Дублинцы
A Little Cloud
PeopleusedtosaythatIgnatiusGallaherwaswildOfcourse,hedidmixwitharakishsetoffellowsatthattime.drankfreelyandborrowedmoneyonallsides.Intheendhehadgotmixedupinsomeshadyaffair,somemoneytransaction:atleast,thatwasoneversionofhisflight.Butnobodydeniedhimtalent.Therewasalwaysacertain...somethinginIgnatiusGallaherthatimpressedyouinspiteofyourself.Evenwhenhewasoutatelbowsandathiswits’endformoneyhekeptupaboldface.LittleChandlerremembered(andtheremembrancebroughtaslightflushofpridetohischeek)oneofIgnatiusGallaher’ssayingswhenhewasinatightcorner:
“Halftimenow,boys,”heusedtosaylight-heartedly.“Where’smyconsideringcap?”
ThatwasIgnatiusGallaherallout;and,damnit,youcouldn’tbutadmirehimforit.
LittleChandlerquickenedhispace.Forthefirsttimeinhislifehefelthimselfsuperiortothepeoplehepassed.ForthefirsttimehissoulrevoltedagainstthedullineleganceofCapelStreet.Therewasnodoubtaboutit:ifyouwantedtosucceedyouhadtogoaway.YoucoulddonothinginDublin.AshecrossedGrattanBridgehelookeddowntherivertowardsthelowerquaysandpitiedthepoorstuntedhouses.Theyseemedtohimabandoftramps,huddledtogetheralongtheriverbanks,theiroldcoatscoveredwithdustandsoot,stupefiedbythepanoramaofsunsetandwaitingforthefirstchillofnightbidthemarise,shakethemselvesandbegone.
