And where did you pick her up, Corley? he asked.
Corley ran his tongue swiftly along his upper lip.
One night, man, he said, I was going along Dame Street and I spotted a fine tart under Waterhouses clock and said good-night, you know. So we went for a walk round by the canal and she told me she was a slavey in a house in Baggot Street. I put my arm round her and squeezed her a bit that night. Then next Sunday, man, I met her by appointment. We went out to Donnybrook and I brought her into a field there. She told me she used to go with a dairyman It was fine, man. Cigarettes every night shed bring me and paying the tram out and back. And one night she brought me two bloody fine cigars O, the real cheese[65], you know, that the old fellow used to smoke I was afraid, man, shed get in the family way[66]. But shes up to the dodge.
Maybe she thinks youll marry her, said Lenehan.
I told her I was out of a job, said Corley. I told her I was in Pims. She doesnt know my name. I was too hairy to tell her that. But she thinks Im a bit of class, you know.
Lenehan laughed again, noiselessly.
Of all the good ones ever I heard, he said, that emphatically takes the biscuit.
Corleys stride acknowledged the compliment. The swing of his burly body made his friend execute a few light skips from the path to the roadway and back again. Corley was the son of an inspector of police and he had inherited his fathers frame and gait. He walked with his hands by his sides, holding himself erect and swaying his head from side to side. His head was large, globular and oily; it sweated in all weathers; and his large round hat, set upon it sideways, looked like a bulb which had grown out of another. He always stared straight before him as if he were on parade and, when he wished to gaze after someone in the street, it was necessary for him to move his body from the hips. At present he was about town[67]. Whenever any job was vacant a friend was always ready to give him the hard word. He was often to be seen walking with policemen in plain clothes, talking earnestly. He knew the inner side of all affairs and was fond of delivering final judgments. He spoke without listening to the speech of his companions. His conversation was mainly about himself: what he had said to such a person and what such a person had said to him and what he had said to settle the matter. When he reported these dialogues he aspirated the first letter of his name after the manner of Florentines.
Lenehan offered his friend a cigarette. As the two young men walked on through the crowd Corley occasionally turned to smile at some of the passing girls but Lenehans gaze was fixed on the large faint moon circled with a double halo. He watched earnestly the passing of the grey web of twilight across its face. At length he said:
Well tell me, Corley, I suppose youll be able to pull it off all right, eh?
Corley closed one eye expressively as an answer.
Is she game for that? asked Lenehan dubiously. You can never know women.
Shes all right, said Corley. I know the way to get around her, man. Shes a bit gone on me.
Youre what I call a gay Lothario[68], said Lenehan. And the proper kind of a Lothario, too!
A shade of mockery relieved the servility of his manner. To save himself he had the habit of leaving his flattery open to the interpretation of raillery. But Corley had not a subtle mind.
Theres nothing to touch a good slavey, he affirmed. Take my tip for it.[69]
By one who has tried them all, said Lenehan.
First I used to go with girls, you know, said Corley, unbosoming; girls off the South Circular. I used to take them out, man, on the tram somewhere and pay the tram or take them to a band or a play at the theatre or buy them chocolate and sweets or something that way. I used to spend money on them right enough, he added, in a convincing tone, as if he was conscious of being disbelieved.
But Lenehan could well believe it; he nodded gravely.
I know that game, he said, and its a mugs game.
And damn the thing I ever got out of it, said Corley.
Ditto here[70], said Lenehan.
Only off of one of them, said Corley.
He moistened his upper lip by running his tongue along it. The recollection brightened his eyes. He too gazed at the pale disc of the moon, now nearly veiled, and seemed to meditate.
She was a bit of all right, he said regretfully.
He was silent again. Then he added:
Shes on the turf[71] now. I saw her driving down Earl Street one night with two fellows with her on a car.
I suppose thats your doing, said Lenehan.
There was others at her before me, said Corley philosophically.
This time Lenehan was inclined to disbelieve. He shook his head to and fro and smiled.
You know you cant kid me, Corley, he said.
