THE JAMES JOYCE COLLECTION - 5 Books in One Edition. James Joyce

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СКАЧАТЬ on his arm and asked: —Any bottles?

      —What bottles? said the old man.

      —Won’t you let us drink them first? said Mr Henchy.

      —I was told to ask for the bottles.

      —Come back to-morrow, said the old man.

      —Here, boy! said Mr Henchy, will you run over to O’Farrell’s and ask him to lend us a corkscrew—for Mr Henchy, say. Tell him we won’t keep it a minute. Leave the basket there.

      The boy went out and Mr Henchy began to rub his hands cheerfully, saying:

      —Ah, well, he’s not so bad after all. He’s as good as his word, anyhow.

      —There’s no tumblers, said the old man.

      —O, don’t let that trouble you, Jack, said Mr Henchy. Many’s the good man before now drank out of the bottle.

      —Anyway, it’s better than nothing, said Mr O’Connor.

      —He’s not a bad sort, said Mr Henchy, only Fanning has such a loan of him. He means well, you know, in his own tinpot way.

      The boy came back with the corkscrew. The old man opened three bottles and was handing back the corkscrew when Mr Henchy said to the boy:

      —Would you like a drink, boy?

      —If you please, sir, said the boy.

      The old man opened another bottle grudgingly, and handed it to the boy.

      —What age are you? he asked.

      —Seventeen, said the boy.

      As the old man said nothing further, the boy took the bottle, said: Here’s my best respects, sir to Mr Henchy, drank the contents, put the bottle back on the table and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Then he took up the corkscrew and went out of the door sideways, muttering some form of salutation.

      —That’s the way it begins, said the old man.

      —The thin edge of the wedge, said Mr Henchy.

      The old man distributed the three bottles which he had opened and the men drank from them simultaneously. After having drunk each placed his bottle on the mantelpiece within hand’s reach and drew in a long breath of satisfaction.

      —Well, I did a good day’s work to-day, said Mr Henchy after a pause.

      —That so, John?

      —Yes. I got him one or two sure things in Dawson Street, Crofton and myself. Between ourselves, you know, Crofton (he’s a decent chap, of course), but he’s not worth a damn as a canvasser. He hasn’t a word to throw to a dog. He stands and looks at the people while I do the talking.

      Here two men entered the room. One of them was a very fat man whose blue serge clothes seemed to be in danger of falling from his sloping figure. He had a big face which resembled a young ox’s face in expression, staring blue eyes and a grizzled moustache. The other man, who was much younger and frailer, had a thin clean-shaven face. He wore a very high double collar and a wide-brimmed bowler hat.

      —Hello, Crofton! said Mr Henchy to the fat man. Talk of the devil…

      —Where did the boose come from? asked the young man. Did the cow calve?

      —O, of course, Lyons spots the drink first thing! said Mr O’Connor, laughing.

      —Is that the way you chaps canvass, said Mr Lyons, and Crofton and I out in the cold and rain looking for votes?

      —Why, blast your soul, said Mr Henchy, I’d get more votes in five minutes than you two’d get in a week.

      —Open two bottles of stout, Jack, said Mr O’Connor.

      —How can I? said the old man, when there’s no corkscrew?

      —Wait now, wait now! said Mr Henchy, getting up quickly. Did you ever see this little trick?

      He took two bottles from the table and, carrying them to the fire, put them on the hob. Then he sat down again by the fire and took another drink from his bottle. Mr Lyons sat on the edge of the table, pushed his hat towards the nape of his neck and began to swing his legs.

      —Which is my bottle? he asked.

      —This lad, said Mr Henchy.

      Mr Crofton sat down on a box and looked fixedly at the other bottle on the hob. He was silent for two reasons. The first reason, sufficient in itself, was that he had nothing to say; the second reason was that he considered his companions beneath him. He had been a canvasser for Wilkins, the Conservative, but when the Conservatives had withdrawn their man and, choosing the lesser of two evils, given their support to the Nationalist candidate, he had been engaged to work for Mr Tierney.

      In a few minutes an apologetic Pok! was heard as the cork flew out of Mr Lyons’ bottle. Mr Lyons jumped off the table, went to the fire, took his bottle and carried it back to the table.

      —I was just telling them, Crofton, said Mr Henchy, that we got a good few votes to-day.

      —Who did you get? asked Mr Lyons.

      —Well, I got Parkes for one, and I got Atkinson for two, and I got Ward of Dawson Street. Fine old chap he is, too—regular old toff, old Conservative! But isn’t your candidate a Nationalist? said he. He’s a respectable man, said I. He’s in favour of whatever will benefit this country. He’s a big ratepayer, I said. He has extensive house property in the city and three places of business, and isn’t it to his own advantage to keep down the rates? He’s a prominent and respected citizen, said I, and a Poor Law Guardian, and he doesn’t belong to any party, good, bad or indifferent. That’s the way to talk to ’em.

      —And what about the address to the King? said Mr Lyons, after drinking and smacking his lips.

      —Listen to me, said Mr Henchy. What we want in this country, as I said to old Ward, is capital. The King’s coming here will mean an influx of money into this country. The citizens of Dublin will benefit by it. Look at all the factories down by the quays there, idle! Look at all the money there is in the country if we only worked the old industries, the mills, the shipbuilding yards and factories. It’s capital we want.

      —But look here, John, said Mr O’Connor. Why should we welcome the King of England? Didn’t Parnell himself…

      —Parnell, said Mr Henchy, is dead. Now, here’s the way I look at it. Here’s this chap come to the throne after his old mother keeping him out of it till the man was grey. He’s a man of the world and he means well by us. He’s a jolly fine decent fellow, if you ask me, and no damn nonsense about him. He just says to himself: The old one never went to see these wild Irish. By Christ, I’ll go myself and see what they’re like. And are we going to insult the man when he comes over here on a friendly visit? Eh? Isn’t that right, Crofton?

      Mr Crofton nodded his head.

      —But after all now, СКАЧАТЬ