Chapter 2

           UncleCharlessmokedsuchblacktwistthatatlasthisnephewsuggestedtohimtoenjoyhismorningsmokeinalittleouthouseattheendofthegarden.

           —Verygood,Simon.Allserene,Simon,saidtheoldmantranquilly.Anywhereyoulike.Theouthousewilldomenicely:itwillbemoresalubrious.

           —Damnme,saidMrDedalusfrankly,ifIknowhowyoucansmokesuchvillainousawfultobacco.It’slikegunpowder,byGod.

           —It’sverynice,Simon,repliedtheoldman.Verycoolandmollifying.

           Everymorning,therefore,uncleCharlesrepairedtohisouthousebutnotbeforehehadgreasedandbrushedscrupulouslyhisbackhairandbrushedandputonhistallhat.Whilehesmokedthebrimofhistallhatandthebowlofhispipewerejustvisiblebeyondthejambsoftheouthousedoor.Hisarbour,ashecalledthereekingouthousewhichhesharedwiththecatandthegardentools,servedhimalsoasasounding-box:andeverymorninghehummedcontentedlyoneofhisfavouritesongs:O,TWINEMEABOWERorBLUEEYESANDGOLDENHAIRorTHEGROVESOFBLARNEYwhilethegreyandbluecoilsofsmokeroseslowlyfromhispipeandvanishedinthepureair.

           DuringthefirstpartofthesummerinBlackrockuncleCharleswasStephen’sconstantcompanion.UncleCharleswasahaleoldmanwithawelltannedskin,ruggedfeaturesandwhitesidewhiskers.