fourteen pages to write. Blast it! He couldn't finish it in time. He longed to execrate
aloud, to bring his fist down on something violently. He was so enraged that he wrote
Bernard Bernard instead of Bernard Bodley and had to begin again on a clean sheet.
He felt strong enough to clear out the whole office singlehanded. His body ached to
do something, to rush Out and revel in violence. All the indignities of his life enraged
him.
Could he ask the cashier privately for an advance? No, the cashier was no good, no
damn good: he wouldn't give an advance... He knew where he would meet the boys:
Leonard and O'Halloran and Nosey Flynn. The barometer of his emotional nature was
set for a spell of riot.
His imagination had so abstracted him that his name was called twice before he
answered. Mr Alleyne and Miss Delacour were standing outside the counter and all
the clerks had turned round in anticipation of something. The man got up from his
desk. Mr Alleyne began a tirade of abuse, saying that two letters were missing. The
man answered that he knew nothing about them, that he had made a faithful copy. The
tirade continued: it was so bitter and violent that the man could hardly restrain his fist
from descending upon the head of the manikin before him.
`I know nothing about any other two letters,' he said stupidly.
`You - know - nothing. Of course you know nothing,' said Mr Alleyne. `Tell me,' he
added, glancing first for approval to the lady beside him, `do you take me for a fool?
Do you think me an utter fool?'
The man glanced from the lady's face to the little egg-shaped head and back again;
and, almost before he was aware of it, his tongue had found a felicitous moment:
`I don't think, sir,' he said, `that that's a fair question to put to me.'
There was a pause in the very breathing of the clerks. Everyone was astounded (the
author of the witticism no less than his neighbours) and Miss Delacour, who was a
stout amiable person, began to smile broadly. Mr Alleyne flushed to the hue of a wild
rose and his mouth twitched with a dwarf's passion. He shook his fist in the man's
face till it seemed to vibrate like the knob of some electric machine:
`You impertinent ruffian! You impertinent ruffian! I'll make short work of you! Wait
till you see! You'll apologize to me for your impertinence or you'll quit the office
instanter! You'll quit this, I'm telling you, or you'll apologize to me!'
He stood in a doorway opposite the office, watching to see if the cashier would come
out alone. All the clerks passed out and finally the cashier came out with the chief
clerk. It was no use trying to say a word to him when he was with the chief clerk. The
man felt that his position was bad enough. He had been obliged to offer an abject
apology to Mr Alleyne for his impertinence, but he knew what a hornet's nest the
office would be for him. He could remember the way in which Mr Alleyne had
hounded little Peake out of the office in order to make room for his own nephew. He
felt savage and thirsty and revengeful, annoyed with himself and with everyone else.
Mr Alleyne would never give him an hour's rest; his life would be a hell to him. He
had made a proper fool of himself this time. Could he not keep his tongue in his
cheek? But they had never pulled together from the first, he and Mr Alleyne, ever
since the day Mr Alleyne had overheard him mimicking his North of Ireland accent to
amuse Higgins and Miss Parker; that had been the beginning of it. He might have
tried Higgins for the money, but sure Higgins never had anything for himself. A man
with two establishments to keep up, of course he couldn't...
He felt his great body again aching for the comfort of the public-house. The fog had
begun to chill him and he wondered could he touch Pat in O'Neill's. He could not
touch him for more than a bob - and a bob was no use. Yet he must get money
somewhere or other: he had spent his last penny for the g.p. and soon it would be too
late for getting money anywhere. Suddenly, as he was fingering his watch chain, he
thought of Terry Kelly's pawn-office in Fleet Street. That was the dart! Why didn't he
think of it sooner?
