Дублінці
Ivy Day in the Committee Room
IsitTrickyDickyTierney?”
“ByGod!perhapsyou’reright,Joe,”saidMr.O’Connor.“Anyway,Iwishhe’dturnupwiththespondulics.”
Thethreemenfellsilent.Theoldmanbegantorakemorecinderstogether.Mr.Hynestookoffhishat,shookitandthenturneddownthecollarofhiscoat,displaying,ashedidso,anivyleafinthelapel.
“Ifthismanwasalive,”hesaid,pointingtotheleaf,“we’dhavenotalkofanaddressofwelcome.”
“That’strue,”saidMr.O’Connor.
“Musha,Godbewiththemtimes!”saidtheoldman.“Therewassomelifeinitthen.”
Theroomwassilentagain.Thenabustlinglittlemanwithasnufflingnoseandverycoldearspushedinthedoor.Hewalkedoverquicklytothefire,rubbinghishandsasifheintendedtoproduceasparkfromthem.
“Nomoney,boys,”hesaid.
“Sitdownhere,Mr.Henchy,”saidtheoldman,offeringhimhischair.
“O,don’tstir,Jack,don’tstir,”saidMr.Henchy
HenoddedcurtlytoMr.Hynesandsatdownonthechairwhichtheoldmanvacated.
“DidyouserveAungierStreet?”heaskedMr.O’Connor.
“Yes,”saidMr.O’Connor,beginningtosearchhispocketsformemoranda.
“DidyoucallonGrimes?”
“Idid.
