Портрет художника в юности

           Stephenhadturnedhissmilingeyestowardshisfriend’sface,flatteredbyhisconfidenceandwonovertosympathybythespeaker’ssimpleaccent.

           —IwasawayallthatdayfrommyownplaceoverinButtevant.

           —Idon’tknowifyouknowwherethatis—atahurlingmatchbetweentheCroke’sOwnBoysandtheFearlessThurlesandbyGod,Stevie,thatwasthehardfight.Myfirstcousin,FonsyDavin,wasstrippedtohisbuffthatdaymindingcoolfortheLimericksbuthewasupwiththeforwardshalfthetimeandshoutinglikemad.Ineverwillforgetthatday.OneoftheCrokesmadeawoefulwipeathimonetimewithhiscamanandIdeclaretoGodhewaswithinanaim’saceofgettingitatthesideofhistemple.Oh,honesttoGod,ifthecrookofitcaughthimthattimehewasdonefor.

           —Iamgladheescaped,Stephenhadsaidwithalaugh,butsurelythat’snotthestrangethingthathappenedyou?—Well,Isupposethatdoesn’tinterestyou,butleastwaystherewassuchnoiseafterthematchthatImissedthetrainhomeandIcouldn’tgetanykindofayoketogivemealiftfor,asluckwouldhaveit,therewasamassmeetingthatsamedayoverinCastletownrocheandallthecarsinthecountrywerethere.Sotherewasnothingforitonlytostaythenightortofootitout.Well,IstartedtowalkandonIwentanditwascomingonnightwhenIgotintotheBallyhourahills,that’sbetterthantenmilesfromKilmallockandthere’salonglonelyroadafterthat.