Bildungsromans; Fathers and sons -- Fiction; First loves -- Fiction; Ireland -- Fiction
I was somehow pleased that he had not added the customary “Sir.” He
stood with his head up and gazed straight at Limpet and the old woman,
with a kind of contemptuous wrath, his gray eyes dark and very bright,
a frown on his face.
The old woman was so obviously uncertain and uncomfortable that the
whole thing appeared to me ridiculous, and I impulsively gave voice to
this impression. “She doesn’t know anything about it,” I called out.
“Anybody could see she’s only trying it on.”
Limpet on the spot gave me two hundred of Sir Walter Scott’s bad verses
to write out. My remark had the effect, nevertheless, of drawing a
wavering expression of uncertainty from the old woman herself, which,
in his now undisguised irritability, Limpet pounced on, as a cat
pounces on a mouse. “Why did you point to him, if you don’t know?”
he whipped out, frightening her nearly out of her wits. “Don’t you
understand that it’s a serious thing to bring an accusation of theft
against a boy? Sit down, Gill. I want to see you after school.”
He was so angry that he forgot all about the half-dozen remaining boys,
and conducted his companion unceremoniously from the room.
Gill sat staring straight in front of him. Certainly he did not look
guilty. He had a dark, narrow face, with a bright complexion. His
thick, rough, black hair grew low on an oval, narrow forehead, and
between his clear gray eyes there started a high-bridged, somewhat
aggressive-looking nose, the most striking feature of his rather
striking face. He had the reputation of being a peculiar kind of
chap, and he was sometimes made fun of――mildly, for he was extremely
quick-tempered and very strong――but anybody could see that he was a
fine fellow, and that an accusation such as had just been brought
against him would require a great deal of proof.
When the bell rang he remained on in his seat while the rest of us
went out, I hung about the porch watching two little fellows playing
chestnuts, and when they stopped playing I still hung about with
nothing to watch, and with, indeed, no very definite purpose in view.
Presently Gill emerged, but whether he saw me or not, he took no
notice, as he walked on swiftly down toward the gate.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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