"I'll see," she said.

"My collar's got a frayed edge," he complained, as she examined
his troublesome shirt. "It's a good deal like wearing a saw; but
I expect it'll wilt down flat pretty soon, and not bother me
long. I'm liable to wilt down flat, myself, I expect; I don't
know as I remember any such hot night in the last ten or twelve
years." He lifted his head and sniffed the flaccid air, which
was laden with a heavy odour. "My, but that smell is pretty
strong!" he said.

"Stand still, please, papa," Alice begged him. "I can't see
what's the matter if you move around. How absurd you are about
your old glue smell, papa! There isn't a vestige of it, of
course."

"I didn't mean glue," he informed her. "I mean cabbage. Is that
fashionable now, to have cabbage when there's company for
dinner?"

"That isn't cabbage, papa. It's Brussels sprouts."

"Oh, is it? I don't mind it much, because it keeps that glue
smell off me, but it's fairly strong. I expect you don't notice
it so much because you been in the house with it all along, and
got used to it while it was growing."

"It is pretty dreadful," Alice said. "Are all the windows open
downstairs?"