a little skeery!  You listen to every street-corner croaker and then come and set here and try to scare me out of a big thing!  We’re in on this—­understand?  I tell you there never was better times.  These are good times and big times, and I won’t stand for any other kind o’ talk.  This country’s on its feet as it never was before, and this city’s on its feet and goin’ to stay there!” And Gurney heard a series of whacks and thumps upon the desk.  “’Bad times’!” Sheridan vociferated, with accompanying thumps.  “Rabbit talk!  These times are glorious, I tell you!  We’re in the promised land, and we’re goin’ to stay there!  That’s all, gentlemen.  The loan goes!”

The directors came forth, flushed and murmurous, and Gurney hastened in.  His guess was correct:  Sheridan had been thumping the desk with his right hand.  The physician scolded wearily, making good the fresh damage as best he might; and then he said what he had to say on the subject of Roscoe and Sibyl, his opinion meeting, as he expected, a warmly hostile reception.  But the result of this conversation was that by telephonic command Roscoe awaited his father, an hour later, in the library at the New House.

“Gurney says your wife’s able to travel,” Sheridan said brusquely, as he came in.

“Yes.”  Roscoe occupied a deep chair and sat in the dejected attitude which had become his habit.  “Yes, she is.”

“Edith had to leave town, and so Sibyl thinks she’ll have to, too!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t put it that way,” Roscoe protested, drearily.

“No, I hear you wouldn’t!” There was a bitter gibe in the father’s voice, and he added:  “It’s a good thing she’s goin’ abroad—­if she’ll stay there.  I shouldn’t think any of us want her here any more—­you least of all!”

“It’s no use your talking that way,” said Roscoe.  “You won’t do any good.”

“Well, when are you comin’ back to your office?” Sheridan used a brisker, kinder tone.  “Three weeks since you showed up there at all.  When you goin’ to be ready to cut out whiskey and all the rest o’ the foolishness and start in again?  You ought to be able to make up for a lot o’ lost time and a lot o’ spilt milk when that woman takes herself out o’ the way and lets you and all the rest of us alone.”

“It’s no use, father, I tell you.  I know what Gurney was going to say to you.  I’m not going back to the office.  I’m done!”

“Wait a minute before you talk that way!” Sheridan began his sentry-go up and down the room.  “I suppose you know it’s taken two pretty good men about sixteen hours a day to set things straight and get ’em runnin’ right again, down in your office?”

“They must be good men.”  Roscoe nodded indifferently.  “I thought I was doing about eight men’s work.  I’m glad you found two that could handle it.”

“Look here!  If I worked you it was for your own good.  There are plenty men drive harder’n I do, and—­”