mended John
Marsh to him. Marsh had lately taken his B.A. degree and he was anxious
to earn money in circumstances that would enable him to proceed to his
M.A.

"That lad'll do rightly," said Mr. Quinn, and he arranged to meet Marsh
in the queer, untidy room in Merrion Square where Harper edited his
weekly paper. "He has the walls of the place covered with pictures of
big women with breasts like balloons," Mr. Quinn said afterwards when he
tried to describe Ernest Harper's office, "an' he talks to you about
fairies 'til you'd near believe a leprechaun 'ud hop out of the
coalscuttle if you lifted the lid!"

Soon afterwards, they met, and Mr. Quinn explained his purpose to Marsh.
"I'm not a Nationalist, thank God, nor a Catholic, thank God again, but
I'm Irish an' I want my son to know about Ireland an' to feel as Irish
as I do myself!"

Marsh talked about Nationalism and Freedom and English Misrule, but Mr.
Quinn waved his hands before his face and made a wry expression at him.
"All your talk about the freedom of Ireland is twaddle, John Marsh ...
if you don't mind, I'll begin callin' you John Marsh this minute ... an'
I may as well tell you I don't believe in the tyranny of England. The
English aren't cruel--they're stupid. That's what they are--Thick! As
thick as they can be, an' that's as thick as God thinks it's decent to
let any man be! But they're not cruel. They do cruel things sometimes
because they don't know any better, an' they think they're doin' the
right things when they're only doin' the stupid thing. That's where we
come in! Our job is to teach the English how to do the right thing."
They smiled at him. "An' I'm not coddin,'" he went on. "I mean every
word I say. It's not Home Rule for Ireland that's needed--it's Irish
Rule for England; an' I'll maintain that 'til my dyin' day.... But
that's neither here nor there. I think you're a fool, John Marsh, to go
about dreamin' of an Irish Republic ... you don't mind me callin' you a
fool, do you? ... but you love Ireland, and I'd forgive a man a great
deal for that, so if you'll come an' be tutor to my son, I'll be obliged
to you!"

And John Marsh, smiling at Mr. Quinn, had consented.

"That's right," Mr. Quinn said, gripping the young man's hand and
wringing it heartily. "I like him," he added, turning to Ernest Harper,
"an' he'll be good for Henry, an' I daresay I'll be good for him. You've
an awful lot of slummage in your skull," he continued, addressin