his father a look that was almost
ghostly. "I can't," he said, in a low voice. "I can't."

"Can't go back to the shop?"

"No. Can't like it. I can't."

Sheridan jumped up, his patience gone. To his own view, he had reasoned
exhaustively, had explained fully and had pleaded more than a father
should, only to be met in the end with the unreasoning and mysterious
stubbornness which had been Bibbs's baffling characteristic from
childhood. "By George, you will!" he cried. "You'll go back there and
you'll like it! Gurney says it won't hurt you if you like it, and he
says it'll kill you if you go back and hate it; so it looks as if it
was about up to you not to hate it. Well, Gurney's a fool! Hatin' work
doesn't kill anybody; and this isn't goin' to kill you, whether you hate
it or not. I've never made a mistake in a serious matter in my life,
and it wasn't a mistake my sendin' you there in the first place. And
I'm goin' to prove it--I'm goin' to send you back there and vindicate my
judgment. Gurney says it's all 'mental attitude.' Well, you're goin'
to learn the right one! He says in a couple more months this fool thing
that's been the matter with you'll be disappeared completely and you'll
be back in as good or better condition than you were before you ever
went into the shop. And right then is when you begin over--right in that
same shop! Nobody can call me a hard man or a mean father. I do the best
I can for my chuldern, and I take full responsibility for bringin' my
sons up to be men. Now, so far, I've failed with you. But I'm not goin'
to keep ON failin'. I never tackled a job YET I didn't put through, and
I'm not goin' to begin with my own son. I'm goin' to make a MAN of you.
By God! I am!"

Bibbs rose and went slowly to the door, where he turned. "You say you
give me a couple of months?" he said.

Sheridan pushed a bell-button on his desk. "Gurney said two months more
would put you back where you were. You go home and begin to get yourself
in the right 'mental attitude' before those two months are up! Good-by!"

"Good-by, sir," said Bibbs, meekly.

CHAPTER X

Bibbs's room, that neat apartment for transients to which the "lamidal"
George had shown him upon his return, still bore the appearance of
temporary quarters, possibly because Bibbs had no clear conception
of himself as a permanent incumbent. However, he had set upon the
mantelpiece the two photographs that he owned: one, a "group" twenty
years old-