"Well, you know the sort she is: fine, healthy, good-lookin', lusty
girl. That sort stirs the blood in a lad like Henry. I want him to get
into the state in which he can look at her an' lave her alone! Do you
follow me?"
"Yes."
"He's not in that state now. He's soft, oh, he's damned soft. Look here,
John Marsh, do you know what I think about young fellows? I think
they're the finest things in the world. Youth, I mean. An' I figure it
out this way, that Youth has the right to three things: love an' work
an' fun; an' it ought to have them about equally. The only use of old
people like me is to see that the young 'uns don't get the proportions
all wrong, too much love an' not enough work, or the other way round.
Henry's very likely to get them all wrong, an' I want to see that he
doesn't. Now, you understand me, don't you? I'm a long-winded man, an'
it's hard to make out what I'm drivin' at, but that can't be helped.
Everybody has a nature, an' I have mine, an' bedam to it!"
"What do you want me to do?" Marsh asked, putting his exercises
together.
"I want you to try an' put some big wish into his heart," Mr. Quinn
replied. "Try an' make him as eager about Irelan' as you are. I want him
to spend himself for something that's bigger than he is, instead of
spendin' himself on something that's smaller than he is."
"But why not do that yourself, Mr. Quinn?"
Mr. Quinn got up from his chair and walked about the room. "It's very
hard for a man to talk to his son in the way that a stranger can," he
said. "An' besides I ... I love Henry, John Marsh, an' my love for him
upsets my balance!"
"Can't you control that, Mr. Quinn?" Marsh asked.
"Control it! Begod, John Marsh, if you were a father you wouldn't ask
such a damn silly question. Here, have a cigar! Henry's comin' back!"
When Henry entered the room, his father was lying back in his chair,
puffing smoke into the air, while John Marsh was cutting the end of his
cigar.
"The post's come in," he said.
"Anything for me?" his father asked.
"No. There was only one letter. For me. It's from Ninian Graham!"
"Nice chap, Ninian Graham," Mr. Quinn murmured.
"He wants me to go over to Boveyhayne for a while."
"Does he?"
"Yes. Gilbert Farlow's staying with them. I should like to go."
"Well, we'll see about it in the morning," said Mr. Quinn. "I was
thinking of sending you on a walking tour with John here. To Connacht!"
"You could talk to the people in Irish, Henry," John added.
Henry twirled Ninian's letter in his fingers. "I'd like to go to
Boveyhayne," he said. "I want to see Ninian and Gilbert again!..."
"But the language, Henry!..."
"I hate the damned language!" Henry exclaimed passionately. "I'm sick of
Ireland. I'm sick of!..."
Mr. Quinn got up and put his hand on Henry's shoulder.
"All right, Henry," he said. "You can go to Boveyhayne!"
5
Up in his bedroom, Henry re-read Ninian's letter, and then he replied to
it. Ninian wrote:
_Blighter:_
_Gilbert's here. He's been here for a week, and he says you ought to be
here, too. So do I. Can't you come to Boveyhayne for a fortnight anyhow?
If you can stay longer, do. Gilbert says it's awful to think that you're
going to that hole in Dublin where there isn't even a Boat Race, and the
least you can do is to come and have a good time here. I can't think why
Irish people want to be Irish. It seems so damn silly. Gilbert's writing
a play. He has done about a page and a half of it, and it's most awful
bilge. He keeps on reading it out to me. He read some of it to me last
night when I was brushing my teeth which is a damn dangerous thing to
do, and I had to clout his head severely for him. He is a chap. He got
poor Mary into a row on Sunday. We took him to church with us, and when
the Vicar was reading the first lesson, all about King Solomon swanking
before the Queen of Sheba and showing off his gold plate, Gilbert turned
to Mary and said out loud, "Ostentatious chap, Solomon! Anybody could
see he was a Jew!" and Mary burst out laughing. The Vicar was
frightfully sick about it, and jawed Gilbert after the service, and the
mater told Mary the truth about herself. I must say it was rather funny.
I very nearly laughed myself. Do be a decent chap and come over soon.
You'll just be in time for the mackerel fishing. Gilbert and Mary and I
went out with Jim Rattenbury yesterday and caught dozens._
_Your affectionate friend,_
_Ninian Graham._
Henry's reply was:
_Dear Ninian:_
_Thanks awfully. I'll come as soon as I can get away. I spoke to my
father to-night, and he says I can go to Boveyhayne. I'll send a
telegram to you, telling you when to expect me. I'm looking forward to
reading Gilbert's play. I hope he'll have more of it written by the time
I get to Boveyhayne. A page and a half isn't much, is it? and I don't
wonder you get sick of hearing it over and over. I shall have to write
something, too, but I don't know what to write about. We can talk of
that when we meet. It is awfully kind of Mrs. Graham to have me again.
Please thank her for me, and give my love to Mary and Gilbert, and tell
him not to be an old ass, yapping like that in church. No wonder the
vicar was sick._
_Your affectionate friend,_
_Henry Quinn._