Go on!" Perturbed and distressed, Bibbs rose instinctively; he felt himself at every possible disadvantage.

He was a sleeper clinging to a dream--a rough hand stretched to shake him and waken him.

He went to a table and made vague drawings upon it with a finger, and as he spoke he kept his eyes lowered.

"You weren't altogether right about the shop--that is, in one way you weren't, father." He glanced up apprehensively.

Sheridan stood facing him, expressionless, and made no attempt to interrupt.
"That's difficult to explain," Bibbs continued, lowering his eyes again, to follow the tracings of his finger.