Page 92 - a-portrait-of-the-artist-as-a-young-man

friends. They sat together in class, knelt together in the cha-
pel, talked together after beads over their lunches. As the
fellows in number one were undistinguished dullards, Ste-
phen and Heron had been during the year the virtual heads
of the school. It was they who went up to the rector together
to ask for a free day or to get a fellow off.
—O by the way, said Heron suddenly, I saw your gover-
nor going in.
The smile waned on Stephen’s face. Any allusion made to
his father by a fellow or by a master put his calm to rout in a
moment. He waited in timorous silence to hear what Heron
might say next. Heron, however, nudged him expressively
with his elbow and said:
—You’re a sly dog.
—Why so? said Stephen.
—You’d think butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth said
Heron. But I’m afraid you’re a sly dog.
—Might I ask you what you are talking about? said Ste-
phen urbanely.
—Indeed you might, answered Heron. We saw her,
Wallis, didn’t we? And deucedly pretty she is too. And in-
quisitive! AND WHAT PART DOES STEPHEN TAKE,
MR DEDALUS? AND WILL STEPHEN NOT SING, MR
DEDALUS? Your governor was staring at her through that
eyeglass of his for all he was worth so that I think the old
man has found you out too. I wouldn’t care a bit, by Jove.
She’s ripping, isn’t she, Wallis?
—Not half bad, answered Wallis quietly as he placed his
holder once more in a corner of his mouth.

92 A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man