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JAMES SHERIDAN had two sons — and Bibbs. True. Bibbs was duly accredited as the offspring of Mf. Sheridan, and was as much entitled to claim kinship with the great capitalist as either of his brothers, but when speaking of Sheridan's sons, people thought only of Jim and Roscoe, both excellent business men, chips of the old block. Thev never thought of Bibbs.
The principal reason for this was that Bibbs failed to evince the slightest interest in the turmoil of business. He could have told you more of Keats and Shelley than of the mechanism of the Sheridan automatic pump ; and yet it was this same automatic pump that had contributed largely to the immense fortune piled up by his father, James Sheridan, financial giant of the Middle West, square-jawed, a bit uncouth, but of strong personality ; a • man risen from small beginnings, who, starting with the philosophy that the world steps
aside to let any man pass who knows whither he is going, had set himself the task of making a million, and proved beyond question that his philosophy was right.
Bibbs disappointed him beyond measure. An anaemic youth, with slender frame ; a dreamer, preferring books to factories, setting thought above the dollar, beauty above utility.
"You're lucky you don't have to hustle for a living," his father scoffed when he came into the library of his ornate home one day and found Bibbs bending over a half-finished "Ode to Restraint." "When you get that rhyme done to your taste, how much do you expect to sell it for — ten dollars?"'
"I may never sell it, dad," answered Bibbs, a smile in his big. serious eyes. "But it gives me a lot of pleasure to write it — to think it out."
"Huh ! When / think anything out, you can bet your life there is money in it," snapped his father ; "big money.