entered the tavern and ordered our dark drinks.
To convert stout into water, I said, that is a simple process. Even a child can do it, though I would not stand for giving stout to children. Is it not a pity that the art of man has not attained the secret of converting water into stout?
Donaghy gave a laugh but Brinsley restrained me from drinking by the weight of his hand upon my arm and named a proprietary brand of ale.
Did you ever taste it? he asked.
I did not, I said.
Well that crowd have the secret if you like, he said. By God I never tasted anything like it. Did you ever try it?
No, said Donaghy.
Keep away from it if you value your life.
Here there was a pause as we savoured the dull syrup.
We had a great feed of wine at the Inns the other night, observed Donaghy, a swell time. Wine is better than stout. Stout sticks. Wine is more grateful to the intestines, the digestive viscera, you know. Stout sticks and leaves a scum on the interior of the paunch.
Raising my glass idly to my head, I said:
If that conclusion is the result of a mental syllogism, it is fallacious, being based on licensed premises.
Two laughs in unison, these were my rewards. I frowned and drank unheedingly, savouring the dull oaten aftertaste of the stout as it lingered against my palate. Brinsley tapped me sharply on the belly.
Gob you're getting a paunch, he said.
Leave my bag alone, I answered. I protected it with my hand.
We had three drinks in all in respect of each of which Brinsley paid a sixpence without regret.
The ultimate emptors: Meath County Council, rural rating authority.
The sun was gone and the evening students - many of them teachers, elderly and bald - were hurrying towards the College through the gathering dusk on foot and on pedal-cycles. We closed our coats closely about us and stood watching and talking at the corner. We went eventually to the moving pictures, the three of us, travelling to the centre of the city in the interior of a tramcar.
The emptors: Meath County Council.
Three nights later at about eight o'clock I was alone in Nassau Street, a district frequented by the prostitute class, when I perceived a ramrod in a cloth cap on the watch at the corner of Kildare Street. As I passed I saw that the man was Kelly. Large spits were about him on the path and carriage-way. I poked him in a manner offensive to propriety and greeted his turned face with a facetious ejaculation:
How is the boy! I said.
My hard man, he answered.
I took cigarettes from my pocket and lit one for each of us, frowning. With my face averted and a hardness in my voice, I put this question in a casual manner:
Anything doing?
O God no, he said. Not at all, man. Come away for a walk somewhere.
I agreed. Purporting to be an immoral character, I accompanied him on a long walk through the environs of Irishtown, Sandymount and Sydney Parade, returning by Haddington Road and the banks of the canal.
Purpose of walk: Discovery and embracing of virgins.
We attained nothing on our walk that was relevant to the purpose thereof but we filled up the loneliness of our souls with the music of our two voices, dog-racing, betting and offences against chastity being the several subjects of our discourse. We walked many miles together on other nights on similar missions-following matrons, accosting strangers, representing to married ladies that we were their friends, and gratuitously molesting members of the public. One night we were followed in our turn by a member of the police force attired in civilian clothing. On the advice of Kelly we hid ourselves in the interior of a church until he had gone. I found that the walking was beneficial to my health.
The people who attended the College had banded themselves into many private associations, some purely cultural and some concerned with the arrangement and conduct of ball games. The cultural societies were diverse in their character and aims and measured their vitality by the number of hooligans
To convert stout into water, I said, that is a simple process. Even a child can do it, though I would not stand for giving stout to children. Is it not a pity that the art of man has not attained the secret of converting water into stout?
Donaghy gave a laugh but Brinsley restrained me from drinking by the weight of his hand upon my arm and named a proprietary brand of ale.
Did you ever taste it? he asked.
I did not, I said.
Well that crowd have the secret if you like, he said. By God I never tasted anything like it. Did you ever try it?
No, said Donaghy.
Keep away from it if you value your life.
Here there was a pause as we savoured the dull syrup.
We had a great feed of wine at the Inns the other night, observed Donaghy, a swell time. Wine is better than stout. Stout sticks. Wine is more grateful to the intestines, the digestive viscera, you know. Stout sticks and leaves a scum on the interior of the paunch.
Raising my glass idly to my head, I said:
If that conclusion is the result of a mental syllogism, it is fallacious, being based on licensed premises.
Two laughs in unison, these were my rewards. I frowned and drank unheedingly, savouring the dull oaten aftertaste of the stout as it lingered against my palate. Brinsley tapped me sharply on the belly.
Gob you're getting a paunch, he said.
Leave my bag alone, I answered. I protected it with my hand.
We had three drinks in all in respect of each of which Brinsley paid a sixpence without regret.
The ultimate emptors: Meath County Council, rural rating authority.
The sun was gone and the evening students - many of them teachers, elderly and bald - were hurrying towards the College through the gathering dusk on foot and on pedal-cycles. We closed our coats closely about us and stood watching and talking at the corner. We went eventually to the moving pictures, the three of us, travelling to the centre of the city in the interior of a tramcar.
The emptors: Meath County Council.
Three nights later at about eight o'clock I was alone in Nassau Street, a district frequented by the prostitute class, when I perceived a ramrod in a cloth cap on the watch at the corner of Kildare Street. As I passed I saw that the man was Kelly. Large spits were about him on the path and carriage-way. I poked him in a manner offensive to propriety and greeted his turned face with a facetious ejaculation:
How is the boy! I said.
My hard man, he answered.
I took cigarettes from my pocket and lit one for each of us, frowning. With my face averted and a hardness in my voice, I put this question in a casual manner:
Anything doing?
O God no, he said. Not at all, man. Come away for a walk somewhere.
I agreed. Purporting to be an immoral character, I accompanied him on a long walk through the environs of Irishtown, Sandymount and Sydney Parade, returning by Haddington Road and the banks of the canal.
Purpose of walk: Discovery and embracing of virgins.
We attained nothing on our walk that was relevant to the purpose thereof but we filled up the loneliness of our souls with the music of our two voices, dog-racing, betting and offences against chastity being the several subjects of our discourse. We walked many miles together on other nights on similar missions-following matrons, accosting strangers, representing to married ladies that we were their friends, and gratuitously molesting members of the public. One night we were followed in our turn by a member of the police force attired in civilian clothing. On the advice of Kelly we hid ourselves in the interior of a church until he had gone. I found that the walking was beneficial to my health.
The people who attended the College had banded themselves into many private associations, some purely cultural and some concerned with the arrangement and conduct of ball games. The cultural societies were diverse in their character and aims and measured their vitality by the number of hooligans
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