"If I put it up to Helen, she'll tell me, of course, to stick by you, no matter what the sacrifice."
"In that case I should decide for myself, if I were you. It's a poor plan to try to shift your responsibilities on to some other person."
I had a suspicion my father was secretly laughing at me. I had a knack of making the worst possible showing in a crisis.
"I want to be fair to you and to Helen," I exclaimed.
"I'm not impressed by heroics," my father answered coldly. "I don't think either of you is being very hardly used—you have a comfortable home offered you and a good opportunity to work for. I am not asking favours—I'm giving them."
In one sense this was, of course, strictly true; yet there was something to be said on my side. Nothing was to be gained by stating it; I therefore kept silent. Ten minutes more must have passed while I turned the problem over. My father imperturbably continued to write, address, and seal letters.
"Do you know which way I am going to decide?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.
"Frankly," my father replied, "I don't. I'm not bluffing, Ted. I have never understood you very well. We've always been good chums; still, I have known that inwardly you go your own gait."
"I don't think I have ever disobeyed an important command."
"No, I don't believe you have—perhaps I have never asked you to do anything I didn't think was for the best. You didn't like being sent to Deep Harbor. Are you sorry now you went?"