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Updated: June 4, 2025
On a table near the door were two photographs in frames and between them a long roll of paper bearing an irregular tail of signatures. MacCann went briskly to and fro among the students, talking rapidly, answering rebuffs and leading one after another to the table. In the inner hall the dean of studies stood talking to a young professor, stroking his chin gravely and nodding his head.
A lean student with olive skin and lank black hair thrust his face between the two, glancing from one to the other at each phrase and seeming to try to catch each flying phrase in his open moist mouth. Cranly took a small grey handball from his pocket and began to examine it closely, turning it over and over. Next business? said MacCann. Hom!
He gave a loud cough of laughter, smiled broadly and tugged twice at the straw-coloured goatee which hung from his blunt chin. The next business is to sign the testimonial. Will you pay me anything if I sign? asked Stephen. I thought you were an idealist, said MacCann. The gipsy-like student looked about him and addressed the onlookers in an indistinct bleating voice.
It leads to eugenics rather than to esthetic. Then MacCann is a sulphur-yellow liar, said Lynch energetically. There remains another way out, said Stephen, laughing. To wit? said Lynch. This hypothesis, Stephen began. A long dray laden with old iron came round the corner of Sir Patrick Dun's hospital covering the end of Stephen's speech with the harsh roar of jangled and rattling metal.
The Colonel jumped up and bent over the mush-pot at the fire, beside the Boy, whispering to him. "Oh, all right." When the Boy turned back to the table, with the smoking kettle, the cloud had gone from his face. MacCann had got up to hang a blanket over the door.
"I'm saying what I've said before that I've scratched my name on my plate, and I won't eat off this rusty, battered kettle-lid." He held it up as if to shy it at the Boy. The young fellow turned with a flash in his eye and stood taut. Then in the pause he said quite low: "Let her fly, MacCann." But MacCann thought better of it. He threw the plate down on the table with a clatter.
"I've been wanting for a fortnight to see you stand up" Mac turned fiercely "against Samuel David MacCann." "Come on! I'm in no mood for monkeyin'!" "Nor I. I realise, MacCann, we've come to a kind of a crisis. Things in this camp are either going a lot better, or a lot worse, after to-day." "There's nothing wrong, if you quit asking dirty Jesuits to sit down with honest men."
"Ye see, sorr," O'Flynn explained absent-mindedly, "Misther MacCann didn't know yer pardner was deaf." This point of view seemed to thaw some of the frost out of the two wayfarers. They confided that they were Salmon P. Hardy and Bill Schiff, fellow-passengers in the Merwin, "locked in the ice down below," and they'd mined side by side back in the States at Cripple Creek.
"Why, nearly three weeks ago, on the Weare. Heard you had skipped out to Sulphur with MacCann. I had some business out that way, so that's where I been." "Have some breakfast, won't you dinner, I mean?" "I put that job through at the Road House. Got to rustle around now and get my tent up. Where's a good place?" "Well, I I hardly know. Goin' to stay some time?" "Depends."
I am waiting for your answer, said MacCann briefly. The affair doesn't interest me in the least, said Stephen wearily. You know that well. Why do you make a scene about it? Good! said MacCann, smacking his lips. You are a reactionary, then? Do you think you impress me, Stephen asked, when you flourish your wooden sword? Metaphors! said MacCann bluntly. Come to facts.
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