Дублінці
An Encounter
Whenhepassedatourfeetheglancedupatusquicklyandthencontinuedhisway.Wefollowedhimwithoureyesandsawthatwhenhehadgoneonforperhapsfiftypacesheturnedaboutandbegantoretracehissteps.Hewalkedtowardsusveryslowly,alwaystappingthegroundwithhisstick,soslowlythatIthoughthewaslookingforsomethinginthegrass.
Hestoppedwhenhecamelevelwithusandbadeusgoodday.Weansweredhimandhesatdownbesideusontheslopeslowlyandwithgreatcare.Hebegantotalkoftheweather,sayingthatitwouldbeaveryhotsummerandaddingthattheseasonshadchangedgreadysincehewasaboy—alongtimeago.Hesaidthatthehappiesttimeofone’slifewasundoubtedlyone’sschoolboydaysandthathewouldgiveanythingtobeyoungagain.Whileheexpressedthesesentimentswhichboredusalittlewekeptsilent.Thenhebegantotalkofschoolandofbooks.HeaskeduswhetherwehadreadthepoetryofThomasMooreortheworksofSirWalterScottandLordLytton.IpretendedthatIhadreadeverybookhementionedsothatintheendhesaid:
“Ah,Icanseeyouareabookwormlikemyself.Now,”headded,pointingtoMahonywhowasregardinguswithopeneyes,“heisdifferent;hegoesinforgames.”
HesaidhehadallSirWalterScott’sworksandallLordLytton’sworksathomeandnevertiredofreadingthem.“Ofcourse,”hesaid,“thereweresomeofLordLytton’sworkswhichboyscouldn’tread.
