XXIII

The first few days after the closing of the school were wonderfully restful.  The parents proved remarkably forbearing.  Neither one spoke a word of reproach.  Nothing was said about the future.  It was as if some sort of fear had checked them.

The home seemed unusually quiet and pleasant.  There was any amount of time for reading, and no suggestions were forthcoming as to what should or should not be read.  Yet Keith remained satisfied only a few days.

No one knows what might have happened if they had gone into the country for the summer as they used to do.  But again the whole family had to stay in town for some reason not divulged to Keith.  And with the heat and the sunshine came the usual restlessness.

Keith had made up his mind not to go back to school.  He was equally determined not to let himself be forced into any sort of manual work.  Besides having no knack for it, he had come to look upon it as a social disgrace.  Some other work must be found, for well enough he knew that his father would not let him stay home indefinitely doing nothing.

It was easy, however, to make up one’s mind about what not to do, but mighty hard to discover the right kind of thing to do.  Keith had no clue to start with at all, and to begin with all his efforts led him into the blindest of blind alleys.

He plagued his mother with inquiries to which she had few or no answers to give.  He even deigned to consult Johan and found that he already had found a place as errandboy in a store.  A few questions convinced Keith that such a life might be good enough for Johan but not for a boy who, after all, had reached Lower Sixth in a public school.

The situation was becoming desperate and Keith was watching his father with steadily increasing concern, when at last a helpful hint reached him from the most unexpected quarter.

“Why don’t you look in the paper,” Granny asked him one day.

“What for,” was Keith’s surprised counter-question.

“For work, of course.  Look at the advertisements on the back page.”

“Do you think, Granny....”  Keith hesitated.

“I don’t think,” retorted Granny.  “I know.”

XXIV

Three weeks had gone.  It was still early morning, and he was studying a newspaper very carefully.

“What is it you find so interesting,” his mother asked at last.

“The advertisements,” he explained without taking his eyes off the paper.

“What advertisements?”

“Help wanted.”

“Nonsense,” she cried, putting down her sewing.  “Are you still thinking of leaving school?”

“Here is one about a volunteer wanted in a wholesale office,” was his indirect reply.  “It is on West Long street—­in the same house where Aunt Gertrude has her jewelry store.  Do volunteers get paid?”