one to see places like
Wigan an' the towns where they dig coal an' make pottery ... I'd ... I'd
be ashamed to look God in the face when I had mind of them...."

4

Late that night, long after Henry had gone to bed, Mr. Quinn came to his
room and wakened him.

"What is it, father!" Henry said, starting up in alarm.

"It's all right, son," Mr. Quinn replied. "I'm sorry I startled you.
I've been thinkin' over what I said to you this afternoon ... about
machinery. You're not to take me too seriously."

Henry, his eyes still full of sleep, blinked uncomprehendingly at his
father.

"I mean, son," Mr. Quinn went on, "that it'd be silly to break up every
machine in the world. Of course, it would! You must have thought I was
daft talkin' like that. What I mean is, I'd smash up all the machines
that make a mess of men an' women. That's all. I'm sorry I disturbed
you, Henry, but I couldn't bear to think of you lyin' here mebbe
thinkin' I was talkin' out of the back of my neck. I'm not very clever,
son ... I've a moidhered sort of a mind ... an' I say things sometimes
that aren't what I mean at all. You must be tired out, Henry. Good-night
to you!"

"Good-night, father!"

Mr. Quinn walked towards the door of the room, shading the light of the
candle from the draught, but before he had reached it, Henry called to
him.

"Father," he said.

"Yes, Henry," Mr. Quinn replied, turning to look at his son.

"You're a Socialist!"

"No, I'm not. I'm a Conservative," said Mr. Quinn, and then he went out
of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

5

Many things troubled Mr. Quinn, but the thing that troubled him most was
his son's nervousness. Henry, when he was a child, would cry with fright
during a thunderstorm, and he never in after life quite lost the sense
of apprehension when the clouds blackened. He loved horses, but he could
not sit on a horse's back without being haunted by the fear that the
animal would run away or that he would be thrown from his seat. He could
swim fairly well, but he was afraid to dive, and he never swam far out
of his depth without a sensation of alarm that he would not be able to
return in safety.

"Your mother was like that," Mr. Quinn said to him once. "She never was
in a theatre in her life, 'til I married her. Her father was too
religious to let her go to such a place, an' I had the great job to
persuade her to go with me. I took her to see Henry Irving in Belfast
once, an'