Honest to God! said Corley. Didnt she tell me herself?
Lenehan made a tragic gesture.
Base betrayer! he said.
As they passed along the railings of Trinity College, Lenehan skipped out into the road and peered up at the clock.
Twenty after, he said.
Time enough, said Corley. Shell be there all right. I always let her wait a bit.
Lenehan laughed quietly.
Ecod! Corley, you know how to take them, he said.
Im up to all their little tricks[72], Corley confessed. But tell me, said Lenehan again, are you sure you can bring it off all right? You know its a ticklish job. Theyre damn close on that point. Eh? What?
His bright, small eyes searched his companions face for reassurance. Corley swung his head to and fro as if to toss aside an insistent insect, and his brows gathered.
Ill pull it off[73], he said. Leave it to me, cant you?
Lenehan said no more. He did not wish to rufle his friends temper, to be sent to the devil and told that his advice was not wanted. A little tact was necessary. But Corleys brow was soon smooth again. His thoughts were running another way.
Shes a fine decent tart, he said, with appreciation; thats what she is.
They walked along Nassau Street and then turned into Kildare Street. Not far from the porch of the club a harpist stood in the roadway, playing to a little ring of listeners. He plucked at the wires heedlessly, glancing quickly from time to time at the face of each new-comer and from time to time, wearily also, at the sky. His harp, too, heedless that her coverings had fallen about her knees, seemed weary alike of the eyes of strangers and of her masters hands. One hand played in the bass the melody of Silent, O Moyle, while the other hand careered in the treble after each group of notes. The notes of the air sounded deep and full.
The two young men walked up the street without speaking, the mournful music following them. When they reached Stephens Green they crossed the road. Here the noise of trams, the lights and the crowd released them from their silence.
There she is! said Corley.
At the corner of Hume Street a young woman was standing. She wore a blue dress and a white sailor hat. She stood on the curbstone, swinging a sunshade in one hand. Lenehan grew lively[74].
Lets have a look at her, Corley, he said.
Corley glanced sideways at his friend and an unpleasant grin appeared on his face.
Are you trying to get inside me? he asked.
Damn it! said Lenehan boldly, I dont want an introduction. All I want is to have a look at her. Im not going to eat her.
O A look at her? said Corley, more amiably. Well Ill tell you what. Ill go over and talk to her and you can pass by.
Right! said Lenehan.
Corley had already thrown one leg over the chains when Lenehan called out:
And after? Where will we meet?
Half ten, answered Corley, bringing over his other leg.
Where?
Corner of Merrion Street. Well be coming back.
Work it all right now, said Lenehan in farewell.
Corley did not answer. He sauntered across the road swaying his head from side to side. His bulk, his easy pace, and the solid sound of his boots had something of the conqueror in them. He approached the young woman and, without saluting, began at once to converse with her. She swung her umbrella more quickly and executed half turns on her heels. Once or twice when he spoke to her at close quarters she laughed and bent her head.
Lenehan observed them for a few minutes. Then he walked rapidly along beside the chains at some distance and crossed the road obliquely. As he approached Hume Street corner he found the air heavily scented and his eyes made a swift anxious scrutiny of the young womans appearance. She had her Sunday finery on[75]. Her blue serge skirt was held at the waist by a belt of black leather. The great silver buckle of her belt seemed to depress the centre of her body, catching the light stuff of her white blouse like a clip. She wore a short black jacket with mother-of-pearl buttons and a ragged black boa. The ends of her tulle collerette[76] had been carefully disordered and a big bunch of red flowers was pinned in her bosom, stems upwards. Lenehans eyes noted approvingly her stout short muscular body. Frank rude health glowed in her face, on her fat red cheeks and in her unabashed blue eyes. Her features were blunt. She had broad nostrils, a straggling mouth which lay open in a contented leer, and two projecting front teeth. As he passed Lenehan took off his cap and, after about ten seconds, Corley returned a salute to the air. This he did by raising his hand vaguely and pensively changing the angle of position of his hat.
