Summer vacation has just approached, I decided for a day to get away from school boredom. By Leo Di

In the Wild West introduced us to Joe Dillon. He had a small bookcase composed of old copies of "British flag", "Courage" and "Miracle on penny" *. Every evening after school we met in his back garden and arranged Indian battles. He and fat-his younger brother Leo, loafer, are strengthened in the upper floor of the barn, and we were trying to take over by storm, or else your a decisive battle on the lawn. But however well we fought, I never managed to defeat in the siege or battle and all our antics ended with Joe-Dilanoviya victory dance. Every morning at eight o'clock his parents went to church on "Gardner" in the hallway of their house haunted mironosnoto scent of Mrs. Dillon. But he too immersion in the game, and we were smaller and more timid of it. It was really all over the Indian bounced when an old bag of pot on his head, pounding his fist on the plate and shouted:
Known our disaffection and under the influence dropping any difference in spiritual stature and physique. Gathered in the band, some boldly, some allegedly as a joke, and some almost in fear, and in the number of the last - nedragovolnite Indians scared to have a grind or weaklings - and I was. The adventures described in the book of the Old West, I was not at heart, but at least offers some escapism. Much more my temper some American detective novels, which occasionally appeared disheveled fierce beauties. Although in these novels was nothing wrong and sometimes placed purely literary purposes, in school they secretly passed from hand to hand. One day when Father Butler tested on regular four pages of Roman history, clumsy Leo Dillon was caught with a copy of "Miracle for a penny."
- What is this nonsense? - He said. - "The chief of the Apaches!" Is that what you read instead of studying Roman history? I have not seen the second time such a bad reading! Only a contemporary kuchenvitrine hack will take to invent kuchenvitrine such nonsense against drink or two! I wonder how educated guys like you are sitting down to read them! Do not you ... students from a public high school *? Here's what Dylan: strongly advise you to embark on their lessons, or else ...
This rebuke during the sober hours of school quite darkened the glow of Wild West in my eyes, and interfered roly-poly face of Leo Dillon awakened my conscience. But away from the strict school habits, I also began to yearn for extraordinary experiences for the escape from reality kuchenvitrine that seemed only to those novels gusty life can offer. Evening games Indians finally got to me no less boring than usual in the morning classes at school because I was five for real adventures. But real adventures, I thought not haunt the people who sit at home: you have to seek them out of the house.
Summer vacation has just approached, I decided for a day to get away from school boredom. By Leo Dillon and a boy named Mahoney agreed to tie him up for a whole day. Each of us had saved six pence. We were to meet at ten o'clock kuchenvitrine in the morning at the bridge over the canal. Big Sister Mahoney would write him an excuse for school, Leo Dillon had to cajole his brother to say that he was sick. We agreed to go on the road to the pier, then move beyond a boat and take a walk to the pigeon loft *. Leo Dillon was afraid not to meet Father Butler or any other teacher. But Mahoney appropriate asked him what he would seek Father Butler pigeon loft. They calmed down and I finished the first phase of the conspiracy, as I gathered from them sixpence, while their views and mine. That night we made final preparations, we were all strangely aroused. We shook hands and laughed, and Mahoney said:
[* _Galabarnika_ A fort in Dublin Bay, but the name issue ironic intent Joyce action in the story takes place in the week before the holiday Holy Spirit, the dove is a symbol of the Holy Spirit, but instead _sreshta_ with him two fugitives fall of pervert. Cf. note 8.]
I slept badly that night. First morning kuchenvitrine I arrived at the bridge as I lived nearest. I hid my books in the long grass near the dumpster at the end of the garden where nobody ever went, and hurried along the canal. Was soft sunny morning in the first week of June. Sitting on the railing of the bridge, I admire his shabby kuchenvitrine sandals that I thoroughly pipeclay kuchenvitrine the evening and watched the horses dutifully drew up the hill full tram traders and officials. Branches of tall trees that lined a wall along the beach, enjoying the eye with its small light green leaves and sun obliquely shot himself through them to the water. Granite stone of the bridge is already warmed and I got to knock his hands on them in time with a melody in my head went off. I was very happy.
H