"What—what is it?" he stammered.
"'What is it?'—and in the face of a record like that!" cried his father sternly. "That's exactly what I want to know. What is it? Is this the way, Keith, that you're showing me that you don't want to go to school? I haven't forgotten, you see, that you tried to beg off going this fall. Now, what is the matter?"
Keith shifted his position miserably. His face grew white and strained-looking.
"I—I couldn't seem to get my lessons, dad."
"Couldn't! You mean you wouldn't, Keith. Surely, you're not trying to make me think you couldn't have made a better record than this, if you'd tried."
There was no answer.
"Keith!" There was only pleading in the voice now—pleading with an unsteadiness more eloquent than words. "Have you forgotten so soon what I told you?—how now you hold all the hopes of Jerry and Ned and of—dad in your own two hands? Keith, do you think, do you really think you're treating Jerry and Ned and dad—square?"
For a moment there was no answer; then a very faint, constrained voice asked:
"What were those figures, dad?"
"Read for yourself." With the words the card was thrust into his hand.