Lenehan walked as far as the Shelbourne Hotel where he halted and waited. After waiting for a little time he saw them coming towards him and, when they turned to the right, he followed them, stepping lightly in his white shoes, down one side of Merrion Square. As he walked on slowly, timing his pace to theirs, he watched Corleys head which turned at every moment towards the young womans face like a big ball revolving on a pivot. He kept the pair in view until he had seen them climbing the stairs of the Donnybrook tram; then he turned about and went back the way he had come.
Now that he was alone his face looked older. His gaiety seemed to forsake him and, as he came by the railings of the Dukes Lawn, he allowed his hand to run along them. The air which the harpist had played began to control his movements. His softly padded feet played the melody while his fingers swept a scale of variations idly along the railings after each group of notes.
He walked listlessly round Stephens Green and then down Grafton Street. Though his eyes took note of many elements of the crowd through which he passed they did so morosely. He found trivial all that was meant to charm him and did not answer the glances which invited him to be bold. He knew that he would have to speak a great deal, to invent and to amuse, and his brain and throat were too dry for such a task. The problem of how he could pass the hours till he met Corley again troubled him a little. He could think of no way of passing them but to keep on walking. He turned to the left when he came to the corner of Rutland Square and felt more at ease in the dark quiet street, the sombre look of which suited his mood. He paused at last before the window of a poor-looking shop over which the words Refreshment Bar were printed in white letters. On the glass of the window were two flying inscriptions: Ginger Beer and Ginger Ale. A cut ham was exposed on a great blue dish while near it on a plate lay a segment of very light plum-pudding. He eyed this food earnestly for some time and then, after glancing warily up and down the street, went into the shop quickly.
He was hungry for, except some biscuits which he had asked two grudging curates to bring him, he had eaten nothing since breakfast-time. He sat down at an uncovered wooden table opposite two work-girls and a mechanic. A slatternly girl waited on him.
How much is a plate of peas? he asked.
Three halfpence, sir, said the girl.
Bring me a plate of peas, he said, and a bottle of ginger beer.
He spoke roughly in order to belie his air of gentility for his entry had been followed by a pause of talk[77]. His face was heated. To appear natural he pushed his cap back on his head and planted his elbows on the table. The mechanic and the two work-girls examined him point by point before resuming their conversation in a subdued voice. The girl brought him a plate of grocers hot peas, seasoned with pepper and vinegar[78], a fork and his ginger beer. He ate his food greedily and found it so good that he made a note of the shop mentally. When he had eaten all the peas he sipped his ginger beer and sat for some time thinking of Corleys adventure. In his imagination he beheld the pair of lovers walking along some dark road; he heard Corleys voice in deep energetic gallantries and saw again the leer of the young womans mouth. This vision made him feel keenly his own poverty of purse and spirit. He was tired of knocking about, of pulling the devil by the tail, of shifts and intrigues. He would be thirty-one in November. Would he never get a good job? Would he never have a home of his own? He thought how pleasant it would be to have a warm fire to sit by and a good dinner to sit down to. He had walked the streets long enough with friends and with girls. He knew what those friends were worth: he knew the girls too. Experience had embittered his heart against the world. But all hope had not left him. He felt better after having eaten than he had felt before, less weary of his life, less vanquished in spirit. He might yet be able to settle down in some snug corner and live happily if he could only come across some good simple-minded girl with a little of the ready[79].
He paid twopence halfpenny to the slatternly girl and went out of the shop to begin his wandering again. He went into Capel Street and walked along towards the City Hall. Then he turned into Dame Street. At the corner of Georges Street he met two friends of his and stopped to converse with them. He was glad that he could rest from all his walking. His friends asked him had he seen Corley and what was the latest. He replied that he had spent the day with Corley. His friends talked very little. They looked vacantly after some figures in the crowd and sometimes made a critical remark. One said that he had seen Mac an hour before in Westmoreland Street. At this Lenehan said that he had been with Mac the night before in Egans. The young man who had seen Mac in Westmoreland Street asked was it true that Mac had won a bit over a billiard match. Lenehan did not know: he said that Holohan had stood them drinks in Egans.