"You did the
best you could, papa," she said, impatiently, "so come to bed and quit
reproachin' yourself for it."

He glared at her indignantly. "Reproachin' myself!" he snorted. "I ain't
doin' anything of the kind! What in the name o' goodness would I want
to reproach myself for? And it wasn't the 'best I could,' either. It was
the best ANYBODY could! I was givin' him a chance to show what was
in him and make a man of himself--and here he goes and gets 'nervous
dyspepsia' on me!"

He went to the old-fashioned gas-fixture, turned out the light, and
muttered his way morosely into bed.

"What?" said his wife, crossly, bothered by a subsequent mumbling.

"More like hook-worm, I said," he explained, speaking louder. "I don't
know what to do with him!"

CHAPTER III

Beginning at the beginning and learning from the ground up was a long
course for Bibbs at the sanitarium, with milk and "zwieback" as the
basis of instruction; and the months were many and tiresome before he
was considered near enough graduation to go for a walk leaning on a
nurse and a cane. These and subsequent months saw the planning, the
building, and the completion of the New House; and it was to that abode
of Bigness that Bibbs was brought when the cane, without the nurse, was
found sufficient to his support.

Edith met him at the station. "Well, well, Bibbs!" she said, as he came
slowly through the gates, the last of all the travelers from that train.
She gave his hand a brisk little shake, averting her eyes after a quick
glance at him, and turning at once toward the passage to the street. "Do
you think they ought to've let you come? You certainly don't look well!"

"But I certainly do look better," he returned, in a voice as slow as
his gait; a drawl that was a necessity, for when Bibbs tried to speak
quickly he stammered. "Up to about a month ago it took two people to see
me. They had to get me in a line between 'em!"

Edith did not turn her eyes directly toward him again, after her first
quick glance; and her expression, in spite of her, showed a faint,
troubled distaste, the look of a healthy person pressed by some
obligation of business to visit a "bad" ward in a hospital. She was
nineteen, fair and slim, with small, unequal features, but a prettiness
of color and a brilliancy of eyes that created a total impression close
upon beauty. Her movements were eager and restless: there was something
about her, as kind old ladies say, that was