She watched them.  In the middle of the street Bibbs had to step ahead of his father, and the two were separated.  But the reckless passing of a truck, beyond the second line of rails, frightened a group of country women who were in course of passage; they were just in front of Bibbs, and shoved backward upon him violently.  To extricate himself from them he stepped back, directly in front of a moving trolley-car—­no place for absent-mindedness, but Bibbs was still absorbed in thoughts concerned with what he had been saying to his father.  There were shrieks and yells; Bibbs looked the wrong way—­and then Mary saw the heavy figure of Sheridan plunge straight forward in front of the car.  With absolute disregard of his own life, he hurled himself at Bibbs like a football-player shunting off an opponent, and to Mary it seemed that they both went down together.  But that was all she could see—­automobiles, trucks, and wagons closed in between.  She made out that the trolley-car stopped jerkily, and she saw a policeman breaking his way through the instantly condensing crowd, while the traffic came to a standstill, and people stood up in automobiles or climbed upon the hubs and tires of wheels, not to miss a chance of seeing anything horrible.

Mary tried to get through; it was impossible.  Other policemen came to help the first, and in a minute or two the traffic was in motion again.  The crowd became pliant, dispersing—­there was no figure upon the ground, and no ambulance came.  But one of the policemen was detained by the clinging and beseeching of a gloved hand.

“What is the matter, lady?”

“Where are they?” Mary cried.

“Who?  Ole man Sheridan?  I reckon he wasn’t much hurt!”

“His son—­”

“Was that who the other one was?  I seen him knock him—­oh, he’s not bad off, I guess, lady.  The ole man got him out of the way all right.  The fender shoved the ole man around some, but I reckon he only got shook up.  They both went on in the Sheridan Building without any help.  Excuse me, lady.”

Sheridan and Bibbs, in fact, were at that moment in the elevator, ascending.  “Whisk-broom up in the office,” Sheridan was saying.  “You got to look out on those corners nowadays, I tell you.  I don’t know I got any call to blow, though—­because I tried to cross after you did.  That’s how I happened to run into you.  Well, you want to remember to look out after this.  We were talkin’ about Murtrie’s askin’ sixty-eight thousand flat for that ninety-nine-year lease.  It’s his lookout if he’d rather take it that way, and I don’t know but—­”

“No,” said Bibbs, emphatically, as the elevator stopped; “he won’t get it.  Not from us, he won’t, and I’ll show you why.  I can convince you in five minutes.”  He followed his father into the office anteroom—­and convinced him.  Then, having been diligently brushed by a youth of color, Bibbs went into his own room and closed the door.