Page 71 - a-portrait-of-the-artist-as-a-young-man

—Very good, Simon. All serene, Simon, said the old man
tranquilly. Anywhere you like. The outhouse will do me
nicely: it will be more salubrious.
—Damn me, said Mr Dedalus frankly, if I know how you
can smoke such villainous awful tobacco. It’s like gunpow-
der, by God.
—It’s very nice, Simon, replied the old man. Very cool
and mollifying.
Every morning, therefore, uncle Charles repaired to his
outhouse but not before he had greased and brushed scru-
pulously his back hair and brushed and put on his tall hat.
While he smoked the brim of his tall hat and the bowl of
his pipe were just visible beyond the jambs of the outhouse
door. His arbour, as he called the reeking outhouse which
he shared with the cat and the garden tools, served him also
as a sounding-box: and every morning he hummed content-
edly one of his favourite songs: O, TWINE ME A BOWER
or BLUE EYES AND GOLDEN HAIR or THE GROVES
OF BLARNEY while the grey and blue coils of smoke rose
slowly from his pipe and vanished in the pure air.
During the first part of the summer in Blackrock uncle
Charles was Stephen’s constant companion. Uncle Charles
was a hale old man with a well tanned skin, rugged features
and white side whiskers. On week days he did messages be-
tween the house in Carysfort Avenue and those shops in the
main street of the town with which the family dealt. Ste-
phen was glad to go with him on these errands for uncle
Charles helped him very liberally to handfuls of whatever
was exposed in open boxes and barrels outside the counter.

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