He went through the narrow alley of Temple Bar quickly, muttering to himself that
they could all go to hell, because he was going to have a good night of it. The clerk in
Terry Kelly's said A crown! but the consignor held out for six shillings; and in the end
the six shillings was allowed him literally. He came out of the pawn-office joyfully,
making a little cylinder of the coins between his thumb and fingers. In Westmoreland
Street the footpaths were crowded with young men and women returning from
business, and ragged urchins ran here and there yelling out the names of the evening
editions. The man passed through the crowd, looking on the spectacle generally with
proud satisfaction and staring masterfully at the office-girls. His head was full of the
noises of tram-gongs and swishing trolleys and his nose already sniffed the curling
fumes of punch. As he walked on he preconsidered the terms in which he would
narrate the incident to the boys:
`So, I just looked at him - coolly, you know, and looked at her. Then I looked back at
him again - taking my time you know. "I don't think that's a fair question to put to
me," says I.'
Nosey Flynn was sitting up in his usual corner of Davy Byrne's and, when he heard
the story, he stood Farrington a half-one, saying it was as smart a thing as ever he
heard. Farrington stood a drink in his turn. After a while O'Halloran and Paddy
Leonard came in and the story was repeated to them. O'Halloran stood tailors of malt,
hot, all round and told the story of the retort he had made to the chief clerk when he
was in Callan's of Fownes's Street; but, as the retort was after the manner of the
liberal shepherds in the eclogues, he had to admit that it was not as clever as
Farrington's retort. At this Farrington told the boys to polish off that and have another.
Just as they were naming their poisons who should come in but Higgins! Of course he
had to join in with the others. The men asked him to give his version of it, and he did
so with great vivacity, for the sight of five small hot whiskies was very exhilarating.
Everyone roared laughing when he showed the way in which Mr Alleyne shook his
fist in Farrington's face. Then he imitated Farrington, saying, `And here was my nabs,
as cool as you please,' while Farrington looked at the company out of his heavy dirty
eyes, smiling and at times drawing forth stray drops of liquor from his moustache
with the aid of his lower lip.
When that round was over there was a pause. O'Halloran had money, but neither of
the other two seemed to have any; so the whole party left the shop somewhat
regretfully. At the corner of Duke Street Higgins and Nosey Flynn bevelled off to the
left, while the other three turned back towards the city. Rain was drizzling down on
the cold streets and, when they reached the Ballast Office, Farrington suggested the
Scotch House. The bar was full of men and loud with the noise of tongues and
glasses. The three men pushed past the whining match-sellers at the door and formed
a little party at the corner of the counter. They began to exchange stories. Leonard
introduced them to a young fellow named Weathers who was performing at the Tivoli
as an acrobat and knockabout artiste. Farrington stood a drink all round. Weathers
said he would take a small Irish and Apollinaris. Farrington, who had definite notions
of what was what, asked the boys would they have an Apollinaris too; but the boys
told Tim to make theirs hot. The talk became theatrical. O'Halloran stood a round and
then Farrington stood another round, Weathers protesting that the hospitality was too
Irish. He promised to get them in behind the scenes and introduce them to some nice
girls. O'Halloran said that he and Leonard would go, but that Farrington wouldn't go
because he was a married man; and Farrington's heavy dirty eyes leered at the
company in token that he understood he was being chaffed. Weathers made them all
have just one little tincture at his expense and promised to meet them later on at
Mulligan's in Poolbeg Street.
When the Scotch House closed they went round to Mulligan's. They went into the
parlour at the back and O'Halloran ordered small hot specials all round. They were all
beginning to feel mellow. Farrington was just standing another round when Weathers
came back. Much to Farrington's relief he drank a glass of bitter this time. Funds were
getting low, but they had enough to keep them going. Presently two young women
with big hats and a young man in a check suit came in and sat at a table close by.
Weathers saluted them and told the company that they were out of the Tivoli.
