Page 68 - a-portrait-of-the-artist-as-a-young-man

—Your name is Dedalus, isn’t it?
—Yes, sir...
—And where did you break your glasses?
—On the cinder-path, sir. A fellow was coming out of the
bicycle house and I fell and they got broken. I don’t know
the fellow’s name.
The rector looked at him again in silence. Then he smiled
and said:
—O, well, it was a mistake; I am sure Father Dolan did
not know.
—But I told him I broke them, sir, and he pandied me.
—Did you tell him that you had written home for a new
pair? the rector asked.
—No, sir.
—O well then, said the rector, Father Dolan did not un-
derstand. You can say that I excuse you from your lessons
for a few days.
Stephen said quickly for fear his trembling would pre-
vent him:
—Yes, sir, but Father Dolan said he will come in tomor-
row to pandy me again for it.
—Very well, the rector said, it is a mistake and I shall
speak to Father Dolan myself. Will that do now?
Stephen felt the tears wetting his eyes and murmured:
—O yes sir, thanks.
The rector held his hand across the side of the desk where
the skull was and Stephen, placing his hand in it for a mo-
ment, felt a cool moist palm.
—Good day now, said the rector, withdrawing his hand

68 A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man