She ran up the stairs ahead of him, and had time to snatch the crocheted wrap from her father's shoulders. Swathed as usual, he was sitting beside a table, reading the evening paper; but when his employer appeared in the doorway he half rose as if to come forward in greeting.
“Sit still!” the old gentleman shouted. “What do you mean? Don't you know you're weak as a cat? D'you think a man can be sick as long as you have and NOT be weak as a cat? What you trying to do the polite with ME for?”
Adams gratefully protracted the handshake that accompanied these inquiries. “This is certainly mighty fine of you, Mr. Lamb,” he said. “I guess Alice has told you how much our whole family appreciate your coming here so regularly to see how this old bag o' bones was getting along. Haven't you, Alice?”
“Yes, papa,” she said; and turned to go out, but Lamb checked her.
“Stay right here, Miss Alice; I'm not even going to sit down. I know how it upsets sick folks when people outside the family come in for the first time.”
“You don't upset me,” Adams said. “I'll feel a lot better for getting a glimpse of you, Mr. Lamb.”
The visitor's laugh was husky, but hearty and re-assuring, like his voice in speaking. “That's the way all my boys blarney me, Miss Alice,” he said. “They think I'll make the work lighter on 'em if they can get me kind of flattered up. You just tell your daddy it's no use; he doesn't get on MY soft side, pretending he likes to see me even when he's sick.”
“Oh, I'm not so sick any more,” Adams said. “I expect to be back in my place ten days from now at the longest.”
“Well, now, don't hurry it, Virgil; don't hurry it. You take your time; take your time.”
This brought to Adams's lips a feeble smile not lacking in a kind of vanity, as feeble. “Why?” he asked. “I suppose you think my department runs itself down there, do you?”