This morning, however, he _was_ thinking of him, as it happened. And
when the old man saw him up there, holding his poor bursting head in
his hands, and said: "'Ead achin' my boy, again? That comes of
studyin' too 'ard!" he thought with a touch of compunction, "What
would he say if he knew I'd gone drunk to bed last night? And if he
knew about Poppy?"

Isaac approached his son gingerly and with a certain fear. The only
thing he had discovered about this admirable machine of his was that
it went better when you left it alone. It had not been going quite so
well lately though, and this morning it seemed decidedly out of order.
He took a seat at the table and busied himself with a catalogue.
Presently he rose and touched the boy gently on the shoulder.

"Come into the office a minute, will you?" he said, with a glance at
the cashier. And Keith, wondering what on earth he wanted with him,
followed into a recess shut on from the shop by a plate-glass and
mahogany screen. Isaac hunted among the papers on his writing-table
for a letter he could not find.

"You remember your old friend, Sir Joseph Harden, don't you?"

"Yes." Keith was in fact devoted to Sir Joseph's memory. He had often
wondered what it was, that mysterious "something" which Sir Joseph
would have done for him, if he had lived, and whether, if he had done
it, it would have made a difference.

"Well, I got a letter from his place in Devonshire this morning.
They've asked me to send them some one down to catalogue his library.