Портрет художника в юності
Chapter 5
Youcanbeapoetoramysticafter.
—DoyouknowwhatIrelandis?askedStephenwithcoldviolence.Irelandistheoldsowthateatsherfarrow.
Davinrosefromhisboxandwenttowardstheplayers,shakinghisheadsadly.ButinamomenthissadnesslefthimandhewashotlydisputingwithCranlyandthetwoplayerswhohadfinishedtheirgame.Amatchoffourwasarranged,Cranlyinsisting,however,thathisballshouldbeused.Heletitreboundtwiceorthricetohishandandstruckitstronglyandswiftlytowardsthebaseofthealley,exclaiminginanswertoitsthud:
—Yoursoul!
StephenstoodwithLynchtillthescorebegantorise.Thenhepluckedhimbythesleevetocomeaway.Lynchobeyed,saying:
—Letusekego,asCranlyhasit.
Stephensmiledatthisside-thrust.
Theypassedbackthroughthegardenandoutthroughthehallwherethedodderingporterwaspinningupahallnoticeintheframe.AtthefootofthestepstheyhaltedandStephentookapacketofcigarettesfromhispocketandofferedittohiscompanion.
—Iknowyouarepoor,hesaid.
—Damnyouryellowinsolence,answeredLynch.
ThissecondproofofLynch’sculturemadeStephensmileagain.
—ItwasagreatdayforEuropeanculture,hesaid,whenyoumadeupyourmindtoswearinyellow.
Theylittheircigarettesandturnedtotheright.
