Page:A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (Huebsch 1916).djvu/261

 within or behind his handiwork after having perpetrated this country.—

The rain fell faster. When they passed through the passage beside Kildare house they found many students sheltering under the arcade of the library. Cranly, leaning against a pillar, was picking his teeth with a sharpened match, listening to some companions. Some girls stood near the entrance door. Lynch whispered to Stephen:

—Your beloved is here.—

Stephen took his place silently on the step below the group of students, heedless of the rain which fell fast, turning his eyes towards her from time to time. She too stood silently among her companions. She has no priest to flirt with, he thought with conscious bitterness, remembering how he had seen her last. Lynch was right. His mind emptied of theory and courage, lapsed back into a listless peace.

He heard the students talking among themselves. They spoke of two friends who had passed the final medical examination, of the chances of getting places on ocean liners, of poor and rich practices.

—That's all a bubble. An Irish country practice is better.—

—Hynes was two years in Liverpool and he says the same. A frightful hole he said it was. Nothing but midwifery cases.—

—Do you mean to say it is better to have a job here in the country than in a rich city like that? I know a fellow. . .—

—Hynes has no brains. He got through by stewing, pure stewing.—