"Here, now," Lamb said, uncomfortably, as she stopped again.
"Listen, young lady; let's don't talk about that just yet. I
want to ask you: you understand all about this glue business, I
expect, don't you?"

"I'm not sure. I only know----"

"Let me tell you," he interrupted, impatiently. "I'll tell you
all about it in two words. The process belonged to me, and your
father up and walked off with it; there's no getting around THAT
much, anyhow."

"Isn't there?" Alice stared at him. "I think you're mistaken,
Mr. Lamb. Didn't papa improve it so that it virtually belonged
to him?"

There was a spark in the old blue eyes at this. "What?" he
cried. "Is that the way he got around it? Why, in all my life I
never heard of such a----" But he left the sentence unfinished;
the testiness went out of his husky voice and the anger out of
his eyes. "Well, I expect maybe that was the way of it," he
said. "Anyhow, it's right for you to stand up for your father;
and if you think he had a right to it----"

"But he did!" she cried.

"I expect so," the old man returned, pacifically. "I expect so,
probably. Anyhow, it's a question that's neither here nor there,
right now. What I was thinking of saying--well, did your father
happen to let out that he and I had words this morning?"