"Of course not, but you chose it without asking my opinion first."
Keith's surprise increased.
"Why didn't you tell me," he insisted.
"Because I wanted you to begin to shape your own life," the father replied, "and I thought you knew what you wanted."
Keith could hardly believe his own ears.
"What do you want me to do now," he pleaded at last.
"What you feel you must," rejoined the father. "This concerns your life, and not mine. And you must make up your own mind. Whatever you decided, you have my good wishes, boy, and I shall try to help you as far as I can."
For a moment Keith had a sense of never having known his father before. Then a thought flashed through his head: why did he not speak before?
He went into the parlour and stood at the window staring at the gloomy facade of the distillers across the lane. A motley throng of thoughts chased each other through his brain.
It was not yet too late. Nothing was settled. He could still drop the job and go back to school if he wanted. But did he want it?