Портрет художника в юності

           —Andwhicharetheytaking?askedthefellowwhohadspokenfirst.

           —AllaretakingexpulsionexceptCorrigan,Athyanswered.He’sgoingtobefloggedbyMrGleeson.

           —Iknowwhy,CecilThundersaid.Heisrightandtheotherfellowsarewrongbecauseafloggingwearsoffafterabitbutafellowthathasbeenexpelledfromcollegeisknownallhislifeonaccountofit.BesidesGleesonwon’tfloghimhard.

           —It’sbestofhisplaynotto,Flemingsaid.

           —Iwouldn’tliketobeSimonMoonanandTuskerCecilThundersaid.ButIdon’tbelievetheywillbeflogged.Perhapstheywillbesentupfortwicenine.

           —No,no,saidAthy.They’llbothgetitonthevitalspot.Wellsrubbedhimselfandsaidinacryingvoice:

           —Please,sir,letmeoff!

           Athygrinnedandturnedupthesleevesofhisjacket,saying:

           Itcan’tbehelped;

           Itmustbedone.

           Sodownwithyourbreeches

           Andoutwithyourbum.

           Thefellowslaughed;buthefeltthattheywerealittleafraid.Inthesilenceofthesoftgreyairheheardthecricketbatsfromhereandfromthere:pock.Thatwasasoundtohearbutifyouwerehitthenyouwouldfeelapain.Thepandybatmadeasoundtoobutnotlikethat.Thefellowssaiditwasmadeofwhaleboneandleatherwithleadinside:andhewonderedwhatwasthepainlike.