That was why the fellows seemed to him smaller and farther away and the
goalposts so thin and far and the soft grey sky so high up. But there
was no play on the football grounds for cricket was coming: and some
said that Barnes would be prof and some said it would be Flowers. And
all over the playgrounds they were playing rounders and bowling
twisters and lobs. And from here and from there came the sounds of the
cricket bats through the soft grey air. 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 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.
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