"I can't help liking that old man, mama," she said. "He always
sounds so--well, so solid and honest and friendly! I do like
him."

But Mrs. Adams failed in sympathy upon this point. "He didn't
say anything about raising your father's salary, did he?" she
asked, dryly.

"No."

"No. I thought not."

She would have said more, but Alice, indisposed to listen, began
to whistle, ran up the stairs, and went to sit with her father.
She found him bright-eyed with the excitement a first caller
brings into a slow convalescence: his cheeks showed actual hints
of colour; and he was smiling tremulously as he filled and lit
his pipe. She brought the crocheted scarf and put it about his
shoulders again, then took a chair near him.

"I believe seeing Mr. Lamb did do you good, papa," she said.
"I sort of thought it might, and that's why I let him come up.
You really look a little like your old self again."

Adams exhaled a breathy "Ha!" with the smoke from his pipe as he
waved the match to extinguish it. "That's fine," he said. "The
smoke I had before dinner didn't taste the way it used to, and I
kind of wondered if I'd lost my liking for tobacco, but this one
seems to be all right. You bet it did me good to see J. A.