Page 236 - a-portrait-of-the-artist-as-a-young-man

warm and the prudent.
The entry of the professor was signalled by a few rounds
of Kentish fire from the heavy boots of those students who
sat on the highest tier of the gloomy theatre under the grey
cobwebbed windows. The calling of the roll began and the
responses to the names were given out in all tones until the
name of Peter Byrne was reached.
—Here!
A deep bass note in response came from the upper tier,
followed by coughs of protest along the other benches.
The professor paused in his reading and called the next
name:
—Cranly!
No answer.
—Mr Cranly!
A smile flew across Stephen’s face as he thought of his
friend’s studies.
—Try Leopardstown! Said a voice from the bench be-
hind.
Stephen glanced up quickly but Moynihan’s snoutish
face, outlined on the grey light, was impassive. A formula
was given out. Amid the rustling of the notebooks Stephen
turned back again and said:
—Give me some paper for God’s sake.
—Are you as bad as that? asked Moynihan with a broad
grin.
He tore a sheet from his scribbler and passed it down,
whispering:
—In case of necessity any layman or woman can do it.

236 A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man