to have? Do you suppose he'd be going into business with her father if your father———"
"Good heavens, mama; you're worse than Walter: I just barely know the man! Don't be so absurd!"
"Yes, I'm always 'absurd,'" Mrs. Adams moaned. "All I can do is cry, while your father sits upstairs, and his horn of plenty———"
But Alice interrupted with a peal of desperate laughter. "Oh, that 'horn of plenty!' Do come down to earth, mama. How can you call a glue factory, that doesn't exist except in your mind, a 'horn of plenty'? Do let's be a little rational!"
"It could be a horn of plenty," the tearful Mrs. Adams insisted. "It could! You don't understand a thing about it."
"Well, I'm willing," Alice said, with tired skepticism. "Make me understand, then. Where'd you ever get the idea?"
Mrs. Adams withdrew her hands from the water, dried them on a towel, and then wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. "Your father could make a fortune if he wanted to," she said, quietly. "At least, I don't say a fortune, but anyhow a great deal more than he does make."
"Yes, I've heard that before, mama, and you
