Young Phillip Maddison by Henry Williamson

together.
    Phillip, calling Polly into the front room, told her what he had seen outside Turret House. Then, struck by a sudden fear, he said goodnight, and taking the book, went down to the sitting-room. Would Mr. Mundy call to see Father that night, now that the fog was gone? Or would the police be told first? Any moment there might be a knock on the front door, a loud urgent ring of the electric bell.
    Father was sitting in his green leather armchair, reading The Daily Trident.
    â€œGood evening, Father.”
    â€œHullo, old chap. How’s the fog?”
    â€œIt’s cleared off, Father.”
    â€œThat is good news.”
    Phillip seated himself quietly, in his usual place at the table, behind Father’s chair. Father usually read the paper all through, then he had a game of chess with Mother. Phillip put the library book on the plush cloth of the table, quietly by Father’s side.
    Not long afterwards Hetty came down, and took up her basket of darning beside her chair. Phillip blinked at her, and indicated the book with his nose.
    After a few moments, when Father did not move, he said, with another glance at her, “I think I would like to learn to play chess, you know, Mum.”
    Richard put down the paper, and got on his feet, to stretch himself. Standing with back to the crackling coke fire, he looked at Phillip quizzically, and said, “Who is this I see before me?What does this sudden glory foretell? Bless my soul, you are scarcely recognisable, Phillip.”
    â€œI thought it a good thing to let him air his best clothes, Dickie. Tomorrow he is going to have his photograph taken.”
    â€œFor heaven’s sake let the boy speak for himself, Hetty! And there is no need for you to speak in that apologetical tone of voice. After all, I merely asked a question.”
    â€œYes dear, of course, naturally.”
    This familiar remark of Hetty’s seemed to irritate Richard.
    â€œWhat do you mean by that expression? I must have heard it a thousand times in my married life, and each time I have wondered what exactly you meant by it. ‘Of course’ means a matter of course, or habit. But your habit is always to try and come between me and Phillip. ‘Naturally’ presumably means what is natural. Is it natural for a mother always to be shielding her son?”
    Hetty smiled. There was sadness and resignation, together with an unquenchable sense of fun, in her eyes. Suddenly the fun departed; acute sadness remained, a sense of tragedy, of the perpetual, unchangeable sameness of Dickie always taking the simplest thing she said, in the wrong way. “I hardly dare ever say anything,” she once confessed, in a tearful moment, to Phillip. “Father always takes it the wrong way.”
    â€œWell, Phillip,” said Richard, turning to his son, who was sitting unnaturally still. “This is indeed a surprise. Are you intending to call on your best girl, it being St. Valentine’s Eve?”
    Richard spoke in the chaffing tones that always disconcerted Phillip, used as he was to a tension of resistance against his father. Richard however, was also sensitive, though in different degree; and his sense of decorum would never permit him knowingly to embarrass his son. He knew nothing of the Valentine painted by Polly Pickering; his remark came from an article he had been reading in The Daily Trident on the origins of St. Valentine, and old country beliefs about birds pairing off on that date. Phillip thought Father was chipping him. He made no reply. Then to his relief, Father said, “Well, so you want to learn to play chess, do you?”
    â€œYes, I would, please, Father.”
    â€œI wonder what put that idea into your head?”
    â€œI don’t know, Father.”
    â€œCome, old chap,” said Richard, in kindly mood, regarding the prim, wide-eyed boy. “Share the secret with me!”
    Before Phillip could think, there was a ring of the front