The Turmoil by Booth Tarkington Page A

clock in another part of the house, and white-jacket appeared beamingly in the doorway, bearing furs. “Awready, Mist’ Bibbs,” he announced. “You’ ma say wrap up wawm f’ you’ ride, an’ she cain’ go with you to-day, an’ not f’git go see you’ pa at fo’ ‘clock. Aw ready, suh.”
    He equipped Bibbs for the daily drive Dr. Gurney had commanded; and in the manner of a master of ceremonies unctuously led the way. In the hall they passed the Moor, and Bibbs paused before it while white-jacket opened the door with a flourish and waved condescendingly to the chauffeur in the car which stood waiting in the driveway.
    “It seems to me I asked you what you thought about this ‘statue’ when I first came home, George,” said Bibbs, thoughtfully. “What did you tell me?”
    “Yessuh!” George chuckled, perfectly understanding that for some unknown reason Bibbs enjoyed hearing him repeat his opinion of the Moor. “You ast me when you firs’ come home, an’ you ast me nex’ day, an’ mighty near ev’y day all time you been here; an’ las’ Sunday you ast me twicet.” He shook his head solemnly. “Look to me mus’ be somep’m might lamiDAL ‘bout ‘at statue!”
    “Mighty what?”
    “Mighty lamiDAL!” George, burst out laughing. “What DO ‘at word mean, Mist’ Bibbs?”
    “It’s new to me, George. Where did you hear it?”
    “I nev’ DID hear it!” said George. “I uz dess sittin’ thinkum to myse’f an’ she pop in my head—‘lamiDAL,’ dess like ‘at! An’ she soun’ so good, seem like she GOTTA mean somep’m!”
    “Come to think of it, I believe she does mean something. Why, yes—”
    “Do she?” cried George. “WHAT she mean?”
    “It’s exactly the word for the statue,” said Bibbs, with conviction, as he climbed into the car. “It’s a lamiDAL statue.”
    “Hiyi!” George exulted. “Man! Man! Listen! Well, suh, she mighty lamiDAL statue, but lamiDAL statue heap o’ trouble to dus’!” “I expect she is!” said Bibbs, as the engine began to churn; and a moment later he was swept from sight.
    George turned to Mist’ Jackson, who had been listening benevolently in the hallway. “Same he aw-ways say, Mist’ Jackson—‘I expec’ she is!’ Ev’y day he try t’ git me talk ‘bout ‘at lamiDAL statue, an’ aw-ways, las’ thing HE say, ‘I expec’ she is!’ You know, Mist’ Jackson, if he git well, ‘at young man go’ be pride o’ the family, Mist’ Jackson. Yes-suh, right now I pick ‘im fo’ firs’ money!”
    “Look out with all ‘at money, George!” Jackson warned the enthusiast. “White folks ‘n ‘is house know ‘im heap longer’n you. You the on’y man bettin’ on ‘im!”
    “I risk it!” cried George, merrily. “I put her all on now—ev’y cent! ‘At boy’s go’ be flower o’ the flock!”
    This singular prophecy, founded somewhat recklessly upon gratitude for the meaning of “lamiDAL,” differed radically from another prediction concerning Bibbs, set forth for the benefit of a fair auditor some twenty minutes later.
    Jim Sheridan, skirting the edges of the town with Mary Vertrees beside him, in his own swift machine, encountered the invalid upon the highroad. The two cars were going in opposite directions, and the occupants of Jim’s had only a swaying glimpse of Bibbs sitting alone on the back seat—his white face startlingly white against cap and collar of black fur—but he flashed into recognition as Mary bowed to him.
    Jim waved his left hand carelessly. “It’s Bibbs, taking his constitutional,” he explained.
    “Yes, I know,” said Mary. “I bowed to him, too, though I’ve never met him. In fact, I’ve only seen him once—no, twice. I hope he won’t think I’m very bold, bowing to him.”
    “I doubt if he noticed it,” said honest Jim.
    “Oh, no!” she cried.
    “What’s the trouble?”
    “I’m almost sure people notice it when I bow to them.”
    “Oh, I see!” said Jim. “Of