“It didn't cost anything,” said Bibbs. “It's only until to-morrow afternoon at two o'clock. I undertook to convince you before then.”
“Oh, you did?” Sheridan's tone was sardonic. “Well, just suppose you couldn't convince me.”
“I can, though—and I intend to,” said Bibbs, quietly. “I don't think you understand the condition of those buildings you want patched up.”
“Now, see here,” said Sheridan, with slow emphasis; “suppose I had my mind set about this. JIM thought they'd stand, and suppose it was—well, kind of a matter of sentiment with me to prove he was right.”
Bibbs looked at him compassionately. “I'm sorry if you have a sentiment about it, father,” he said. “But whether you have or not can't make a difference. You'll get other people hurt if you trust that process, and that won't do. And if you want a monument to Jim, at least you want one that will stand. Besides, I don't think you can reasonably defend sentiment in this particular kind of affair.”
“Oh, you don't?”
“No, but I'm sorry you didn't tell me you felt it.”
Sheridan was puzzled by his son's tone. “Why are you 'sorry'?” he asked, curiously.
“Because I had the building inspector up there, this noon,” said Bibbs, “and I had him condemn both those buildings.”
“What?”