dressing-gown his wife had bought for him, and was smoking his pipe. "The old story, is it?" he said, as Alice came in. "The same, same old story! Well, well! Has she gone?"
"Yes, papa."
"Got your hat on," he said. "Where you going?"
"I'm going down -town on an errand of my own. Is there anything you want, papa?"
"Yes, there is." He smiled at her. "I wish you'd sit down a while and talk to me—unless your errand———"
"No," she said, taking a chair near him. "I was just going down to see about some arrangements I was making for myself. There's no hurry."
"What arrangements for yourself, dearie?"
"I'll tell you afterwards—after I find out something about 'em myself."
"All right," he said, indulgently. "Keep your secrets; keep your secrets." He paused, drew musingly upon his pipe, and shook his head. "Funny—the way your mother looks at things! For the matter o' that, everything's pretty funny, I expect, if you stop to think about it. For instance, let her say all she likes, but we were pushed right spang to the wall, if J. A. Lamb hadn't taken it into his head
