"Why, the Thames, of course!"
"Is that what you call it?"
Hinde smiled at John. "So you've learned to call it the river, have you? Mrs. Hinde, in this town we always talk as if there were only one river in the world. A Londoner always says he's going up the river or down the river or on the river. He always speaks of it as the river. He never speaks of it as the Thames. In Belfast, you speak of the Lagan ... never of the river. The same in Dublin. They speak of the Liffey ... never of the river. John's become a Londoner. He knows the proper way to speak of the Thames!"
"London seems to be full of very conceited and unneighbourly people," Mrs. MacDermott said.
John demanded information of his mother. How were Uncle William and Mr. Cairnduff and the minister and Willie Logan?...
"His wife's got a child," Mrs. MacDermott replied severely.
"A boy or a girl?"
"A boy, and the spit of his father, God help him. Thon lad Logan'll come to no good. Aggie's courting hard. Some fellow from Belfast that travels in drapery. She told me to remember her to you!"
"Thank you, mother!"
Hinde rose to leave them. "You'll have a lot to say to each other, and I'm tired," he explained, as he went off to bed.