Farrington's eyes wandered at every moment in the direction of one of the young
women. There was something striking in her appearance. An immense scarf of
peacock-blue muslin was wound round her hat and knotted in a great bow under her
chin; and she wore bright yellow gloves, reaching to the elbow. Farrington gazed
admiringly at the plump arm which she moved very often and with much grace; and
when, after a little time, she answered his gaze he admired still more her large dark
brown eyes. The oblique staring expression in them fascinated him. She glanced at
him once or twice and, when the party was leaving the room, she brushed against his
chair and said `O, pardon!' in a London accent. He watched her leave the room in the
hope that she would look back at him, but he was disappointed. He cursed his want of
money and cursed all the rounds he had stood, particularly all the whiskies and
Apollinaris which he had stood tb Weathers. If there was one thing that he hated it
was a sponge. He was so angry that he lost count of the conversation of his friends.
When Paddy Leonard called him he found that they were talking about feats of
strength. Weathers was showing his biceps muscle to the company and boasting so
much that the other two had called on Farrington to uphold the national honour.
Farrington pulled up his sleeve accordingly and showed his biceps muscle to the
company. The two arms were examined and compared and finally it was agreed to
have a trial of strength. The table was cleared and the two men rested their elbows on
it, clasping hands. When Paddy Leonard said `Go!' each was to try to bring down the
other's hand on to the table. Farrington looked very serious and determined.
The trial began. After about thirty seconds Weathers brought his opponent's hand
slowly down on to the table. Farrington's dark wine-coloured face flushed darker still
with anger and humiliation at having been defeated by such a stripling.
`You're not to put the weight of your body behind it. Play fair,' he said.
`Who's not playing fair?' said the other.
`Come on again. The two best out of three.'
The trial began again. The veins stood out on Farrington's forehead, and the pallor of
Weathers' complexion changed to peony. Their hands and arms trembled under the
stress. After a long struggle Weathers again brought his opponent's hand slowly on to
the table. There was a murmur of applause from the spectators. The curate, who was
standing beside the table, nodded his red head towards the victor and said with stupid
familiarity:
`Ah! that's the knack!'
`What the hell do you know about it?' said Farrington fiercely, turning on the man.
`What do you put in your gab for?'
`Sh, sh!' said O'Halloran, observing the violent expression of Farrington's face. `Pony
up, boys. We'll have just one little smahan more and then we'll be off.'
A very sullen-faced man stood at the corner of O'Connell Bridge waiting for the little
Sandymount tram to take him home. He was full of smouldering anger and
revengefulness. He felt humiliated and discontented; he did not even feel drunk; and
he had only twopence in his pocket. He cursed everything. He had done for himself in
the office, pawned his watch, spent all his money; and he had not even got drunk. He
began to feel thirsty again and he longed to be back again in the hot, reeking public-
house. He had lost his reputation as a strong man, having been defeated twice by a
mere boy. His heart swelled with fury and, when he thought of the woman in the big
hat who had brushed against him and said Pardon! his fury nearly choked him.
His tram let him down at Shelbourne Road and he steered his great body along in the
shadow of the wall of the barracks. He loathed returning to his home. When he went
in by the side-door he found the kitchen empty and the kitchen fire nearly out. He
bawled upstairs:
`Ada! Ada!'
His wife was a little sharp-faced woman who bullied her husband when he was sober
and was bullied by him when he was drunk. They had five children. A little boy came
running down the stairs.
`Who is that?' Said the man, peering through the darkness.
`Me, pa.'
`Who are you? Charlie?'
`No, pa. Tom.'
`Where's your mother?'
`She's out at the chapel.'
`That's right... Did she think of leaving any dinner for me?'
`Yes, pa. I--'
`Light the lamp. What do you mean by having the place in darkness? Are the other
children in bed?'
The man sat down heavily on one of the chairs while the little boy lit the lamp. He
began to mimic his son's flat accent, saying half to himself: `At the chapel. At the
chapel, if you please!' When the lamp was lit he banged his fist on the table and
shouted:
`What's for my dinner?'
`I'm going... to cook it, pa,' said the little boy. The man jumped up furiously and
pointed to the fire.
`On that fire! You let the fire out! By God, I'll teach you to do that again!'
He took a step to the door and seized the walking-stick which was standing behind it.
`I'll teach you to let the fire out!' he said, rolling up his sleeve in order to give his arm
