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 his gold plate, Gilbert turned to Mary and said out loud, "Ostentatious chap, Solomon! Anybody could see he was a Jew!" and Mary burst out laughing. The Vicar was frightfully sick about it, and jawed Gilbert after the service, and the mater told Mary the truth about herself. I must say it was rather funny. I very nearly laughed myself. Do be a decent chap and come over soon. You'll just be in time for the mackerel fishing. Gilbert and Mary and I went out with Jim Rattenbury yesterday and caught dozens._ _Your affectionate friend,_ _Ninian Graham._ Henry's reply was: _Dear Ninian:_