figure of speech was beside the point; but a ringing of the front
door bell forestalled the retort. "Now, who do you suppose that
is?" she wondered aloud, then her face brightened. "Ah--did Mr.
Russell ask if he could----"

"No, he wouldn't be coming this evening," Alice said. "Probably
it's the great J. A. Lamb: he usually stops for a minute on
Thursdays to ask how papa's getting along. I'll go."

She tossed her apron off, and as she went through the house her
expression was thoughtful. She was thinking vaguely about the
glue factory and wondering if there might be "something in it"
after all. If her mother was right about the rich possibilities
of Adams's secret--but that was as far as Alice's speculations
upon the matter went at this time: they were checked, partly by
the thought that her father probably hadn't enough money for such
an enterprise, and partly by the fact that she had arrived at the
front door.



CHAPTER XII

The fine old gentleman revealed when she opened the door was
probably the last great merchant in America to wear the chin
beard. White as white frost, it was trimmed short with exquisite
precision, while his upper lip and the lower expanses of his
cheeks were clean and rosy from fresh shaving. With this trim
white chin beard, the white waistcoat, the white tie, the suit of
fine gray cloth, the broad and brilliantly polished black shoes,