Портрет художника в юності
Chapter 1
Butsoonthegaswouldbelitandinburningitmadealightnoiselikealittlesong.Alwaysthesame:andwhenthefellowsstoppedtalkingintheplayroomyoucouldhearit.
Itwasthehourforsums.FatherArnallwroteahardsumontheboardandthensaid:
—Nowthen,whowillwin?Goahead,York!Goahead,Lancaster!
Stephentriedhisbest,butthesumwastoohardandhefeltconfused.Thelittlesilkbadgewiththewhiteroseonitthatwaspinnedonthebreastofhisjacketbegantoflutter.Hewasnogoodatsums,buthetriedhisbestsothatYorkmightnotlose.FatherArnall’sfacelookedveryblack,buthewasnotinawax:hewaslaughing.ThenJackLawtoncrackedhisfingersandFatherArnalllookedathiscopybookandsaid:
—Right.BravoLancaster!Theredrosewins.Comeonnow,York!Forgeahead!
JackLawtonlookedoverfromhisside.Thelittlesilkbadgewiththeredroseonitlookedveryrichbecausehehadabluesailortopon.Stephenfelthisownfaceredtoo,thinkingofallthebetsaboutwhowouldgetfirstplaceinelements,JackLawtonorhe.SomeweeksJackLawtongotthecardforfirstandsomeweekshegotthecardforfirst.HiswhitesilkbadgeflutteredandflutteredasheworkedatthenextsumandheardFatherArnall’svoice.Thenallhiseagernesspassedawayandhefelthisfacequitecool.Hethoughthisfacemustbewhitebecauseitfeltsocool.Hecouldnotgetouttheanswerforthesumbutitdidnotmatter.
