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.
--Don't mind him. There's plenty of money to be made in a big commercial
city.
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