Портрет художника в юности

Chapter 1

           

           —Hoho!hecried.Whoisthisboy?Whyisheonhisknees?Whatisyourname,boy?

           —Fleming,sir.

           —Hoho,Fleming!Anidlerofcourse.Icanseeitinyoureye.Whyisheonhisknees,FatherArnall?

           —HewroteabadLatintheme,FatherArnallsaid,andhemissedallthequestionsingrammar.

           —Ofcoursehedid!criedtheprefectofstudies,ofcoursehedid!Abornidler!Icanseeitinthecornerofhiseye.

           Hebangedhispandybatdownonthedeskandcried:

           —Up,Fleming!Up,myboy!

           Flemingstoodupslowly.

           —Holdout!criedtheprefectofstudies.

           Flemingheldouthishand.Thepandybatcamedownonitwithaloudsmackingsound:one,two,three,four,five,six.

           —Otherhand!

           Thepandybatcamedownagaininsixloudquicksmacks.

           —Kneeldown!criedtheprefectofstudies.

           Flemingkneltdown,squeezinghishandsunderhisarmpits,hisfacecontortedwithpain;butStephenknewhowhardhishandswerebecauseFlemingwasalwaysrubbingrosinintothem.Butperhapshewasingreatpainforthenoiseofthepandybatwasterrible.Stephen’sheartwasbeatingandfluttering.

           —Atyourwork,allofyou!shoutedtheprefectofstudies.Wewantnolazyidleloafershere,lazyidlelittleschemers.Atyourwork,Itellyou.FatherDolanwillbeintoseeyoueveryday.

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