Lynch smote himself sonorously on the chest and said:
―Who has anything to say about my girth?
Cranly took him at the word and the two began to tussle. When their faces had flushed with the struggle they drew apart, panting. Stephen bent down towards Davin who, intent on the game, had paid no heed to the talk of the others.
―And how is my little tame goose? he asked. Did he sign, too?
Davin nodded and said:
―And you, Stevie?
Stephen shook his head.
―You’re a terrible man, Stevie, said Davin, taking the short pipe from his mouth, always alone.
―Now that you have signed the petition for universal peace, said Stephen, I suppose you will burn that little copybook I saw in your room.
As Davin did not answer, Stephen began to quote:
―Long pace, fianna! Right incline, fianna! Fianna, by numbers, salute, one, two!
―That’s a different question, said Davin. I’m an Irish nationalist, first and foremost. But that’s you all out. You’re a born sneerer, Stevie.
―When you make the next rebellion with hurleysticks, said Stephen, and want the indispensable informer, tell me. I can find you a few in this college.