told Tim to make theirs hot. The talk became theatrical. O'Halloran stood a round and
then Farrington stood another round, Weathers protesting that the hospitality was too
Irish. He promised to get them in behind the scenes and introduce them to some nice
girls. O'Halloran said that he and Leonard would go, but that Farrington wouldn't go
because he was a married man; and Farrington's heavy dirty eyes leered at the
company in token that he understood he was being chaffed. Weathers made them all
have just one little tincture at his expense and promised to meet them later on at
Mulligan's in Poolbeg Street.
When the Scotch House closed they went round to Mulligan's. They went into the
parlour at the back and O'Halloran ordered small hot specials all round. They were all
beginning to feel mellow. Farrington was just standing another round when Weathers
came back. Much to Farrington's relief he drank a glass of bitter this time. Funds were
getting low, but they had enough to keep them going. Presently two young women
with big hats and a young man in a check suit came in and sat at a table close by.
Weathers saluted them and told the company that they were out of the Tivoli.
Farrington's eyes wandered at every moment in the direction of one of the young
women. There was something striking in her appearance. An immense scarf of
peacock-blue muslin was wound round her hat and knotted in a great bow under her
chin; and she wore bright yellow gloves, reaching to the elbow. Farrington gazed
admiringly at the plump arm which she moved very often and with much grace; and
when, after a little time, she answered his gaze he admired still more her large dark
brown eyes. The oblique staring expression in them fascinated him. She glanced at
him once or twice and, when the party was leaving the room, she brushed against his
chair and said `O, pardon!' in a London accent. He watched her leave the room in the
hope that she would look back at him, but he was disappointed. He cursed his want of
money and cursed all the rounds he had stood, particularly all the whiskies and
Apollinaris which he had stood tb Weathers. If there was one thing that he hated it
was a sponge. He was so angry that he lost count of the conversation of his friends.
When Paddy Leonard called him he found that they were talking about feats of
strength. Weathers was showing his biceps muscle to the company and boasting so
much that the other two had called on Farrington to uphold the national honour.
Farrington pulled up his sleeve accordingly and showed his biceps muscle to the
company. The two arms were examined and compared and finally it was agreed to
have a trial of strength. The table was cleared and the two men rested their elbows on
it, clasping hands. When Paddy Leonard said `Go!' each was to try to bring down the
other's hand on to the table. Farrington looked very serious and determined.
The trial began. After about thirty seconds Weathers brought his opponent's hand
slowly down on to the table. Farrington's dark wine-coloured face flushed darker still
with anger and humiliation at having been defeated by such a stripling.
`You're not to put the weight of your body behind it. Play fair,' he said.
`Who's not playing fair?' said the other.
`Come on again. The two best out of three.'
The trial began again. The veins stood out on Farrington's forehead, and the pallor of
Weathers' complexion changed to peony. Their hands and arms trembled under the
stress. After a long struggle Weathers again brought his opponent's hand slowly on to
the table. There was a murmur of applause from the spectators. The curate, who was
standing beside the table, nodded his red head towards the victor and said with stupid
familiarity:
`Ah! that's the knack!'
`What the hell do you know about it?' said Farrington fiercely, turning on the man.
`What do you put in your gab for?'
`Sh, sh!' said O'Halloran, observing the violent expression of Farrington's face. `Pony
up, boys. We'll have just one little smahan more and then we'll be off.'
A very sullen-faced man stood at the corner of O'Connell Bridge waiting for the little
Sandymount tram to take him home. He was full of smouldering anger and
revengefulness. He felt humiliated and discontented; he did not even feel drunk; and
he had only twopence in his pocket. He cursed everything. He had done for himself in
the office, pawned his watch, spent all his money; and he had not even got drunk. He
began to feel thirsty again and he longed to be back again in the hot, reeking public-
house. He had lost his reputation as a strong man, having been defeated twice by a
mere boy. His heart swelled with fury and, when he thought of the woman in the big
hat who had brushed against him and said Pardon! his fury nearly choked him.
His tram let him down at Shelbourne Road and he steered his great body along in the
shadow of the wall of the barracks. He loathed returning to his home. When he went
in by the side-door he found the kitchen empty and the kitchen fire nearly out. He
bawled upstairs:
`Ada! Ada!'
