Портрет художника в юності
Chapter 1
Thenhesmiledandsaid:
—O,well,itwasamistake;IamsureFatherDolandidnotknow.
—ButItoldhimIbrokethem,sir,andhepandiedme.
—Didyoutellhimthatyouhadwrittenhomeforanewpair?therectorasked.
—No,sir.
—Owellthen,saidtherector,FatherDolandidnotunderstand.YoucansaythatIexcuseyoufromyourlessonsforafewdays.
Stephensaidquicklyforfearhistremblingwouldpreventhim:
—Yes,sir,butFatherDolansaidhewillcomeintomorrowtopandymeagainforit.
—Verywell,therectorsaid,itisamistakeandIshallspeaktoFatherDolanmyself.Willthatdonow?
Stephenfeltthetearswettinghiseyesandmurmured:
—Oyessir,thanks.
TherectorheldhishandacrossthesideofthedeskwheretheskullwasandStephen,placinghishandinitforamoment,feltacoolmoistpalm.
—Gooddaynow,saidtherector,withdrawinghishandandbowing.
—Goodday,sir,saidStephen.
Hebowedandwalkedquietlyoutoftheroom,closingthedoorscarefullyandslowly.
Butwhenhehadpassedtheoldservantonthelandingandwasagaininthelownarrowdarkcorridorhebegantowalkfasterandfaster.Fasterandfasterhehurriedonthroughthegloomexcitedly.
