Page 65 - a-portrait-of-the-artist-as-a-young-man

were small and young you could often escape that way.
The fellows at his table stood up. He stood up and passed
out among them in the file. He had to decide. He was com-
ing near the door. If he went on with the fellows he could
never go up to the rector because he could not leave the
playground for that. And if he went and was pandied all the
same all the fellows would make fun and talk about young
Dedalus going up to the rector to tell on the prefect of stud-
ies.
He was walking down along the matting and he saw the
door before him. It was impossible: he could not. He thought
of the baldy head of the prefect of studies with the cruel
no-coloured eyes looking at him and he heard the voice of
the prefect of studies asking him twice what his name was.
Why could he not remember the name when he was told
the first time? Was he not listening the first time or was it
to make fun out of the name? The great men in the history
had names like that and nobody made fun of them. It was
his own name that he should have made fun of if he wanted
to make fun. Dolan: it was like the name of a woman who
washed clothes.
He had reached the door and, turning quickly up to the
right, walked up the stairs and, before he could make up
his mind to come back, he had entered the low dark narrow
corridor that led to the castle. And as he crossed the thresh-
old of the door of the corridor he saw, without turning his
head to look, that all the fellows were looking after him as
they went filing by.
He passed along the narrow dark corridor, passing little

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