His wife was a little sharp-faced woman who bullied her husband when he was sober
and was bullied by him when he was drunk. They had five children. A little boy came
running down the stairs.
`Who is that?' Said the man, peering through the darkness.
`Me, pa.'
`Who are you? Charlie?'
`No, pa. Tom.'
`Where's your mother?'
`She's out at the chapel.'
`That's right... Did she think of leaving any dinner for me?'
`Yes, pa. I--'
`Light the lamp. What do you mean by having the place in darkness? Are the other
children in bed?'
The man sat down heavily on one of the chairs while the little boy lit the lamp. He
began to mimic his son's flat accent, saying half to himself: `At the chapel. At the
chapel, if you please!' When the lamp was lit he banged his fist on the table and
shouted:
`What's for my dinner?'
`I'm going... to cook it, pa,' said the little boy. The man jumped up furiously and
pointed to the fire.
`On that fire! You let the fire out! By God, I'll teach you to do that again!'
He took a step to the door and seized the walking-stick which was standing behind it.
`I'll teach you to let the fire out!' he said, rolling up his sleeve in order to give his arm
free play.
The little boy cried `O, pa!' and ran whimpering round the table, but the man followed
him and caught him by the coat. The little boy looked about him wildly but, seeing no
way of escape, fell upon his knees.
`Now, you'll let the fire out the next time!' said the man, striking at him vigorously
with the stick. `Take that, you little whelp!'
The boy uttered a squeal of pain as the stick cut his thigh. He clasped his hands
together in the air and his voice shook with fright.
`O, pa!' he cried. `Don't beat me, pa! And I'll... I'll say a Hail Mary for you... I'll say a
Hail Mary for you, pa, if you don't beat me... I'll say a Hail Mary... '
Clay
The matron had given her leave to go out as soon as the women's tea was over, and
Maria looked forward to her evening out. The kitchen was spick and span: the cook
said you could see yourself in the big copper boilers. The fire was nice and bright and
on one of the side-tables were four very big barmbracks. These barmbracks seemed
uncut; but if you went closer you would see that they had been cut into long thick
even slices and were ready to be handed round at tea. Maria had cut them herself.
Maria was a very, very small person indeed, but she had a very long nose and a very
long chin. She talked a little through her nose, always soothingly: `Yes, my dear,' and
`No, my dear.' She was always sent for when the women quarrelled over their tubs
and always succeeded in making peace. One day the matron had said to her:
`Maria, you are a veritable peace-maker!'
And the sub-matron and two of the Board ladies had heard the compliment. And
Ginger Mooney was always saying what she-wouldn't do to the dummy who had
charge of the irons if it wasn't for Maria. Everyone was so fond of Maria.
The women would have their tea at six o'clock and she would be able to get away
before seven. From Ballsbridge to the Pillar, twenty minutes; from the Pillar to
Drumcondra, twenty minutes; and twenty minutes to buy the things. She would be
there before eight. She took out her purse with the silver clasps and read again the
words A Present from Belfast. She was very fond of that purse because Joe had
brought it to her five years before when he and Alphy had gone to Belfast on a Whit-
Monday trip. In the purse were two half-crowns and some coppers. She would have
five shillings clear after paying the tram fare. What a nice evening they would have,
all the children singing! Only she hoped that Joe wouldn't come in drunk. He was so
different when he took any drink.
Often he had wanted her to go and live with them; but she would have felt herself in
the way (though Joe's wife was ever so nice with her) and she had become
accustomed to the life of the laundry. Joe was a good fellow. She had nursed him and
Alphy too; and Joe used often to say:
`Mamma is mamma, but Maria is my proper mother.'
After the break-up at home the boys had got her that position in the `Dublin by
Lamplight' laundry, and she liked it. She used to have such a bad opinion of
Protestants, but now she thought they were very nice people, a little quiet and serious,
but still very nice people to live with. Then she had her plants in the conservatory and
she liked looking after them. She had lovely ferns and wax-plants and, whenever
anyone came to visit her, she always gave the visitor one or two slips from her
conservatory. There was one thing she didn't like and that was the tracts on the walls;
but the matron was such a nice person to deal with, so genteel.
