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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Стр. 370/821
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After
Wicklow
lane
the
window
of
Madame
Doyle
,
courtdress
milliner
,
stopped
him
.
He
stood
looking
in
at
the
two
puckers
stripped
to
their
pelts
and
putting
up
their
props
.
From
the
sidemirrors
two
mourning
Masters
Dignam
gaped
silently
.
Myler
Keogh
,
Dublin
’
s
pet
lamb
,
will
meet
sergeantmajor
Bennett
,
the
Portobello
bruiser
,
for
a
purse
of
fifty
sovereigns
.
Gob
,
that
’
d
be
a
good
pucking
match
to
see
.
Myler
Keogh
,
that
’
s
the
chap
sparring
out
to
him
with
the
green
sash
.
Two
bar
entrance
,
soldiers
half
price
.
I
could
easy
do
a
bunk
on
ma
.
Master
Dignam
on
his
left
turned
as
he
turned
.
That
’
s
me
in
mourning
.
When
is
it
?
May
the
twentysecond
.
Sure
,
the
blooming
thing
is
all
over
.
He
turned
to
the
right
and
on
his
right
Master
Dignam
turned
,
his
cap
awry
,
his
collar
sticking
up
.
Buttoning
it
down
,
his
chin
lifted
,
he
saw
the
image
of
Marie
Kendall
,
charming
soubrette
,
beside
the
two
puckers
.
One
of
them
mots
that
do
be
in
the
packets
of
fags
Stoer
smokes
that
his
old
fellow
welted
hell
out
of
him
for
one
time
he
found
out
.
Master
Dignam
got
his
collar
down
and
dawdled
on
.
The
best
pucker
going
for
strength
was
Fitzsimons
.
One
puck
in
the
wind
from
that
fellow
would
knock
you
into
the
middle
of
next
week
,
man
.
But
the
best
pucker
for
science
was
Jem
Corbet
before
Fitzsimons
knocked
the
stuffings
out
of
him
,
dodging
and
all
.
In
Grafton
street
Master
Dignam
saw
a
red
flower
in
a
toff
’
s
mouth
and
a
swell
pair
of
kicks
on
him
and
he
listening
to
what
the
drunk
was
telling
him
and
grinning
all
the
time
.
No
Sandymount
tram
.
Master
Dignam
walked
along
Nassau
street
,
shifted
the
porksteaks
to
his
other
hand
.
His
collar
sprang
up
again
and
he
tugged
it
down
.
The
blooming
stud
was
too
small
for
the
buttonhole
of
the
shirt
,
blooming
end
to
it
.
He
met
schoolboys
with
satchels
.
I
’
m
not
going
tomorrow
either
,
stay
away
till
Monday
.
He
met
other
schoolboys
.
Do
they
notice
I
’
m
in
mourning
?
Uncle
Barney
said
he
’
d
get
it
into
the
paper
tonight
.
Then
they
’
ll
all
see
it
in
the
paper
and
read
my
name
printed
and
pa
’
s
name
.
His
face
got
all
grey
instead
of
being
red
like
it
was
and
there
was
a
fly
walking
over
it
up
to
his
eye
.
The
scrunch
that
was
when
they
were
screwing
the
screws
into
the
coffin
:
and
the
bumps
when
they
were
bringing
it
downstairs
.
Pa
was
inside
it
and
ma
crying
in
the
parlour
and
uncle
Barney
telling
the
men
how
to
get
it
round
the
bend
.
A
big
coffin
it
was
,
and
high
and
heavylooking
.
How
was
that
?
The
last
night
pa
was
boosed
he
was
standing
on
the
landing
there
bawling
out
for
his
boots
to
go
out
to
Tunney
’
s
for
to
boose
more
and
he
looked
butty
and
short
in
his
shirt
.
Never
see
him
again
.
Death
,
that
is
.
Pa
is
dead
.
My
father
is
dead
.
He
told
me
to
be
a
good
son
to
ma
.
I
couldn
’
t
hear
the
other
things
he
said
but
I
saw
his
tongue
and
his
teeth
trying
to
say
it
better
.
Poor
pa
.
That
was
Mr
Dignam
,
my
father
.
I
hope
he
’
s
in
purgatory
now
because
he
went
to
confession
to
Father
Conroy
on
Saturday
night
.
*
*
*
