Дублінці
After the Race
Thecardroveoffandtheshortfatmancaughtsightoftheparty.
“Andre.”
“It’sFarley!”
Atorrentoftalkfollowed.FarleywasanAmerican.Nooneknewverywellwhatthetalkwasabout.VillonaandRivierewerethenoisiest,butallthemenwereexcited.Theygotuponacar,squeezingthemselvestogetheramidmuchlaughter.Theydrovebythecrowd,blendednowintosoftcolours,toamusicofmerrybells.TheytookthetrainatWestlandRowandinafewseconds,asitseemedtoJimmy,theywerewalkingoutofKingstownStation.Theticket-collectorsalutedJimmy;hewasanoldman:
“Finenight,sir!”
Itwasaserenesummernight;theharbourlaylikeadarkenedmirrorattheirfeet.Theyproceededtowardsitwithlinkedarms,singingCadetRousselinchorus,stampingtheirfeetatevery:
“Ho!Ho!Hohe,vraiment!”
TheygotintoarowboatattheslipandmadeoutfortheAmerican’syacht.Therewastobesupper,music,cards.Villonasaidwithconviction:
“Itisdelightful!”
Therewasayachtpianointhecabin.VillonaplayedawaltzforFarleyandRiviere,FarleyactingascavalierandRiviereaslady.Thenanimpromptusquaredance,themendevisingoriginalfigures.Whatmerriment!Jimmytookhispartwithawill;thiswasseeinglife,atleast.
