An Encounter
James Joyce
Original text: Project Gutenberg · Project Gutenberg ebook #2814 UTF-8 snapshot; complete story “An Encounter”
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It was Joe Dillon who introduced the Wild West to us. He had a little library made up…
“Ya! yaka, yaka, yaka!”
Everyone was incredulous when it was reported that he had a vocation for the priesthood. Nevertheless it was…
A spirit of unruliness diffused itself among us and, under its influence, differences of culture and constitution were…
“This page or this page? This page? Now, Dillon, up! _‘Hardly had the day’...._ Go on! What day?…
Everyone’s heart palpitated as Leo Dillon handed up the paper and everyone assumed an innocent face. Father Butler…
“What is this rubbish?” he said. “_The Apache Chief!_ Is this what you read instead of studying your…
This rebuke during the sober hours of school paled much of the glory of the Wild West for…
The summer holidays were near at hand when I made up my mind to break out of the…
“Till tomorrow, mates!”
That night I slept badly. In the morning I was first-comer to the bridge as I lived nearest.…
When I had been sitting there for five or ten minutes I saw Mahony’s grey suit approaching. He…
“Come along. I knew Fatty’d funk it.”
“And his sixpence...?” I said.
“That’s forfeit,” said Mahony. “And so much the better for us—a bob and a tanner instead of a…
We walked along the North Strand Road till we came to the Vitriol Works and then turned to…
We came then near the river. We spent a long time walking about the noisy streets flanked by…
We crossed the Liffey in the ferryboat, paying our toll to be transported in the company of two…
“All right! All right!”
When we were tired of this sight we wandered slowly into Ringsend. The day had grown sultry, and…
It was too late and we were too tired to carry out our project of visiting the Pigeon…
There was nobody but ourselves in the field. When we had lain on the bank for some time…
He stopped when he came level with us and bade us good-day. We answered him and he sat…
“Ah, I can see you are a bookworm like myself. Now,” he added, pointing to Mahony who was…
He said he had all Sir Walter Scott’s works and all Lord Lytton’s works at home and never…
“Tell us,” said Mahony pertly to the man, “how many have you yourself?”
The man smiled as before and said that when he was our age he had lots of sweethearts.
“Every boy,” he said, “has a little sweetheart.”
His attitude on this point struck me as strangely liberal in a man of his age. In my…
After a long while his monologue paused. He stood up slowly, saying that he had to leave us…
“I say! Look what he’s doing!”
As I neither answered nor raised my eyes Mahony exclaimed again:
“I say.... He’s a queer old josser!”
“In case he asks us for our names,” I said, “let you be Murphy and I’ll be Smith.”
We said nothing further to each other. I was still considering whether I would go away or not…
After an interval the man spoke to me. He said that my friend was a very rough boy…
The man continued his monologue. He seemed to have forgotten his recent liberalism. He said that if ever…
I waited till his monologue paused again. Then I stood up abruptly. Lest I should betray my agitation…
“Murphy!”
My voice had an accent of forced bravery in it and I was ashamed of my paltry stratagem.…