"You mustn't! He
WILL hear you!"
But from the other side of Adams's closed door his voice came
querulously. "Oh, I HEAR her, all right!"
"You see, mama?" Alice said, and, as Mrs. Adams turned away,
weeping, the daughter sighed; then went in to speak to her
father.
He was in his old chair by the table, with a pillow behind his
head, but the crocheted scarf and Mrs. Adams's wrapper swathed
him no more; he wore a dressing-gown his wife had bought for him,
and was smoking his pipe. "The old story, is it?" he said, as
Alice came in. "The same, same old story! Well, well! Has she
gone?"
"Yes, papa."
"Got your hat on," he said. "Where you going?"
"I'm going down-town on an errand of my own. Is there anything
you want, papa?"
"Yes, there is." He smiled at her. "I wish you'd sit down a
while and talk to me unless your errand----"
"No," she said, taking a chair near him. "I was just going down
to see about some arrangements I was making for myself. There's
no hurry."
"What arrangements for yourself, dearie?"
"I'll tell you afterwards--after I find out something about 'em
myself."
"All right," he said, indulgently. "Keep your secrets; keep your
secrets." He paused, drew musingly upon his pipe, and shook his
head. "Funny--the way your mother looks at things! For the
matter o' that, everything's pretty funny, I expect, if you stop
to think about it.
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