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Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, said the prefect of studies. Make up your minds for that. Every day Father Dolan. Write away. You, boy, who are you? Stephen's heart jumped suddenly. Dedalus, sir. Why are you not writing like the others? I...my... He could not speak with fright. Why is he not writing, Father Arnall? He broke his glasses, said Father Arnall, and I exempted him from work. Broke?
But his face was black-looking and his eyes were staring though his voice was so quiet. Then he asked Fleming and Fleming said that the word had no plural. Father Arnall suddenly shut the book and shouted at him: Kneel out there in the middle of the class. You are one of the idlest boys I ever met. Copy out your themes again the rest of you.
Then he asked Jack Lawton to decline the noun MARE and Jack Lawton stopped at the ablative singular and could not go on with the plural. You should be ashamed of yourself, said Father Arnall sternly. You, the leader of the class! Then he asked the next boy and the next and the next. Nobody knew. Father Arnall became very quiet, more and more quiet as each boy tried to answer it and could not.
And the air in the corridor chilled him too. It was queer and wettish. But soon the gas would be lit and in burning it made a light noise like a little song. Always the same: and when the fellows stopped talking in the playroom you could hear it. It was the hour for sums. Father Arnall wrote a hard sum on the board and then said: Now then, who will win? Go ahead, York! Go ahead, Lancaster!
Then Jack Lawton cracked his fingers and Father Arnall looked at his copybook and said: Right. Bravo Lancaster! The red rose wins. Come on now, York! Forge ahead! Jack Lawton looked over from his side. The little silk badge with the red rose on it looked very rich because he had a blue sailor top on.
A stagnation seemed to succeed to their excitement and energy. They were thrown back into a vacuum. "There is nothing on earth to do, or to think about," said Florrie Arnall dolefully. "Just as much as there was last week," replied Josie Scherman, common-sense-ically. Frank was only her brother, and that made a difference.
Father Arnall rose from his seat and went among them, helping the boys with gentle words and telling them the mistakes they had made. His voice was very gentle and soft. Then he returned to his seat and said to Fleming and Stephen: You may return to your places, you two. Fleming and Stephen rose and, walking to their seats, sat down.
And he wondered what Father Arnall and Paddy Barrett would have become and what Mr McGlade and Mr Gleeson would have become if they had not become jesuits. It was hard to think what because you would have to think of them in a different way with different coloured coats and trousers and with beards and moustaches and different kinds of hats. The door opened quietly and closed.
A quick whisper ran through the class: the prefect of studies. There was an instant of dead silence and then the loud crack of a pandybat on the last desk. Stephen's heart leapt up in fear. Any boys want flogging here, Father Arnall? cried the prefect of studies. Any lazy idle loafers that want flogging in this class? He came to the middle of the class and saw Fleming on his knees.
And once a lot of generals had asked Napoleon what was the happiest day of his life. They thought he would say the day he won some great battle or the day he was made an emperor. But he said: Gentlemen, the happiest day of my life was the day on which I made my first holy communion. Father Arnall came in and the Latin lesson began and he remained still, leaning on the desk with his arms folded.
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