in at just about the right time.  Now, then, I’m goin’ to give you a raise.  I wanted to send you straight on up through the shops—­a year or two, maybe—­but I can’t do it.  I lost Jim, and now I’ve lost Roscoe.  He’s quit.  He’s laid down on me.  If he ever comes back at all, he’ll be a long time pickin’ up the strings, and, anyway, he ain’t the man I thought he was.  I can’t count on him.  I got to have somebody I know I can count on.  And I’m down to this:  you’re my last chance.  Bibbs, I got to learn you to use what brains you got and see if we can’t develop ’em a little.  Who knows?  And I’m goin’ to put my time in on it.  I’m goin’ to take you right down-town with me, and I won’t be hard on you if you’re a little slow at first.  And I’m goin’ to do the big thing for you.  I’m goin’ to make you feel you got to do the big thing for me, in return.  I’ve vindicated my policy with you about the shop, and now I’m goin’ to turn right around and swing you ‘way over ahead of where the other boys started, and I’m goin’ to make an appeal to your ambition that’ll make you dizzy!” He tapped his son on the knee again.  “Bibbs, I’m goin’ to start you off this way:  I’m goin’ to make you a director in the Pump Works Company; I’m goin’ to make you vice-president of the Realty Company and a vice-president of the Trust Company!”

Bibbs jumped to his feet, blanched.  “Oh no!” he cried.

Sheridan took his dismay to be the excitement of sudden joy.  “Yes, sir!  And there’s some pretty fat little salaries goes with those vice-presidencies, and a pinch o’ stock in the Pump Company with the directorship.  You thought I was pretty mean about the shop—­oh, I know you did!—­but you see the old man can play it both ways.  And so right now, the minute you’ve begun to make good the way I wanted you to, I deal from the new deck.  And I’ll keep on handin’ it out bigger and bigger every time you show me you’re big enough to play the hand I deal you.  I’m startin’ you with a pretty big one, my boy!”

“But I don’t—­I don’t—­I don’t want it!” Bibbs stammered.

“What’d you say?” Sheridan thought he had not heard aright.

“I don’t want it, father.  I thank you—­I do thank you—­”

Sheridan looked perplexed.  “What’s the matter with you?  Didn’t you understand what I was tellin’ you?”

“Yes.”

“You sure?  I reckon you didn’t.  I offered—­”

“I know, I know!  But I can’t take it.”

“What’s the matter with you?” Sheridan was half amazed, half suspicious.  “Your head feel funny?”

“I’ve never been quite so sane in my life,” said Bibbs, “as I have lately.  And I’ve got just what I want.  I’m living exactly the right life.  I’m earning my daily bread, and I’m happy in doing it.  My wages are enough.  I don’t want any more money, and I don’t deserve any—­”

“Damnation!” Sheridan sprang up.  “You’ve turned Socialist!  You been listening to those fellows down there, and you—­”