“He'd been afraid to do it before, until he heard from us—afraid you'd see he lost his job. But he can't un-condemn them—they've got to come down now.”
Sheridan gave him a long and piercing stare from beneath lowered brows. Finally he said, “How long did they give you on that option to convince me?”
“Until two o'clock to-morrow afternoon.”
“All right,” said Sheridan, not relaxing. “I'm convinced.”
Bibbs jumped up. “I thought you would be. I'll telephone the Krivitch agent. He gave me the option until to-morrow, but I told him I'd settle it this evening.”
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 sound—although it was grim and dry—bore that resemblance.
She brightened eagerly. “Looks like he was startin' right well don't it, papa?”
“Startin'? Lord! He got me on the hip! Why, HE knew what I wanted—that's why he had the inspector up there, so't he'd have me beat before we even started to talk about it. And did you hear him? 'Can't reasonably defend SENTIMENT!' And the way he says 'Us': 'Took an option for Us'! 'Stuff piled up on Us'!”
There was always an alloy for Mrs. Sheridan. “I don't just like the way he looks, though, papa.”
“Oh, there's got to be something! Only one chick left at home, so you start to frettin' about IT!”