It struck Bibbs that Jackson was right.  The day passed as other days had passed.  Mrs. Sheridan and Edith were in black, and Mrs. Sheridan cried a little, now and then, but no other external difference was to be seen.  Edith was quiet, but not noticeably depressed, and at lunch proved herself able to argue with her mother upon the propriety of receiving calls in the earliest stages of “mourning.”  Lunch was as usual—­for Jim and his father had always lunched down-town—­and the afternoon was as usual.  Bibbs went for his drive, and his mother went with him, as she sometimes did when the weather was pleasant.  Altogether, the usualness of things was rather startling to Bibbs.

During the drive Mrs. Sheridan talked fragmentarily of Jim’s childhood.  “But you wouldn’t remember about that,” she said, after narrating an episode.  “You were too little.  He was always a good boy, just like that.  And he’d save whatever papa gave him, and put it in the bank.  I reckon it’ll just about kill your father to put somebody in his place as president of the Realty Company, Bibbs.  I know he can’t move Roscoe over; he told me last week he’d already put as much on Roscoe as any one man could handle and not go crazy.  Oh, it’s a pity—­” She stopped to wipe her eyes.  “It’s a pity you didn’t run more with Jim, Bibbs, and kind o’ pick up his ways.  Think what it’d meant to papa now!  You never did run with either Roscoe or Jim any, even before you got sick.  Of course, you were younger; but it always did seem queer—­and you three bein’ brothers like that.  I don’t believe I ever saw you and Jim sit down together for a good talk in my life.”

“Mother, I’ve been away so long,” Bibbs returned, gently.  “And since I came home I—­”

“Oh, I ain’t reproachin’ you, Bibbs,” she said.  “Jim ain’t been home much of an evening since you got back—­what with his work and callin’ and goin’ to the theater and places, and often not even at the house for dinner.  Right the evening before he got hurt he had his dinner at some miser’ble rest’rant down by the Pump Works, he was so set on overseein’ the night work and gettin’ everything finished up right to the minute he told papa he would.  I reckon you might ‘a’ put in more time with Jim if there’d been more opportunity, Bibbs.  I expect you feel almost as if you scarcely really knew him right well.”

“I suppose I really didn’t, mother.  He was busy, you see, and I hadn’t much to say about the things that interested him, because I don’t know much about them.”

“It’s a pity!  Oh, it’s a pity!” she moaned.  “And you’ll have to learn to know about ’em now, Bibbs!  I haven’t said much to you, because I felt it was all between your father and you, but I honestly do believe it will just kill him if he has to have any more trouble on top of all this!  You mustn’t let him, Bibbs—­you mustn’t!  You don’t know how he’s grieved over you, and now he can’t stand any more —­he just can’t!  Whatever he says for you to do, you do it, Bibbs, you do it!  I want you to promise me you will.”