A most conceited young Ulsterman in London, quite sure that he can write, a nice sensible girl and a surrounding of good characters make an entertaining tale. Slowly but surely the lad finds that the writing is not for him, but something better is.
rd, Uncle Matthew?" John exclaimed. He had net yet trimmed his tongue to say "afraid."
"Aye, son, heart-afraid. There's many a fine woman I'd have run away with, only I was afraid mebbe I'd be caught. You'll never have no adventures if you're afraid to have them, that's a sure and certain thing!"
John struggled out of his Uncle's embrace and turned squarely to face him.
"I'm not afeard, Uncle Matthew," he asserted.
"Are you not, son?"
"I'm not afeard of anything. I'd give anybody their cowardy-blow!..."
"There's few people in the world can say that, John!" Uncle Matthew said.
People often said of Uncle Matthew that he was "quare in the head," but John had never noticed anything queer about him. Mrs. MacDermott, finding her son in the attic where Uncle Matthew kept his books, reading an old, torn copy of Smollett's translation of Gil Blas, had said to him, "Son, dear, quit reading them oul' books, do, or you'll have your mind moidhered like your Uncle Matthew!"
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