Портрет художника в юності
Chapter 1
Butthatwasnotwhy
Avoicefromfaroutontheplaygroundcried:
—Allin!
Andothervoicescried:
—Allin!Allin!
Duringthewritinglessonhesatwithhisarmsfolded,listeningtotheslowscrapingofthepens.MrHarfordwenttoandfromakinglittlesignsinredpencilandsometimessittingbesidetheboytoshowhimhowtoholdhispen.Hehadtriedtospellouttheheadlineforhimselfthoughheknewalreadywhatitwasforitwasthelastofthebook.ZealWITHOUTPRUDENCEISLIKEASHIPADRIFT.Butthelinesoftheletterswerelikefineinvisiblethreadsanditwasonlybyclosinghisrighteyetightandstaringoutofthelefteyethathecouldmakeoutthefullcurvesofthecapital.
ButMrHarfordwasverydecentandnevergotintoawax.Alltheothermastersgotintodreadfulwaxes.Butwhyweretheytosufferforwhatfellowsinthehigherlinedid?Wellshadsaidthattheyhaddrunksomeofthealtarwineoutofthepressinthesacristyandthatithadbeenfoundoutwhohaddoneitbythesmell.Perhapstheyhadstolenamonstrancetorunawaywithandsellitsomewhere.Thatmusthavebeenaterriblesin,togointherequietlyatnight,toopenthedarkpressandstealtheflashinggoldthingintowhichGodwasputonthealtarinthemiddleofflowersandcandlesatbenedictionwhiletheincensewentupincloudsatbothsidesasthefellowswungthecenserandDominicKellysangthefirstpartbyhimselfinthechoir.
