The Turmoil Booth Tarkington (best reads .txt) 📖

do Bibbs a mighty lot o’ good. ’Course, that’s only what the doctor said. Me, I don’t know anything about that; but I can say this much⁠—I never saw any such a mental improvement in anybody in my life as I have lately in Bibbs. I expect you’d find him a good deal more entertaining than what he used to be⁠—and I know it’s a kind of embarrassing thing to suggest after the way he piled in over here that day to ask you to stand up before the preacher with him, but accordin’ to ole Doc Gurney, he’s got you on his brain so bad⁠—”

Mary jumped. “Mr. Sheridan!” she exclaimed.

He sighed profoundly. “There! I noticed you were gettin’ mad. I didn’t⁠—”

“No, no, no!” she cried. “But I don’t understand⁠—and I think you don’t. What is it you want me to do?”

He sighed again, but this time with relief. “Well, well!” he said. “You’re right. It’ll be easier to talk plain. I ought to known I could with you, all the time. I just hoped you’d let that boy come and see you sometimes, once more. Could you?”

“You don’t understand.” She clasped her hands together in a sorrowful gesture. “Yes, we must talk plain. Bibbs heard that I’d tried to make your oldest son care for me because I was poor, and so Bibbs came and asked me to marry him⁠—because he was sorry for me. And I can’t see him any more,” she cried in distress. “I can’t!”

Sheridan cleared his throat uncomfortably. “You mean because he thought that about you?”

“No, no! What he thought was true!”

“Well⁠—you mean he was so much in⁠—you mean he thought so much of you⁠—” The words were inconceivably awkward upon Sheridan’s tongue; he seemed to be in doubt even about pronouncing them, but after a ghastly pause he bravely repeated them. “You mean he thought so much of you that you just couldn’t stand him around?”

“No! He was sorry for me. He cared for me; he was fond of me; and he’d respected me⁠—too much! In the finest way he loved me, if you like, and he’d have done anything on earth for me, as I would for him, and as he knew I would. It was beautiful, Mr. Sheridan,” she said. “But the cheap, bad things one has done seem always to come back⁠—they wait, and pull you down when you’re happiest. Bibbs found me out, you see; and he wasn’t ‘in love’ with me at all.”

“He wasn’t? Well, it seems to me he gave up everything he wanted to do⁠—it was fool stuff, but he certainly wanted it mighty bad⁠—he just threw it away and walked right up and took the job he swore he never would⁠—just for you. And it looks to me as if a man that’d do that must think quite a heap o’ the girl he does it for! You say it was only because he was sorry, but let me tell you there’s only one girl he could feel that sorry for! Yes, sir!”

“No, no,” she said. “Bibbs isn’t like other men⁠—he would do anything for anybody.”

Sheridan grinned. “Perhaps not so much as you think, nowadays,” he said. “For instance, I got kind of a suspicion he doesn’t believe in sentiment in business. But that’s neither here nor there. What he wanted was, just plain and simple, for you to marry him. Well, I was afraid his thinkin’ so much of you had kind o’ sickened you of him⁠—the way it does sometimes. But from the way you talk, I understand that ain’t the trouble.” He coughed, and his voice trembled a little. “Now here, Miss Vertrees, I don’t have to tell you⁠—because you see things easy⁠—I know I got no business comin’ to you like this, but I had to make Bibbs go my way instead of his own⁠—I had to do it for the sake o’ my business and on his own account, too⁠—and I expect you got some idea how it hurt him to give up. Well, he’s made good. He didn’t come in halfhearted or mean; he came in⁠—all the way! But there isn’t anything in it to him; you can see he’s just shut his teeth on it and goin’ ahead with dust in his mouth. You see, one way of lookin’ at it, he’s got nothin’ to work for. And it seems to me like it cost him your friendship, and I believe⁠—honest⁠—that’s what hurt him the worst. Now you said we’d talk plain. Why can’t you let him come back?”

She covered her face desperately with her hands. “I can’t!”

He rose, defeated, and looking it.

“Well, I mustn’t press you,” he said, gently.

At that she cried out, and dropped her hands and let him see her face. “Ah! He was only sorry for me!”

He gazed at her intently. Mary was proud, but she had a fatal honesty, and it confessed the truth of her now; she was helpless. It was so clear that even Sheridan, marveling and amazed, was able to see it. Then a change came over him; gloom fell from him, and he grew radiant.

“Don’t! Don’t” she cried. “You mustn’t⁠—”

“I won’t tell him,” said Sheridan, from the doorway. “I won’t tell anybody anything!”

XXXIII

There was a heavy town-fog that afternoon, a smoke-mist, densest in the sanctuary of the temple. The people went about in it, busy and dirty, thickening their outside and inside linings of coal-tar, asphalt, sulphurous acid, oil of vitriol, and the other familiar things the men liked to breathe and to have upon their skins and garments and upon their wives and babies and sweethearts. The growth of the city was visible in the smoke and the noise and the rush. There was more smoke than there had been this day of February a year earlier; there was more noise; and the crowds were thicker⁠—yet quicker in spite of that. The traffic policeman had a hard time, for the people were independent⁠—they retained some