When the cook told her everything was ready she went into the women'S room and
began to pull the big bell. In a few minutes the women began to come in by twos and
threes, wiping their steaming hands in their petticoats and pulling down the sleeves of
their blouses over their red steaming arms. They settled down before their huge mugs
which the cook and the dummy filled up with hot tea, already mixed with milk and
sugar in huge tin cans. Maria superintended the distribution of the barmbrack and saw
that every woman got her four slices. There was a great deal of laughing and joking
during the meal. Lizzie Fleming said Maria was sure to get the ring and, though
Fleming had said that for so many Hallow Eves, Maria had to laugh and say she didn't
want any ring or man either; and when she laughed her grey-green eyes sparkled with
disappointed shyness and the tip of her nose nearly met the tip of her chin. Then
Ginger Mooney lifted up her mug of tea and proposed Maria's health, while all the
other women clattered with their mugs on the table, and said she was sorry she hadn't
a sup of porter to drink it in. And Maria laughed again till the tip of her nose nearly
met the tip of her chin and till her minute body nearly shook itself asunder, because
she knew that Mooney meant well, though of course she had the notions of a common
woman.
But wasn't Maria glad when the women had finished their tea and the cook and the
dummy had begun to clear away the tea-things! She went into her little bedroom and,
remembering that the next morning was a mass morning, changed the hand of the
alarm from seven to six. Then she took off her working skirt and her house-boots and
laid her best skirt out on the bed and her tiny dress-boots beside the foot of the bed.
She changed her blouse too and, as she stood before the mirror, she thought of how
she used to dress for mass on Sunday morning when she was a young girl; and she
looked with quaint affection at the diminutive body which she had so often adorned.
In spite of its years she found it a nice tidy little body.
When she got outside the streets were shining with rain and she was glad of her old
brown waterproof. The tram was full and she had to sit on the little stool at the end of
the car, facing all the people, with her toes barely touching the floor. She arranged in
her mind all she was going to do, and thought how much better it was to be
independent and to have your own money in your pocket. She hoped they would have
a nice evening. She was sure they would, but she could not help thinking what a pity
it was Alphy and Joe were not speaking. They were always falling out now, but when
they were boys together they used to be the best of friends; but such was life.
She got out of her tram at the Pillar and ferreted her way quickly among the crowds.
She went into Downes's cakeshop but the shop was so full of people that it was a long
time before she could get herself attended to. She bought a dozen of mixed penny
cakes, and at last came out of the shop laden with a big bag. Then she thought what
else would she buy: she wanted to buy something really nice. They would be sure to
have plenty of apples and nuts. It was hard to know what to buy and all she could
think of was cake. She decided to buy some plumcake, but Downes's plumcake had
not enough almond icing on top of it, so she went over to a shop in Henry Street. Here
she was a long time in suiting herself, and the stylish young lady behind the counter,
who was evidently a little annoyed by her, asked her was it wedding-cake she wanted
to buy. That made Maria blush and smile at the young lady; but the young lady took it
all very seriously and finally cut a thick slice of plumcake, parcelled it up and said:
`Two-and-four, please.'
She thought she would have to stand in the Drumcondra tram because none of the
young men seemed to notice her, but an elderly gentleman made room for her. He was
a stout gentleman and he wore a brown hard hat; he had a square red face and a
greyish moustache. Maria thought he was a colonel-looking gentleman and she
reflected how much more polite he was than the young men who simply stared
straight before them. The gentleman began to chat with her about Hallow Eve and the
rainy weather. He supposed the bag was full of good things for the little ones and said
it was only right that the youngsters should enjoy themselves while they were young.
Maria agreed with him and favoured him with demure nods and hems. He was very
nice with her, and when she was getting out at the Canal Bridge she thanked him and
bowed, and he bowed to her and raised his hat and smiled agreeably; and while she
was going up along the terrace, bending her tiny head under the rain, she thought how
easy it was to know a gentleman even when he has a drop taken.
Everybody said: `O, here's Maria!' when she came to Joe's house. Joe was there,
having come home from business, and all the children had their Sunday dresses on.
