had never forgotten it; his memory being assisted by the circumstance
that Sir Joseph had that very same day bought one hundred and
twenty-five pounds' worth of books for his great library down in
Devonshire.

The boy was sent to an "Academy," then to the City of London; Isaac
had not risen to Oxford. Keith never tried for a scholarship, and if
he had, Isaac would have drawn the line at a university education, as
tending towards an unholy leisure and the wisdom of this world.
Otherwise he had spared no expense, for he had grasped the fact that
this was an investment, and he looked to have his money back again
with something like fifty per cent. interest. And the boy, the boy was
to come back, too, with a brain as bright as steel, all its queer
little complicated parts in working order; in short, a superb machine;
and Isaac would only have to touch a spring to set it going.

But the question was, what spring? And that, unfortunately, was what
old Rickman never could lay his finger on.

Still it went, that machine of his, apparently of its own accord. It
went mysteriously, capriciously, but fairly satisfactorily on the
whole. And Isaac was wise; his very respect for the thing that had
cost him so much prevented him from tampering with it.

It was in accordance with this policy of caution that they lived
apart. Isaac loved the suburbs; Keith loved the town, and it was as
well for one of them to live in it, near to their place of business.
Isaac had married again, and though he was proud of his boy and fond
of him, he contrived to be completely happy without him. He loved his
little detached villa residence at Ilford in Essex, with its little