“I don't want it, father. I thank you—I do thank you—”
Sheridan looked perplexed. “What's the matter with you? Didn't you understand what I was tellin' you?”
“Yes.”
“You sure? I reckon you didn't. I offered—”
“I know, I know! But I can't take it.”
“What's the matter with you?” Sheridan was half amazed, half suspicious. “Your head feel funny?”
“I've never been quite so sane in my life,” said Bibbs, “as I have lately. And I've got just what I want. I'm living exactly the right life. I'm earning my daily bread, and I'm happy in doing it. My wages are enough. I don't want any more money, and I don't deserve any—”
“Damnation!” Sheridan sprang up. “You've turned Socialist! You been listening to those fellows down there, and you—”
“No, sir. I think there's a great deal in what they say, but that isn't it.”
Sheridan tried to restrain his growing fury, and succeeded partially. “Then what is it? What's the matter?”