"But she wouldn't marry me," he went on. "I wasn't man enough for her.... My G.o.d, I wish I was out of this!"

5

"Father," he said when he got home, "I'd like to go to London at once!"

"You can't go this minute, my son. There's no train the night!"

"I mean, I want to go as soon as possible!"

Mr. Quinn glanced sharply at him. "You're in a desperate hurry all of a sudden," he said. "What's up?"

"Nothing, father, only I want to get to work, and I can't work here!..."

"Restless, are you? I was hopin' you'd give me a bit of your company a while longer!..."

"I'm sorry, father!..."

"That's all right, my boy, that's all right. When do you want to go?"

"To-morrow!"

"You've only been home a short time.... Never mind! I'll come up to Belfast an' see you off. There's a Co-operative Conference there the day after the morra, an' I may as well go up with you as go up alone!"

Henry knew that his father was hurt by his sudden decision to leave Ballymartin, and he felt sorry for the old man's disappointment, but he felt, too, that he could not bear to stay near Hamilton's farm at present, knowing that Sheila, whom he had loved and idealised, was likely to meet him in the roads at any moment, a baby in her arms, perhaps at her breast, and a husband somewhere near at hand.

"I must go," he told himself. "I must get over this...."

6

Mr. Quinn and he travelled to Belfast together on the following morning, and they spent the hour before the steamer sailed for Liverpool in pacing up and down the deck.

"You can write to me when you get to London," Mr. Quinn said, and Henry nodded his head.

He was very conscious now of his father's disappointment, and although he was determined to go to London, he was moved by the affectionate way in which the old man tried to provide for his needs on the journey.

"Hap yourself well," he had said when they crossed the gangway on to the boat. "These steamers never give you enough clothes on your bunk. I'd put my overcoat on top of the quilt if I were you!..."

They stood for a time looking across the Lagan at the shipyard, and talked about the possibility of Ninian Graham entering the shipbuilding firm, and then they moved to the side of the boat that was against the quay-wall. The hour at which the steamer was to depart was drawing near and the number of pa.s.sengers had increased. They could hear the noise of the machinery as the cargo was lowered from the quay into the hold, and now and then, the squealing of pigs as the drovers pushed them up the gangways. A herd of cattle came through the sheds and stumbled in a startled, stupid fashion on to the lower decks, while the drovers thwacked them and shouted at them. There was a small crowd of people, friends of pa.s.sengers and casual onlookers, standing on the quay waiting to see the ship go out, and some of them were shouting messages to their friends. Henry had always liked to watch crowds at times such as this, and often in Dublin, he had spent a while in Westland Row Station, looking at the people who were going to England. He was so interested in the crowd on the quay that he did not hear his father speaking to him.

"I want to speak to you, Henry," the old man said, and then receiving no answer, he said again, "I want to speak to you, Henry!"

"Yes, father?" Henry answered, without looking up.

"Turn round a minute, Henry!..." He hesitated, and Henry turning round, saw that his father was embarra.s.sed.

"What is it, father?" he said.

"I just wanted to say something to you, Henry. You see, you're beginnin'

another life ... out of my control, if you follow me ... not that I ever tried to boss you...."

"No, father, you've never done that. You've been awfully decent to me!"

"Ah, now, no more of that! I just wanted to say somethin' to you, only I don't rightly know how to begin...." He fumbled for words and then, as if making a reckless plunge, he blurted out, "Do you know much, Henry?"

"Know much?" Henry answered vaguely.

"Aye. About women an' things? Did you know any women in Dublin?"

"Oh, yes, a few!" Henry answered.

"Did ... did you have anything to do with them?"

"Anything to do with them!"

"Aye!"

Henry began to comprehend his father's questions. "Oh, I ... I kissed one or two of them!" he said.

"Was that all?" Mr. Quinn's voice was so low that Henry had difficulty in hearing him.

"Yes, father," he answered.

"You know, don't you, that there's other things than kisses? Or do you not know it?"

Henry nodded his head.

"I'm ... I'm not interferin' with you, Henry. I'm not just askin' for the sake of askin' ... but ... well, do you know anything about those ... things?"

He moved slightly as he spoke, as if, by moving, he could take the edge off his question.

"I know about them, father. Something!" Henry said huskily, for his father's questions embarra.s.sed him strangely.

"You've never ... you've never!..."

"No, father!"

Mr. Quinn turned away and looked over the side of the boat. He seemed to be watching a piece of orange peel which floated between the wall and the side of the boat. The first bell of warning to friends of pa.s.sengers was sounded, and he turned sharply and looked at his son. "I'll have to be goin' soon," he said.

"That's only the first bell, father," Henry replied. "There's plenty of time yet!"

"Aye!" Mr. Quinn glanced about the deck which was now covered by pa.s.sengers. "You'll have plenty of company goin' over," he said.

"Yes!"

They were making conversation with difficulty. Mr. Quinn felt nervous and a little unhappy because Henry was leaving him so soon, and Henry felt disturbed because of the strange conversation he had just had with his father. He had a shamed sense of intrusion into privacies.

"It's very interestin' to see a boat goin' out to sea," Mr. Quinn was saying. "I used to come down here many's a time when I was a young fellow just to watch the steamers goin' out. Did you ever stan' on top of a hill an' watch a boat sailin' out to sea?"