Henry shook his head.
"Well, what do you want to do. Are you thinkin' of the law?"
"I don't care about the law, father!..."
"I don't care about it myself, Henry. I was no good at it, an' mebbe that's the reason I think so little of it. But we have to have lawyers all the same. It would be a good plan now to sentence criminals to be lawyers, wouldn't it? 'The sentence of the Court is that you be taken from this place an' made to practise at the Bar for the rest of your natural life, an' may the Lord have mercy on your soul!' Begod, Henry, that's a great notion!"
Henry interrupted his father's fancy. "I want to write," he said.
"Write!" Mr. Quinn exclaimed. "Write what?"
"Books. Novels, I think!..."
Mr. Quinn put down his paper and gaped at his son. "Good God," he said, "an author!"
"Yes, father."
"You're daft, Henry!"