“Well, one day I an' ole Doc Gurney, we were in there, and I undertook to show Bibbs how to run his machine. He told me to look out, but I wouldn't listen, and I didn't look out—and that's how I got my hand hurt, tryin' to show Bibbs how to do something he knew how to do and I didn't. Made me so mad I just wouldn't even admit to myself it WAS hurt—and so, by and by, ole Doc Gurney had to take kind o' radical measures with me. He's a right good doctor, too. Don't you think so, Miss Vertrees?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, he is so!” Sheridan now had the air of a rambling talker and gossip with all day on his hands. “Take him on Bibbs's case. I was talkin' about Bibbs's case with him this morning. Well, you'd laugh to hear the way ole Gurney talks about THAT! 'Course he IS just as much a friend as he is doctor—and he takes as much interest in Bibbs as if he was in the family. He says Bibbs isn't anyways bad off YET; and he thinks he could stand the pace and get fat on it if—well, this is what'd made YOU laugh if you'd been there, Miss Vertrees—honest it would!” He paused to chuckle, and stole a glance at her. She was gazing straight before her at the wall; her lips were parted, and—visibly—she was breathing heavily and quickly. He feared that she was growing furiously angry; but he had led to what he wanted to say, and he went on, determined now to say it all. He leaned forward and altered his voice to one of confidential friendliness, though in it he still maintained a tone which indicated that ole Doc Gurney's opinion was only a joke he shared with her. “Yes, sir, you certainly would 'a' laughed! Why, that ole man thinks YOU got something to do with it. You'll have to blame it on him, young lady, if it makes you feel like startin' out to whip somebody! He's actually got THIS theory: he says Bibbs got to gettin' better while he worked over there at the shop because you kept him cheered up and feelin' good. And he says if you could manage to just stand him hangin' around a little—maybe not much, but just SOMEtimes—again, he believed it'd 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!”