Changing Winds: A NovelErvine, St. John G. (St. John Greer)
General
Changing Winds: A Novel
Ervine, St. John G. (St. John Greer)
Fiction
A twist of pain passed over the boy's face when his father said
"Coward," and instantly Mr. Quinn was sorry.
"I didn't mean that exactly," he said very quickly, putting out his hand
and touching Henry's bare back. "I didn't mean _coward_, Henry. I know
you're not that sort at all. It's just nervousness, that's what it is!"
He scrambled to his feet as he spoke, and stood for a moment or two,
slipping about on the wet sea-weed. He slapped his big, hairy chest with
his hands, and then he swung his arms over his head in order to send the
blood circulating more rapidly through his veins.
"I wish I were as big and strong as you are, father!" said Henry, gazing
at his father's muscular frame.
"You're a greedy young rascal," his father answered. "Sure, haven't you
more brains in your wee finger than I have in my whole body, an' what
more do you want! It would be a poor thing if your father hadn't got
something you haven't. Come on, now, an' I'll swim you a race to the end
of the pool an' back, an' then we must go home."
He plunged into the water and swam about, making a great noise and
splash, and deliberately looking away from his son. He was giving him an
opportunity to slip into the water without being seen to shrink from the
dive.
"Are you comin', Henry!" he asked, without looking back.
"Yes, father," the boy replied, standing up and looking fearfully into
the water. He lifted his hands above his head and drew in his breath. He
moved forward, half shutting his eyes, and poised himself on the edge of
the rock, ready for the plunge. Then he put his hands down again and
lowering himself on to the sea-weed, slipped slowly into the water and
struck out. "I'm coming, father!" he said.
"That's right, my son, that's right!" Mr. Quinn replied, looking round.
6
He did not speak of Henry's nervousness again, but it troubled him none
the less. He himself was so fearless, so careless of danger, so eager
for adventure that he could not understand his son's shrinking from
peril.
"I used to think," he said to himself one day, "that boys took their
physique from their mothers an' their brains from their fathers, but it
doesn't seem to have worked out like that with Henry. He doesn't seem to
have got anything from me.... It's a rum business, whatever way you look
at it."
THE SECOND CHAPTER
1
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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