He reflected first, that
Keith had been in the past "a young profligate"; secondly, that he was
at the present moment in love; thirdly, that in the future he would
infallibly be hungry. He would think very differently when he had
forgotten the lady; or if he didn't think differently he would behave
differently when his belly pinched him. Isaac was a firm believer in
the persuasive power of the primitive appetites.
"Only seven minutes," murmured Keith. "I'm sorry to hurry you, father,
but I really must catch that train."
"Wait--steady. Do you know wot you're about? You shan't do anything
rash for want of a clear understanding. Mind--as you stand there,
you're nothing but a paid shop-assistant; and if you leave the shop,
you leave it without a penny to your name."
"Quite so. My name will hardly be any the worse for that. You're sure
you've decided? You--really--do not--want--to keep me?"
After all, did he want to keep him, to be unsettled in his conscience
and ruined in his trade? What, after all, had Keith brought into the
business but three alien and terrible spirits, the spirit of
superiority, the spirit of criticism, the spirit of tempestuous youth?
He would be glad to be rid of him, to be rid of those clear young
eyes, of the whole brilliant and insurgent presence. Not that he
believed that it would really go. He had a genial vision of the hour
of Keith's humiliation and return, a vivid image of Keith crawling
back on that empty belly.
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