But the question was, what spring?  And that, unfortunately, was what old Rickman never could lay his finger on.

Still it went, that machine of his, apparently of its own accord.  It went mysteriously, capriciously, but fairly satisfactorily on the whole.  And Isaac was wise; his very respect for the thing that had cost him so much prevented him from tampering with it.

It was in accordance with this policy of caution that they lived apart.  Isaac loved the suburbs; Keith loved the town, and it was as well for one of them to live in it, near to their place of business.  Isaac had married again, and though he was proud of his boy and fond of him, he contrived to be completely happy without him.  He loved his little detached villa residence at Ilford in Essex, with its little flower-garden showing from the high road, its little stable for the pony and little paddock for the cow.  He loved his large smooth-faced second wife, with her large balance at the bank and still larger credit in the Wesleyan circle they lived and moved in.  He loved that Wesleyan circle, the comfortable, safe community that knew only the best, the Sunday best, of him.  And Keith loved none of these things.  By the education he had got and which he, Isaac, had given him, by the “religion” he hadn’t got, and which nothing would induce him to take, by the obscure barriers of individuality and temperament, the son was separated from the father.  As for meeting each other half-way, Isaac had tried it once or twice of a Sunday, when Keith had met him indeed, but with a directness that shocked Isaac and distressed him.  He was made positively uncomfortable by his son’s money-bought superiority; though the boy didn’t bring it out and show it, Isaac felt all the time that it was there.  He was very much happier without the boy.  Keith among other things suggested vividly the thoughts which the Wesleyan desired to put away from Saturday afternoon to Monday morning, thoughts of the present evil world, for which, on Sundays, he more than half suspected that he might be imperilling his immortal soul.

Sometimes in the watches of the night, especially of a Sunday night, it occurred to him that (owing to the domestic arrangement which kept the boy in a place which, when all was said and done, was a place of temptation) Keith’s soul, no less immortal, might be in jeopardy too.  He thought of him, an innocent lad, thrown on the mercy of London, as it were.  But Isaac had faith in the mercy of the Lord.  Besides, he wasn’t the sort, a quiet, studious young fellow like Keith wasn’t.  And when Isaac’s conscience began to feel a little uncertain upon that point, he simply laid the case circumstantially before the Lord, who knew all his difficulties and all his sins, and was infinitely able and eternally willing to bear them for him.  By casting Keith upon the Lord an immense burden of responsibility was slipped from his conscience; and by the time Monday morning came round Isaac was again convinced that he had made the very best arrangements.