. I guess a good many young men have had to get over worries like his; they got to lose something if theyâre goinâ to keep ahead oâ the procession nowadaysâ âand it kind oâ looks to me, mamma, like Bibbs might keep quite a considerable long way ahead. Why, a year from now Iâll bet you he wonât know there ever was such a thing as poetry! And ainât he funny? He wanted to stick to the shop soâs he could âthinkâ! What he meant was, think about something useless. Well, I guess heâs keepinâ his mind pretty occupied the other way these days. Yes, sir, it took a pretty fair-sized shock to get him out of his trance, but it certainly did the business.â He patted his wifeâs shoulder again, and then, without any prefatory symptoms, broke
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