Дублінці
A Little Cloud
Well,andhowhaveyoubeenpullingalongsinceIsawyoulast?DearGod,howoldwe’regetting!Doyouseeanysignsofaginginme—eh,what?Alittlegreyandthinonthetop—what?”
IgnatiusGallahertookoffhishatanddisplayedalargecloselycroppedhead.Hisfacewasheavy,paleandcleanshaven.Hiseyes,whichwereofbluishslate-colour,relievedhisunhealthypallorandshoneoutplainlyabovethevividorangetiehewore.Betweentheserivalfeaturesthelipsappearedverylongandshapelessandcolourless.Hebenthisheadandfeltwithtwosympatheticfingersthethinhairatthecrown.LittleChandlershookhisheadasadenial.IgnatiusGalaherputonhishatagain.
“Itpullsyoudown,”besaid,“Presslife.Alwayshurryandscurry,lookingforcopyandsometimesnotfindingit:andthen,alwaystohavesomethingnewinyourstuff.Damnproofsandprinters,Isay,forafewdays.I’mdeucedglad,Icantellyou,togetbacktotheoldcountry.Doesafellowgood,abitofaholiday.IfeelatonbettersinceIlandedagainindeardirtyDublin....Hereyouare,Tommy.Water?Saywhen.”
LittleChandlerallowedhiswhiskytobeverymuchdiluted.
“Youdon’tknowwhat’sgoodforyou,myboy,”saidIgnatiusGallaher.“Idrinkmineneat.”
“Idrinkverylittleasarule,”saidLittleChandlermodestly.“Anoddhalf-oneorsowhenImeetanyoftheoldcrowd:that’sall.
