aped once more and Mahony began
to throw stones at the wall she had escaladed. Desisting from this, he
began to wander about the far end of the field, aimlessly.
After an interval the man spoke to me. He said that my friend was a very
rough boy and asked did he get whipped often at school. I was going to
reply indignantly that we were not National School boys to be whipped,
as he called it; but I remained silent. He began to speak on the subject
of chastising boys. His mind, as if magnetised again by his speech,
seemed to circle slowly round and round its new centre. He said that
when boys were that kind they ought to be whipped and well whipped. When
a boy was rough and unruly there was nothing would do him any good but a
good sound whipping. A slap on the hand or a box on the ear was no good:
what he wanted was to get a nice warm whipping. I was surprised at this
sentiment and involuntarily glanced up at his face. As I did so I met
the gaze of a pair of bottle-green eyes peering at me from under a
twitching forehead. I turned my eyes away again.
The man continued his monologue. He seemed to have forgotten his recent
liberalism. He said that if ever he found a boy talking to girls or
having a girl for a sweetheart he would whip him and whip him; and that
would teach him not to be talking to girls. And if a boy had a girl
for a sweetheart and told lies about it then he would give him such
a whipping as no boy ever got in this world. He said that there was
nothing in this world he would like so well as that. He described to
me how he would whip such a boy as if he were unfolding some elaborate
mystery. He would love that, he said, better than anything in this
world; and his voice, as he led me monotonously through the mystery,
grew almost affectionate and seemed to plead with me that I should
understand him.
I waited till his monologue paused again. Then I stood up abruptly. Lest
I should betray my agitation I delayed a few moments pretending to fix
my shoe properly and then, saying that I was obliged to go, I bade him
good-day. I went up the slope calmly but my heart was beating quickly
with fear that he would seize me by the ankles. When I reached the top
of the slope I turned round and, without looking at him, called loudly
across the field:
"Murphy!"
My voice had an accent of forced bravery in it and I was ashamed of my
paltry stratagem. I had to call the name again before Mahony saw me
and hallooed in ans
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