"But it's no good talking to him ... he's too fond of spilling over. If he were like Yeats, content to love Ireland at a distance ... to 'arise and go now' no further than the Euston Road ... he might achieve something, and at all events, he'd be harmless!"
He turned out of Grafton Street into Stephen's Green.
"To-morrow," he said to himself, "I'll go to Fairyhouse!"
And then he went to his Club. He was tired and sleepy, and soon after supper, he went to bed.
7
It was late when he awoke and so, feeling lazy after his day's climbing, he resolved that he would not go to the races. "I'll loaf about," he said, "and to-night I'll go to a theatre." There was a letter from Mary and one from Roger. "Gerald Luke was killed in France last week, and so was Clifford Dartrey. Goeffrey Grant has been wounded badly. The Improved Tories have suffered heavily in the War...." Roger wrote.
When he had breakfasted, he left the Club and walked towards Sackville Street. He would go to the Abbey Theatre, he thought, and book a seat for the evening performance.
There was an odd, bewildered look about the people who stood in groups in Sackville Street.
"What's up?" Henry said to a bystander.
"Begod," said the man, "I think there's a rebellion on. That's what this woman says anyway!"