I
John wrote his first story during the following week, and when he had
completed it, he made a copy of it on large sheets of foolscap in a
shapely hand, and sewed the pages together with green thread. Uncle
Matthew had purchased brass fasteners to bind the pages together, but
Uncle William said that a man might easily tear his fingers with "them
things" and contract blood-poisoning.
"And that would give him a scunner against your story, mebbe!" he
added.
John accepted Uncle William's advice, not so much in the interests of
humanity, as because he liked the look of the green thread. He had read
the story to his uncles, after the shop was closed. They had drawn
their chairs up to the fire, in which sods of turf and coal were
burning, and the agreeable odour of the turf soothed their senses while
they listened to John's sharp voice. Mrs. MacDermott would not join the
circle before the fire. She declared that she had too much work to do
to waste her time on trash, and she wondered that her brothers-in-law
could find nothing better to do than to encourage a headstrong lad in a
foolish business. She went about her work with much bustle and clatter,
which, however, diminished considerably as John began to read the
story, and ended altogether soon afterwards.
"D'you like it, Uncle William?" John said, when he had read the story
to them.
"Aye," said Uncle William.
"I'm glad," John answered. "And you, do you like it, Uncle Matthew?"
"I like it queer and well," Uncle Matthew murmured, "only!..." He
hesitated as if he were reluctant to make any adverse comment on the
story.
"Only what?" John demanded with some impatience. He had asked for the
opinions of his uncles, indeed, but it had not occurred to him that
they would not think as highly of the story as he thought of it
himself.
"Well ... there's no love in it!" Uncle Matthew went on.
"Love!"
"Aye," Uncle Matthew said. "There's no mention of a woman in it from
start to finish. I think there ought to be a woman in it!"
Mrs. MacDermott, who had been silent now for some time, made a noise
with a dish on the table. "Och, sure, what does he know about love?"
she exclaimed angrily. "A child that's not long left his mother's arms
would know as much. Mebbe, now you've read your oul' story, John, the
whole of yous will sit up to the table and take your tea!"
John, disregarding his mother, sat back in his chair and contemplated
his Uncle Matthew.
"I wonder now, are you right?" he exclaimed.
"I am," Uncle Matthew replied. "The best stories in the world have
women in them, and love-making! I never could take any interest in
_Robinson Crusoe_ because he hadn't got a girl on that island with
him, and I thought to myself many's a time, it was a queer mistake not
to make Friday a woman. He could have fallen in love with her then!"
Uncle William said up sharply. "Aye, and had a wheen of black babies!"
he said. "Man, dear, Matthew, think what you're saying! What sort of
romance would there be in the like of that? I never read much, as you
know, but I always had a great fancy for _Robinson Crusoe_. The
way that man turned to and did things for himself ... I tell you my
heart warmed to him. _I_ like your story, John, women or no women.
Sure, love isn't the only thing that men make!..."
"It's the most important," said Uncle Matthew.
"And why shouldn't a story be written about any other thing nor a lot
of love?" Uncle William continued, ignoring the interruption. "I
daresay you'll get a mint of money for that story, John. I've heard
tell that some of these writers gets big pay for their stories. Pounds
and pounds!"
John crinkled his manuscript in his hand and regarded it with a modest
look. "I don't suppose I'll get much for the first one," he said. "In
fact, if they'll print it, I'll be willing to let them have it for
nothing ... just for the satisfaction!"
"That would be a foolish thing to do," Uncle William retorted. "Sure,
if it's worth printing, it's worth paying for. That's the way I look at
it, anyhow!"
"I daresay I'll make more, when I know the way of it better!" John
answered. "What paper will I send it to, do you think?"
"Send it to the best one," said Uncle William.
Mrs. MacDermott took a plate of toast from the fender where it had been
put to keep warm. "Send it to the one that pays the most," she
suggested.
"I thought you weren't listening, ma!" John exclaimed, laughing at her.
"A body can't help hearing when people are talking at the top of their
voices," she said tartly. "Come on, for dear sake, and have your teas,
the whole of yous!"