“Here!” he shouted.  “This is the way.  Watch how I do it.  There’s nothin’ to it, if you put your mind on it.”  By his own showing then his mind was not upon it.  He continued to talk.  “All you got to look out for is to keep it pressed over to—­”

“Don’t run your hand up with it,” Bibbs vociferated, leaning toward him.

“Run nothin’!  You got to—­”

“Look out!” shouted Bibbs and Gurney together, and they both sprang forward.  But Sheridan’s right hand had followed the strip too far, and the zinc-eater had bitten off the tips of the first and second fingers.  He swore vehemently, and wrung his hand, sending a shower of red drops over himself and Bibbs, but Gurney grasped his wrist, and said, sharply: 

“Come out of here.  Come over to the lavatory in the office.  Bibbs, fetch my bag.  It’s in my machine, outside.”

And when Bibbs brought the bag to the washroom he found the doctor still grasping Sheridan’s wrist, holding the injured hand over a basin.  Sheridan had lost color, and temper, too.  He glared over his shoulder at his son as the latter handed the bag to Gurney.

“You go on back to your work,” he said.  “I’ve had worse snips than that from a pencil-sharpener.”

“Oh no, you haven’t!” said Gurney.

“I have, too!” Sheridan retorted, angrily.  “Bibbs, you go on back to your work.  There’s no reason to stand around here watchin’ ole Doc Gurney tryin’ to keep himself awake workin’ on a scratch that only needs a little court-plaster.  I slipped, or it wouldn’t happened.  You get back on your job.”

“All right,” said Bibbs.

“Here!” Sheridan bellowed, as his son was passing out of the door.  “You watch out when you’re runnin’ that machine!  You hear what I say?  I slipped, or I wouldn’t got scratched, but you—­you’re liable to get your whole hand cut off!  You keep your eyes open!”

“Yes, sir.”  And Bibbs returned to the zinc-eater thoughtfully.

Half an hour later, Gurney touched him on the shoulder and beckoned him outside, where conversation was possible.  “I sent him home, Bibbs.  He’ll have to be careful of that hand.  Go get your overalls off.  I’ll take you for a drive and leave you at home.”

“Can’t,” said Bibbs.  “Got to stick to my job till the whistle blows.”

“No, you don’t,” the doctor returned, smothering a yawn.  “He wants me to take you down to my office and give you an overhauling to see how much harm these four days on the machine have done you.  I guess you folks have got that old man pretty thoroughly upset, between you, up at your house!  But I don’t need to go over you.  I can see with my eyes half shut—­”

“Yes,” Bibbs interrupted, “that’s what they are.”

“I say I can see you’re starting out, at least, in good shape.  What’s made the difference?”

“I like the machine,” said Bibbs.  “I’ve made a friend of it.  I serenade it and talk to it, and then it talks back to me.”