Look! Look yonder!"
Adams stared vaguely at the man's outstretched hand and pointing
forefinger, then turned and saw a great sign upon the facade of
the big factory building across the street. The letters were
large enough to be read two blocks away.
"AFTER THE FIFTEENTH OF NEXT MONTH
THIS BUILDING WILL BE OCCUPIED BY
THE J. A. LAMB LIQUID GLUE CO. INC."
A gray touring-car had just come to rest before the principal
entrance of the building, and J. A. Lamb himself descended from
it. He glanced over toward the humble rival of his projected
great industry, saw his old clerk, and immediately walked across
the street and the lot to speak to him.
"Well, Adams," he said, in his husky, cheerful voice, "how's your
glue-works?"
Adams uttered an inarticulate sound, and lifted the hand that
held his hat as if to make a protective gesture, but failed to
carry it out; and his arm sank limp at his side. The foreman,
however, seemed to feel that something ought to be said.
"Our glue-works, hell!" he remarked. "I guess we won't HAVE no
glue-works over here not very long, if we got to compete with the
sized thing you got over there!"
Lamb chuckled. "I kind of had some such notion," he said. "You
see, Virgil, I couldn't exactly let you walk off with it like
swallering a pat o' butter, now, could I? It didn't look exactly
reasonable to expect me to let go like that, now, did it?"
Adams found a half-choked voice somewhere in his throat.
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