He belonged, most definitely, to the new one, and everything about him--the delightfully mysterious tick of his gold watch, the solid, firm grasp of his hand, the sure security of his shoulder upon which Ernest Henry now gloriously rode--these things were of this world and none other.
It was a different relationship, this, from any other that Ernest Henry had ever known, but there was no doubt at all about its pleasant flavour.

Just as in other days he had watched for his friend's appearance, so now he waited for that evening hour that always brought his father.

The door would open, the square, set figure would appear....
Very pleasant, indeed.

Meanwhile Ernest Henry was instructed that the right thing to say on his father's appearance was "Dada." But he knew better.

His father's name was really "Damn." VI The days and weeks passed.