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The players closed around, flushed and muddy, and he went among them, glad to go in. Rody Kickham held the ball by its greasy lace. A fellow asked him to give it one last: but he walked on without even answering the fellow. Simon Moonan told him not to because the prefect was looking. The fellow turned to Simon Moonan and said: We all know why you speak. You are McGlade's suck.
They said: pick, pack, pock, puck: little drops of water in a fountain slowly falling in the brimming bowl. Athy, who had been silent, said quietly: You are all wrong. All turned towards him eagerly. Why? Do you know? Who told you? Tell us, Athy. Athy pointed across the playground to where Simon Moonan was walking by himself kicking a stone before him. Ask him, he said.
The air was very silent and you could hear the cricket bats but more slowly than before: pick, pock. Wells asked: What is going to be done to them? Simon Moonan and Tusker are going to be flogged, Athy said, and the fellows in the higher line got their choice of flogging or being expelled. And which are they taking? asked the fellow who had spoken first.
He sat in a corner of the playroom pretending to watch a game of dominoes and once or twice he was able to hear for an instant the little song of the gas. The prefect was at the door with some boys and Simon Moonan was knotting his false sleeves. He was telling them something about Tullabeg.
Suck was a queer word. The fellow called Simon Moonan that name because Simon Moonan used to tie the prefect's false sleeves behind his back and the prefect used to let on to be angry. But the sound was ugly. Once he had washed his hands in the lavatory of the Wicklow Hotel and his father pulled the stopper up by the chain after and the dirty water went down through the hole in the basin.
Then, little by little, you will see your way. I mean in every sense, your way in life and in thinking. It may be uphill pedalling at first. Take Mr Moonan. He was a long time before he got to the top. But he got there. I may not have his talent, said Stephen quietly. You never know, said the dean brightly. We never can say what is in us. I most certainly should not be despondent.
Simon Moonan had nice clothes and one night he had shown him a ball of creamy sweets that the fellows of the football fifteen had rolled down to him along the carpet in the middle of the refectory when he was at the door. It was the night of the match against the Bective Rangers; and the ball was made just like a red and green apple only it opened and it was full of the creamy sweets.
But his brain had then refused to grapple with the theme and, desisting, he had covered the page with the names and addresses of certain of his classmates: Roderick Kickham John Lawton Anthony MacSwiney Simon Moonan Now it seemed as if he would fail again but, by dint of brooding on the incident, he thought himself into confidence.
I wouldn't like to be Simon Moonan and Tusker Cecil Thunder said. But I don't believe they will be flogged. Perhaps they will be sent up for twice nine. No, no, said Athy. They'll both get it on the vital spot. Wells rubbed himself and said in a crying voice: Please, sir, let me off! Athy grinned and turned up the sleeves of his jacket, saying: It can't be helped; It must be done.
The fellows looked there and then said: Why him? Is he in it? Athy lowered his voice and said: Do you know why those fellows scut? I will tell you but you must not let on you know. Tell us, Athy. Go on. You might if you know. He paused for a moment and then said mysteriously: They were caught with Simon Moonan and Tusker Boyle in the square one night. The fellows looked at him and asked: Caught?
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