“Yes, Oliver,” he replied. “Come in and sit down. I want to have a talk with you.”
The boy did as requested, taking a chair that stood in the bay-window at the farther end of the room. He could not help but look at his father closely. Surely he did not appear to be much provoked over what had occurred.
“Come closer, Oliver; here, take this chair by my side,” went on Mr. Bright. “I do not wish any one to overhear what I have to say.”
The boy took the seat indicated. Then for the first time he noticed how careworn his father appeared. There were numerous wrinkles upon Mr. Bright’s brow and his eyes were sunken and troubled.
“You are nearly seventeen years old, I believe,” began Mr. Bright after a moment of silence.
“I’ll be seventeen next May,” replied the boy, relieved at being asked such an ordinary question.
“And your term at the academy closes next month, I believe?”
“Yes, sir; three weeks from yesterday.”
“And when you have finished your course there have you thought of what was to be done next?”