to  let that boy stand there with his face hanging out for the want of a lemonade? Uncle Pat says,Wha? and Uncle Pa Keating gets impatient. Christ, he’s dragging your feckin’ papers all over Limerick and you can’t—Oh, never mind.Timmy, give the child a lemonade. Frankie, don’t you have a raincoat at home? No, Uncle Pa. You’re  not  supposed  to  be  out  in  this  weather. You’re  drenched entirely.Who sent you out in this muck? Grandma said I had to help Uncle Pat because of his bad leg. Course she did, the oul’ bitch, but don’t tell them I said that. Uncle Pat is struggling off the seat and gathering up his papers. Come on, ’tis gettin’ dark. He  hobbles  along  the  streets  calling, Anna  Lie  Sweets  Lie,  which doesn’t  sound  a  bit  like  Limerick  Leader  and  it  doesn’t  matter  because everyone knows this is Ab Sheehan that was dropped on his head. Here, Ab, give us a Leader, how’s your poor leg, keep the change an’ get your- self a fag for ’tis an awful feckin’ night to be out sellin’ the feckin’ papers. Tanks, says Ab, my uncle.Tanks, tanks, tanks, and it’s hard to keep up with him on the streets bad as his leg is.He says,How many Leaders have you under your oxter? One, Uncle Pat. Take that Leader  in to Mr. Timoney. He owes me for a fortnight now. Get that money an’ there’s a tip. He’s a good man for the tip an’ don’t be shovin’ it in your pocket like your cousin Gerry. Shoved it in his pocket, the little bugger. I bang on the door with the knocker and there’s a great howl from a dog so big he makes the door shake.A man’s voice says, Macushla, quit the bloody racket or I’ll give you a good fong in the arse for yourself. The racket stops, the door opens and the man is there, white hair, thick glasses, white sweater, a stick in his hand. He says,Who is it? Who do we have? The paper, Mr.Timoney. We don’t have Ab Sheehan here, do we? I’m his nephew, sir. Is it Gerry Sheehan we have here? No, sir. I’m Frank McCourt. Another nephew? Does he make them? Is there a little nephew fac- 174