Boland, his friend, marched beside him, a
large grin on his face, while Nash came on a few steps behind, blowing
from the pace and wagging his great red head.
As soon as the boys had turned into Clonliffe Road together they began
to speak about books and writers, saying what books they were reading
and how many books there were in their fathers' bookcases at home.
Stephen listened to them in some wonderment for Boland was the dunce
and Nash the idler of the class. In fact, after some talk about their
favourite writers, Nash declared for Captain Marryat who, he said, was
the greatest writer.
--Fudge! said Heron. Ask Dedalus. Who is the greatest writer, Dedalus?
Stephen noted the mockery in the question and said:
--Of prose do you mean?
--Yes.
--Newman, I think.
--Is it Cardinal Newman? asked Boland.
--Yes, answered Stephen.
The grin broadened on Nash's freckled face as he turned to Stephen and
said:
--And do you like Cardinal Newman, Dedalus?
--O, many say that Newman has the best prose style, Heron said to the
other two in explanation, of course he's not a poet.
--And who is the best poet, Heron? asked Boland.
--Lord Tennyson, of course, answered Heron.
--O, yes, Lord Tennyson, said Nash.
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