Дублинцы

A Little Cloud

           

           HesippedalittleofhisdrinkwhileIgnatiusGallaherfinishedhisboldly.

           “Beautiful?”saidIgnatiusGallaher,pausingonthewordandontheflavourofhisdrink.“It’snotsobeautiful,youknow.Ofcourse,itisbeautiful....Butit’sthelifeofParis;that’sthething.Ah,there’snocitylikeParisforgaiety,movement,excitement....

           LittleChandlerfinishedhiswhiskyand,aftersometrouble,succeededincatchingthebarman’seye.Heorderedthesameagain.

           “I’vebeentotheMoulinRouge,”IgnatiusGallahercontinuedwhenthebarmanhadremovedtheirglasses,“andI’vebeentoalltheBohemiancafes.Hotstuff!Notforapiouschaplikeyou,Tommy.”

           LittleChandlersaidnothinguntilthebarmanreturnedwithtwoglasses:thenhetouchedhisfriend’sglasslightlyandreciprocatedtheformertoast.Hewasbeginningtofeelsomewhatdisillusioned.Gallaher’saccentandwayofexpressinghimselfdidnotpleasehim.Therewassomethingvulgarinhisfriendwhichhehadnotobservedbefore.ButperhapsitwasonlytheresultoflivinginLondonamidthebustleandcompetitionofthePress.Theoldpersonalcharmwasstillthereunderthisnewgaudymanner.And,afterall,Gallaherhadlived,hehadseentheworld.LittleChandlerlookedathisfriendenviously.

           “EverythinginParisisgay,”saidIgnatiusGallaher.

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