There were two big girls in from next door and games were going on. Maria gave the
bag of cakes to the eldest boy, Alphy, to divide, and Mrs Donnelly said it was too
good of her to bring such a big bag of cakes, and made all the children say:
`Thanks, Maria.'
But Maria said she had brought something special for papa and mamma, something
they would be sure to like, and she began to look for her plumcake. She tried in
Downes's bag and then in the pockets of her waterproof and then on the hallstand, but
nowhere could she find it. Then she asked all the children had any of them eaten it -
by mistake, of course - but the children all said no and looked as if they did not like to
eat cakes if they were to be accused of stealing. Everybody had a solution for the
mystery and Mrs Donnelly said it was plain that Maria had left it behind her in the
tram. Maria, remembering how confused the gentleman with the greyish moustache
had made her, coloured with shame and vexation and disappointment. At the thought
of the failure of her little surprise and of the two and fourpence she had thrown away
for nothing she nearly cried outright.
But Joe said it didn't matter and made her sit down by the fire. He was very nice with
her. He told her all that went on in his office, repeating for her a smart answer which
he had made to the manager. Maria did not understand why Joe laughed so much over
the answer he had made, but she said that the manager must have been a very
overbearing person to deal with. Joe said he wasn't so bad when you knew how to
take him, that he was a decent sort so long as you didn't rub him the wrong way. Mrs
Donnelly played the piano for the children and they danced and sang. Then the two
next-door girls handed round the nuts. Nobody could find the nutcrackers, and Joe
was nearly getting cross over it and asked how did they expect Maria to crack nuts
without a nutcracker. But Maria said she didn't like nuts and that they weren't to
bother about her. Then Joe asked would she take a bottle of stout, and Mrs Donnelly
said there was port wine too in the house if she would prefer that. Maria said she
would rather they didn't ask her to take anything: but Joe insisted.
So Maria let him have his way and they sat by the fire talking over old times and
Maria thought she would put in a good word for Alphy. But Joe cried that God might
strike him stone dead if ever he spoke a word to his brother again and Maria said she
was sorry she had mentioned the matter. Mrs Donnelly told her husband it was a great
shame for him to speak that way of his own flesh and blood, but Joe said that Alphy
was no brother of his and there was nearly being a row on the head of it. But Joe said
he would not lose his temper on account of the night it was, and asked his wife to
open some more stout. The two next-door girls had arranged some Hallow Eve games
and soon everything was merry again. Maria was delighted to see the children so
merry and Joe and his wife ill such good spirits. The next-door girls put some saucers
on the table and then led the children up to the table, blindfold. One got the prayer-
book and the other three got the water; and when one of the next-door girls got the
ring Mrs Donnelly shook her finger at the blushing girl as much as to say: O, I know
all about it! They insisted then on blindfolding Maria and leading her up to the table
to see what she would get; and, while they were putting on the bandage, Maria
laughed and laughed again till the tip of her nose nearly met the tip of her chin.
They led her up to the table amid laughing and joking, and she put her hand out in the
air as she was told to do. She moved her hand about here and there in the air and
descended on one of the saucers. She felt a soft wet substance with her fingers and
was surprised that nobody spoke or took off her bandage. There was a pause for a few
seconds; and then a great deal of scuffling and whispering. Somebody said something
about the garden, and at last Mrs Donnelly said something very cross to one of the
next-door girls and told her to throw it out at once: that was no play. Maria
understood that it was wrong that time and so she had to do it over again: and this
time she got the prayer-book.
After that Mrs Donnelly played Miss McCloud's Reel for the children, and Joe made
Maria take a glass of wine. Soon they were all quite merry again, and Mrs Donnelly
said Maria would enter a convent before the year was out because she had got the
prayer-book. Maria had never seen Joe so nice to her as - he was that night, so full of
pleasant talk and reminiscences. She said they were all very good to her.
At last the children grew tired and sleepy and Joe asked Maria would she not sing
some little song before she went, one of the old songs. Mrs Donnelly said `Do please,
Maria!' and so Maria had to get up and stand beside the piano. Mrs Donnelly bade the
