Портрет художника в юності
Chapter 1
HeturnedtoDanteandsaid:
—Youdidn’tstiroutatall,MrsRiordan?
Dantefrownedandsaidshortly:
—No.
MrDedalusdroppedhiscoat-tailsandwentovertothesideboard.Hebroughtforthagreatstonejarofwhiskyfromthelockerandfilledthedecanterslowly,bendingnowandthentoseehowmuchhehadpouredin.Thenreplacingthejarinthelockerhepouredalittleofthewhiskyintotwoglasses,addedalittlewaterandcamebackwiththemtothefireplace.
—Athimbleful,John,hesaid,justtowhetyourappetite.
MrCaseytooktheglass,drank,andplaceditnearhimonthemantelpiece.Thenhesaid:
—Well,Ican’thelpthinkingofourfriendChristophermanufacturing.
Hebrokeintoafitoflaughterandcoughingandadded:
—manufacturingthatchampagneforthosefellows.
MrDedaluslaughedloudly.
—IsitChristy?hesaid.There’smorecunninginoneofthosewartsonhisbaldheadthaninapackofjackfoxes.
Heinclinedhishead,closedhiseyes,and,lickinghislipsprofusely,begantospeakwiththevoiceofthehotelkeeper.
—Andhehassuchasoftmouthwhenhe’sspeakingtoyou,don’tyouknow.He’sverymoistandwateryaboutthedewlaps,Godblesshim.
MrCaseywasstillstrugglingthroughhisfitofcoughingandlaughter.
