Портрет художника в юності

           Wekepttheballrollinganyhowandenjoyedourselvesandsawabitoflifeandwewerenonetheworseofiteither.Butwewereallgentlemen,Stephen—atleastIhopewewere-andbloodygoodhonestIrishmentoo.That’sthekindoffellowsIwantyoutoassociatewith,fellowsoftherightkidney.I’mtalkingtoyouasafriend,Stephen.Idon’tbelieveasonshouldbeafraidofhisfather.No,ItreatyouasyourgrandfathertreatedmewhenIwasayoungchap.Weweremorelikebrothersthanfatherandson.I‘Ilneverforgetthefirstdayhecaughtmesmoking.IwasstandingattheendoftheSouthTerraceonedaywithsomemaneenslikemyselfandsurewethoughtweweregrandfellowsbecausewehadpipesstuckinthecornersofourmouths.Suddenlythegovernorpassed.Hedidn’tsayaword,orstopeven.Butthenextday,Sunday,wewereoutforawalktogetherandwhenwewerecominghomehetookouthiscigarcaseandsaid:—Bytheby,Simon,Ididn’tknowyousmoked,orsomethinglikethat.—OfcourseItriedtocarryitoffasbestIcould.—Ifyouwantagoodsmoke,hesaid,tryoneofthesecigars.AnAmericancaptainmademeapresentofthemlastnightinQueenstown.

           Stephenheardhisfather’svoicebreakintoalaughwhichwasalmostasob.

           —HewasthehandsomestmaninCorkatthattime,byGodhewas!Thewomenusedtostandtolookafterhiminthestreet.

           Heheardthesobpassingloudlydownhisfather’sthroatandopenedhiseyeswithanervousimpulse.