Портрет художника в юности

           Here,TimorTomorwhateveryournameis,giveusthesameagainhere.ByGod,Idon’tfeelmorethaneighteenmyself.There’sthatsonofminetherenothalfmyageandI’mabettermanthanheisanydayoftheweek.

           —Drawitmildnow,Dedalus.Ithinkit’stimeforyoutotakeabackseat,saidthegentlemanwhohadspokenbefore.

           —No,byGod!assertedMrDedalus.I’llsingatenorsongagainsthimorI’llvaultafive-barredgateagainsthimorI’llrunwithhimafterthehoundsacrossthecountryasIdidthirtyyearsagoalongwiththeKerryBoyandthebestmanforit.

           —Buthe’llbeatyouhere,saidthelittleoldman,tappinghisforeheadandraisinghisglasstodrainit.

           —Well,Ihopehe’llbeasgoodamanashisfather.That’sallIcansay,saidMrDedalus.

           —Ifheis,he’lldo,saidthelittleoldman.

           —AndthanksbetoGod,Johnny,saidMrDedalus,thatwelivedsolonganddidsolittleharm.

           —Butdidsomuchgood,Simon,saidthelittleoldmangravely.ThanksbetoGodwelivedsolonganddidsomuchgood.

           Stephenwatchedthethreeglassesbeingraisedfromthecounterashisfatherandhistwocroniesdranktothememoryoftheirpast.Anabyssoffortuneoroftemperamentsunderedhimfromthem.Hismindseemedolderthantheirs:itshonecoldlyontheirstrifesandhappinessandregretslikeamoonuponayoungerearth.