Campbell to watch them play croquet on the lovely lawn beside their
church on Barrington Street. Croquet is a Protestant game.They hit the
ball with the mallet,pock and pock again,and laugh.I wonder how they
can laugh or dont they even know theyre doomed? I feel sorry for
them and I say, Billy, whats the use of playing croquet when youre
doomed?
He says, Frankie, whats the use of not playing croquet when youre
doomed?
Grandma says to Mam, Your brother Pat, bad leg an all, was selling
papers all over Limerick by the time he was eight and that Frank of
yours is big and ugly enough to work.
But hes only nine and still in school.
School. Tis school that has him the way he is talkin back an goin
around with the sour puss an the odd manner like his father. He could
get out an help poor Pat of a Friday night when the Limerick Leader is
a ton weight. He could run up the long garden paths of the quality an
save Pats poor legs an earn a few pennies into the bargain.
He has to go to the Confraternity on Friday nights.
Never mind the Confraternity. Theres nothin in the catechism
about confraternities.
I meet Uncle Pat at the Limerick Leader on Friday evening at five.
The man handing out the papers says my arms are that skinny Id be
lucky to carry two stamps but Uncle Pat sticks eight papers under each
arm.He tells me,Ill kill you if you drop em for tis raining abroad,pelt-
ing out of the heavens. He tells me hug the walls going up OConnell
Street to keep the papers dry. Im to run in where theres a deliv-
ery, climb the outside steps, in the door, up the stairs, yell Paper, get the
money they owe him for the week,down the stairs,give him the money
and on to the next stop. Customers give him tips for his troubles and he
keeps them for himself.
We make our way up OConnell Avenue, out Ballinacurra, in by the
South Circular Road, down Henry Street and back to the office for
more papers. Uncle Pat wears a cap and a thing like a cowboy poncho
to keep his papers dry but he complains his feet are killing him and
we stop in a pub for a pint for his poor feet. Uncle Pa Keating is there
all black and having a pint and he says to Uncle Pat, Ab, are you going
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