did
work honestly and faithfully.

Bibbs had been very ignorant. All these simple things, so well known
and customary, astonished him at first, and once--in a brief moment
of forgetting that he was done with writing--he thought that if he had
known them and written of them, how like a satire the plainest relation
of them must have seemed! Strangest of all to him was the vehement and
sincere patriotism. On every side he heard it--it was a permeation; the
newest school-child caught it, though just from Hungary and learning to
stammer a few words of the local language. Everywhere the people shouted
of the power, the size, the riches, and the growth of their city. Not
only that, they said that the people of their city were the greatest,
the "finest," the strongest, the Biggest people on earth. They cited no
authorities, and felt the need of none, being themselves the people thus
celebrated. And if the thing was questioned, or if it was hinted that
there might be one small virtue in which they were not perfect and
supreme, they wasted no time examining themselves to see if what the
critic said was true, but fell upon him and hooted him and cursed him,
for they were sensitive. So Bibbs, learning their ways and walking with
them, harkened to the voice of the people and served Bigness with them.
For the voice of the people is the voice of their god.

Sheridan had made the room next to his own into an office for Bibbs,
and the door between the two rooms usually stood open--the father had
established that intimacy. One morning in February, when Bibbs was
alone, Sheridan came in, some sheets of typewritten memoranda in his
hand.

"Bibbs," he said, "I don't like to butt in very often this way, and when
I do I usually wish I hadn't--but for Heaven's sake what have you been
buying that ole busted inter-traction stock for?"

Bibbs leaned back from his desk. "For eleven hundred and fifty-five
dollars. That's all it cost."

"Well, it ain't worth eleven hundred and fifty-five cents. You ought to
know that. I don't get your idea. That stuff's deader'n Adam's cat!"

"It might be worth something--some day."

"How?"

"It mightn't be so dead--not if we went into it," said Bibbs, coolly.

"Oh!" Sheridan considered this musingly; then he said, "Who'd you buy it
from?"

"A broker--Fansmith."

"Well, he must 'a' got it from one o' the crowd o' poor ninnies that was
soaked with it. Don't you know who owned it?"

"Yes, I do."

"