“I’d like you to understand just what I meant about those storage-rooms, father,” he said, as Jackson placed his coffee before him.  “Abercrombie agreed with me, but you wouldn’t listen to him.”

“You can talk, if you want to, and I’ll listen,” Sheridan returned, “but you can’t show me that Jim ever took up with a bad thing.  The roof fell because it hadn’t had time to settle and on account of weather conditions.  I want that building put just the way Jim planned it.”

“You can’t have it,” said Bibbs.  “You can’t, because Jim planned for the building to stand up, and it won’t do it.  The other one—­the one that didn’t fall—­is so shot with cracks we haven’t dared use it for storage.  It won’t stand weight.  There’s only one thing to do:  get both buildings down as quickly as we can, and build over.  Brick’s the best and cheapest in the long run for that type.”

Sheridan looked sarcastic.  “Fine!  What we goin’ to do for storage-rooms while we’re waitin’ for those few bricks to be laid?”

“Rent,” Bibbs returned, promptly.  “We’ll lose money if we don’t rent, anyhow—­they were waiting so long for you to give the warehouse matter your attention after the roof fell.  You don’t know what an amount of stuff they’ve got piled up on us over there.  We’d have to rent until we could patch up those process perils—­and the Krivitch Manufacturing Company’s plant is empty, right across the street.  I took an option on it for us this morning.”

Sheridan’s expression was queer.  “Look here!” he said, sharply.  “Did you go and do that without consulting me?”

“It didn’t cost anything,” said Bibbs.  “It’s only until to-morrow afternoon at two o’clock.  I undertook to convince you before then.”

“Oh, you did?” Sheridan’s tone was sardonic.  “Well, just suppose you couldn’t convince me.”

“I can, though—­and I intend to,” said Bibbs, quietly.  “I don’t think you understand the condition of those buildings you want patched up.”

“Now, see here,” said Sheridan, with slow emphasis; “suppose I had my mind set about this.  Jim thought they’d stand, and suppose it was—­well, kind of a matter of sentiment with me to prove he was right.”

Bibbs looked at him compassionately.  “I’m sorry if you have a sentiment about it, father,” he said.  “But whether you have or not can’t make a difference.  You’ll get other people hurt if you trust that process, and that won’t do.  And if you want a monument to Jim, at least you want one that will stand.  Besides, I don’t think you can reasonably defend sentiment in this particular kind of affair.”

“Oh, you don’t?”

“No, but I’m sorry you didn’t tell me you felt it.”

Sheridan was puzzled by his son’s tone.  “Why are you ’sorry’?” he asked, curiously.

“Because I had the building inspector up there, this noon,” said Bibbs, “and I had him condemn both those buildings.”