ut 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