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- Джеймс Джойс
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Everyone
's
heart
palpitated
as
Leo
Dillon
handed
up
the
paper
and
everyone
assumed
an
innocent
face
.
Father
Butler
turned
over
the
pages
,
frowning
.
"
What
is
this
rubbish
?
"
he
said
.
"
The
Apache
Chief
!
Is
this
what
you
read
instead
of
studying
your
Roman
History
?
Let
me
not
find
any
more
of
this
wretched
stuff
in
this
college
.
The
man
who
wrote
it
,
I
suppose
,
was
some
wretched
fellow
who
writes
these
things
for
a
drink
.
I
'm
surprised
at
boys
like
you
,
educated
,
reading
such
stuff
.
I
could
understand
it
if
you
were
...
National
School
boys
.
Now
,
Dillon
,
I
advise
you
strongly
,
get
at
your
work
or
...
"
This
rebuke
during
the
sober
hours
of
school
paled
much
of
the
glory
of
the
Wild
West
for
me
and
the
confused
puffy
face
of
Leo
Dillon
awakened
one
of
my
consciences
.
But
when
the
restraining
influence
of
the
school
was
at
a
distance
I
began
to
hunger
again
for
wild
sensations
,
for
the
escape
which
those
chronicles
of
disorder
alone
seemed
to
offer
me
.
The
mimic
warfare
of
the
evening
became
at
last
as
wearisome
to
me
as
the
routine
of
school
in
the
morning
because
I
wanted
real
adventures
to
happen
to
myself
.
But
real
adventures
,
I
reflected
,
do
not
happen
to
people
who
remain
at
home
:
they
must
be
sought
abroad
.
The
summer
holidays
were
near
at
hand
when
I
made
up
my
mind
to
break
out
of
the
weariness
of
schoollife
for
one
day
at
least
.
With
Leo
Dillon
and
a
boy
named
Mahony
I
planned
a
day
's
miching
.
Each
of
us
saved
up
sixpence
.
We
were
to
meet
at
ten
in
the
morning
on
the
Canal
Bridge
.
Mahony
's
big
sister
was
to
write
an
excuse
for
him
and
Leo
Dillon
was
to
tell
his
brother
to
say
he
was
sick
.
We
arranged
to
go
along
the
Wharf
Road
until
we
came
to
the
ships
,
then
to
cross
in
the
ferryboat
and
walk
out
to
see
the
Pigeon
House
.
Leo
Dillon
was
afraid
we
might
meet
Father
Butler
or
someone
out
of
the
college
;
but
Mahony
asked
,
very
sensibly
,
what
would
Father
Butler
be
doing
out
at
the
Pigeon
House
.
We
were
reassured
:
and
I
brought
the
first
stage
of
the
plot
to
an
end
by
collecting
sixpence
from
the
other
two
,
at
the
same
time
showing
them
my
own
sixpence
.
When
we
were
making
the
last
arrangements
on
the
eve
we
were
all
vaguely
excited
.
We
shook
hands
,
laughing
,
and
Mahony
said
:
"
Till
tomorrow
,
mates
!
"
That
night
I
slept
badly
.
In
the
morning
I
was
firstcomer
to
the
bridge
as
I
lived
nearest
.
I
hid
my
books
in
the
long
grass
near
the
ashpit
at
the
end
of
the
garden
where
nobody
ever
came
and
hurried
along
the
canal
bank
.
It
was
a
mild
sunny
morning
in
the
first
week
of
June
.
I
sat
up
on
the
coping
of
the
bridge
admiring
my
frail
canvas
shoes
which
I
had
diligently
pipeclayed
overnight
and
watching
the
docile
horses
pulling
a
tramload
of
business
people
up
the
hill
.
All
the
branches
of
the
tall
trees
which
lined
the
mall
were
gay
with
little
light
green
leaves
and
the
sunlight
slanted
through
them
on
to
the
water
.
The
granite
stone
of
the
bridge
was
beginning
to
be
warm
and
I
began
to
pat
it
with
my
hands
in
time
to
an
air
in
my
head
.
I
was
very
happy
.
When
I
had
been
sitting
there
for
five
or
ten
minutes
I
saw
Mahony
's
grey
suit
approaching
.
He
came
up
the
hill
,
smiling
,
and
clambered
up
beside
me
on
the
bridge
.
While
we
were
waiting
he
brought
out
the
catapult
which
bulged
from
his
inner
pocket
and
explained
some
improvements
which
he
had
made
in
it
.
I
asked
him
why
he
had
brought
it
and
he
told
me
he
had
brought
it
to
have
some
gas
with
the
birds
.
Mahony
used
slang
freely
,
and
spoke
of
Father
Butler
as
Old
Bunser
.
We
waited
on
for
a
quarter
of
an
hour
more
but
still
there
was
no
sign
of
Leo
Dillon
.
Mahony
,
at
last
,
jumped
down
and
said
:
"
Come
along
.
I
knew
Fatty
'd
funk
it
.
"
