he give me something to push AGAINST. You can't push 'nervous
dyspepsia'! And look at Roscoe; just LOOK at what that boy's done for
himself, and barely twenty-seven years old--married, got a fine wife,
and ready to build for himself with his own money, when I put up the
New House for you and Edie."

"Papa, you'll catch cold in your bare feet," she murmured. "You
better come to bed."

"And I'm just as proud of Edie, for a girl," he continued,
emphatically, "as I am of Jim and Roscoe for boys. She'll make some
man a mighty good wife when the time comes. She's the prettiest and
talentedest girl in the United States! Look at that poem she wrote
when she was in school and took the prize with; it's the best poem I
ever read in my life, and she'd never even tried to write one before.
It's the finest thing I ever read, and R. T. Bloss said so, too; and
I guess he's a good enough literary judge for me--turns out more
advertisin' liter'cher than any man in the city. I tell you she's
smart! Look at the way she worked me to get me to promise the New
House--and I guess you had your finger in that, too, mamma! This old
shack's good enough for me, but you and little Edie 'll have to have
your way. I'll get behind her and push her the same as I will Jim
and Roscoe. I tell you I'm mighty proud o' them three chuldern! But
Bibbs--" He paused, shaking his head. "Honest, mamma, when I talk
to men that got ALL their boys doin' well and worth their salt, why,
I have to keep my mind on Jim and Roscoe and forget about Bibbs."

Mrs. Sheridan tossed her head fretfully upon the pillow. "You did the
best you could, papa," she said, impatiently, "so come to bed and quit
reproachin' yourself for it."