Дублінці
A Little Cloud
HesippedalittleofhisdrinkwhileIgnatiusGallaherfinishedhisboldly.
“Beautiful?”saidIgnatiusGallaher,pausingonthewordandontheflavourofhisdrink.“It’snotsobeautiful,youknow.Ofcourse,itisbeautiful....Butit’sthelifeofParis;that’sthething.Ah,there’snocitylikeParisforgaiety,movement,excitement....”
LittleChandlerfinishedhiswhiskyand,aftersometrouble,succeededincatchingthebarman’seye.Heorderedthesameagain.
“I’vebeentotheMoulinRouge,”IgnatiusGallahercontinuedwhenthebarmanhadremovedtheirglasses,“andI’vebeentoalltheBohemiancafes.Hotstuff!Notforapiouschaplikeyou,Tommy.”
LittleChandlersaidnothinguntilthebarmanreturnedwithtwoglasses:thenhetouchedhisfriend’sglasslightlyandreciprocatedtheformertoast.Hewasbeginningtofeelsomewhatdisillusioned.Gallaher’saccentandwayofexpressinghimselfdidnotpleasehim.Therewassomethingvulgarinhisfriendwhichhehadnotobservedbefore.ButperhapsitwasonlytheresultoflivinginLondonamidthebustleandcompetitionofthePress.Theoldpersonalcharmwasstillthereunderthisnewgaudymanner.And,afterall,Gallaherhadlived,hehadseentheworld.LittleChandlerlookedathisfriendenviously.
“EverythinginParisisgay,”saidIgnatiusGallaher.
