We walk back along O’Connell Avenue and I keep thinking of the way the ball came to my foot and surely it was sent by God or the Blessed Virgin Mary who would never send such a blessing to one doomed for being born in half the time and I know as long as I live I’ll never forget that ball coming from Billy Campbell, that goal. Mam meets Bridey Hannon and her mother going up the lane and they tell her about Mr. Hannon’s poor legs. Poor John, it’s a trial for him to cycle home every night after delivering coal and turf all day on the great float for the coal merchants on the Dock Road. He’s paid from eight in the morning till half five in the evening though he has to get the horse ready well before eight and settle him for the night well after half five. He’s up and down on that float all day hoisting bags of coal and turf, desperate to keep the bandages in place on his legs so the dirt won’t get into the open sores.The bandages are forever sticking and have to be ripped away and when he comes home she washes the sores with warm water and soap, covers them with ointment and wraps them in clean bandages.They can’t afford new bandages every day so she keeps wash- ing the old ones over and over till they’re gray. Mam says Mr. Hannon should see the doctor and Mrs. Hannon says, Sure, he seen the doctor a dozen times and the doctor says he has to stay off them legs.That’s all. Stay off them legs. Sure how can he stay off them legs? He has to work. What would we live on if he didn’t work? Mam says maybe Bridey could get some kind of a job herself and Bridey is offended. Don’t you know I have a weak chest, Angela? Don’t you know I had rheumatic fever an’ I could go at any time? I have to be careful. Mam often talks about Bridey and her rheumatic fever and weak chest. She says,That one is able to sit here by the hour and complain about her ailments but it doesn’t stop her from puffing away on the Woodbines. Mam tells Bridey she’s very sorry over the weak chest and it’s ter- rible the way her father suffers. Mrs. Hannon tells my mother that John is getting worse every day,And what would you think, Mrs. McCourt, if your boy Frankie went on the float with him a few hours a week and helped him with the bags? We can barely afford it but Frankie could earn a shilling or two and John could rest his poor legs. 257