an unusually violent outbreak of her husband's, in denunciation
of the runaway, she cried out faintly that he was cruel; and
further wearied her broken voice with details of Walter's beauty
as a baby, and of his bedtime pieties throughout his infancy.

So the hot night wore on. Three had struck before Mrs. Adams
was got to bed; and Alice, returning to her own room, could hear
her father's bare feet thudding back and forth after that. "Poor
papa!" she whispered in helpless imitation of her mother. "Poor
papa! Poor mama! Poor Walter! Poor all of us!"

She fell asleep, after a time, while from across the hall the
bare feet still thudded over their changeless route; and she woke
at seven, hearing Adams pass her door, shod. In her wrapper she
ran out into the hallway and found him descending the stairs.

"Papa!"

"Hush," he said, and looked up at her with reddened eyes. "Don't
wake your mother."

"I won't," she whispered. "How about you? You haven't slept any
at all!"

"Yes, I did. I got some sleep. I'm going over to the works now.
I got to throw some figures together to show the bank. Don't
worry: I'll get things fixed up. You go back to bed. Good-bye."

"Wait!" she bade him sharply.