The fine old gentleman revealed when she opened the
door was probably the last great merchant in America
to wear the chin beard. White as white frost,
it was trimmed short with exquisite precision, while
his upper lip and the lower expanses of his cheeks
were clean and rosy from fresh shaving. With
this trim white chin beard, the white waistcoat, the
white tie, the suit of fine gray cloth, the broad
and brilliantly polished black shoes, and the wide-brimmed
gray felt hat, here was a man who had found his style
in the seventies of the last century, and thenceforth
kept it. Files of old magazines of that period
might show him, in woodcut, as, “Type of Boston
Merchant”; Nast might have drawn him as an honest
statesman. He was eighty, hale and sturdy, not
aged; and his quick blue eyes, still unflecked, and
as brisk as a boy’s, saw everything.
“Well, well, well!” he said, heartily.
“You haven’t lost any of your good looks
since last week, I see, Miss Alice, so I guess I’m
to take it you haven’t been worrying over your
daddy. The young feller’s getting along
all right, is he?”
“He’s much better; he’s sitting
up, Mr. Lamb. Won’t you come in?”
“Well, I don’t know but I might.”
He turned to call toward twin disks of light at the
curb, “Be out in a minute, Billy”; and
the silhouette of a chauffeur standing beside a car
could be seen to salute in response, as the old gentleman
stepped into the hall. “You don’t
suppose your daddy’s receiving callers yet, is
he?”
“He’s a good deal stronger than he was
when you were here last week, but I’m afraid
he’s not very presentable, though.”
“‘Presentable?’” The old man
echoed her jovially. “Pshaw! I’ve
seen lots of sick folks. I know what they look
like and how they love to kind of nest in among a
pile of old blankets and wrappers. Don’t
you worry about that, Miss Alice, if you think
he’d like to see me.”
“Of course he would—if——”
Alice hesitated; then said quickly,” Of course
he’d love to see you and he’s quite able
to, if you care to come up.”
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?”
