Page 31 - a-portrait-of-the-artist-as-a-young-man

the locker and filled the decanter slowly, bending now and
then to see how much he had poured in. Then replacing the
jar in the locker he poured a little of the whisky into two
glasses, added a little water and came back with them to the
fireplace.
—A thimbleful, John, he said, just to whet your appe-
tite.
Mr Casey took the glass, drank, and placed it near him
on the mantelpiece. Then he said:
—Well, I can’t help thinking of our friend Christopher
manufacturing...
He broke into a fit of laughter and coughing and added:
—...manufacturing that champagne for those fellows.
Mr Dedalus laughed loudly.
—Is it Christy? he said. There’s more cunning in one of
those warts on his bald head than in a pack of jack foxes.
He inclined his head, closed his eyes, and, licking his lips
profusely, began to speak with the voice of the hotel keep-
er.
—And he has such a soft mouth when he’s speaking to
you, don’t you know. He’s very moist and watery about the
dewlaps, God bless him.
Mr Casey was still struggling through his fit of coughing
and laughter. Stephen, seeing and hearing the hotel keeper
through his father’s face and voice, laughed.
Mr Dedalus put up his eyeglass and, staring down at
him, said quietly and kindly:
—What are you laughing at, you little puppy, you?
The servants entered and placed the dishes on the table.

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