Портрет художника в юности

           D.S.werewrittenatthefootofthepage,and,havinghiddenthebook,hewentintohismother’sbedroomandgazedathisfaceforalongtimeinthemirrorofherdressing-table.

           Buthislongspellofleisureandlibertywasdrawingtoitsend.Oneeveninghisfathercamehomefullofnewswhichkepthistonguebusyallthroughdinner.Stephenhadbeenawaitinghisfather’sreturnfortherehadbeenmuttonhashthatdayandheknewthathisfatherwouldmakehimdiphisbreadinthegravy.ButhedidnotrelishthehashforthementionofClongoweshadcoatedhispalatewithascumofdisgust.

           —Iwalkedbangintohim,saidMrDedalusforthefourthtime,justatthecornerofthesquare.

           —ThenIsuppose,saidMrsDedalus,hewillbeabletoarrangeit.ImeanaboutBelvedere.

           —Ofcoursehewill,saidMrDedalus.Don’tItellyouhe’sprovincialoftheordernow?

           —Ineverlikedtheideaofsendinghimtothechristianbrothersmyself,saidMrsDedalus.

           —Christianbrothersbedamned!saidMrDedalus.IsitwithPaddyStinkandMickyMud?No,lethimsticktothejesuitsinGod’snamesincehebeganwiththem.They’llbeofservicetohiminafteryears.Thosearethefellowsthatcangetyouaposition.

           —Andthey’reaveryrichorder,aren’tthey,Simon?

           —Rather.Theylivewell,Itellyou.YousawtheirtableatClongowes.Fedup,byGod,likegamecocks.