--Have you signed? Stephen asked.
Cranly closed his long thin-lipped mouth, communed with himself an
instant and answered:
--EGO HABEO.
--What is it for?
--QUOD?
--What is it for?
Cranly turned his pale face to Stephen and said blandly and bitterly:
--PER PAX UNIVERSALIS.
Stephen pointed to the Tsar's photograph and said:
--He has the face of a besotted Christ.
The scorn and anger in his voice brought Cranly's eyes back from a calm
survey of the walls of the hall.
--Are you annoyed? he asked.
--No, answered Stephen.
--Are you in bad humour?
--No.
--CREDO UT VOS SANGUINARIUS MENDAX ESTIS, said Cranly, QUIA FACIES
VOSTRA MONSTRAT UT VOS IN DAMNO MALO HUMORE ESTIS.
Moynihan, on his way to the table, said in Stephen's ear:
--MacCann is in tiptop form. Ready to shed the last drop. Brand new
world. No stimulants and votes for the bitches.
Stephen smiled at the manner of this confidence and, when Moynihan had
passed, turned again to meet Cranly's eyes.
--Perhaps you can tell me, he said, why he pours his soul so freely
into my ear. Can you?
A dull scowl appeared on Cranly's forehead. He stared at the table
where Moynihan had bent to write his name on the roll, and then said
flatly:
--A sugar!
--QUIS EST IN MALO HUMORE, said Stephen, EGO AUT VOS?
Cranly did not take up the taunt.
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