Портрет художника в юности

           Itdoesn’tmatteraboutthedearness.

           Hewalkedonbeforethemwithshortnervoussteps,smiling.Theytriedtokeepupwithhim,smilingalsoathiseagerness.

           —Takeiteasylikeagoodyoungfellow,saidhisfather.We’rehotoutforthehalfmile,arewe?

           ForaswiftseasonofmerrymakingthemoneyofhisprizesranthroughStephen’sfingers.Greatparcelsofgroceriesanddelicaciesanddriedfruitsarrivedfromthecity.EverydayhedrewupabilloffareforthefamilyandeverynightledapartyofthreeorfourtothetheatretoseeINGOMARorTHELADYOFLYONS.InhiscoatpocketshecarriedsquaresofViennachocolateforhisguestswhilehistrousers’pocketbulgedwithmassesofsilverandcoppercoins.Heboughtpresentsforeveryone,overhauledhisroom,wroteoutresolutions,marshalledhisbooksupanddowntheirshelves,poreduponallkindsofpricelists,drewupaformofcommonwealthforthehouseholdbywhicheverymemberofitheldsomeoffice,openedaloanbankforhisfamilyandpressedloansonwillingborrowerssothathemighthavethepleasureofmakingoutreceiptsandreckoningtheinterestsonthesumslent.Whenhecoulddonomorehedroveupanddownthecityintrams.Thentheseasonofpleasurecametoanend.Thepotofpinkenamelpaintgaveoutandthewainscotofhisbedroomremainedwithitsunfinishedandill-plasteredcoat.

           Hishouseholdreturnedtoitsusualwayoflife.