Cranly had taken another dried fig from the supply in his pocket and was eating it slowly and noisily. Temple sat on the pediment of a pillar, leaning back, his cap pulled down on his sleepy eyes. A squat young man came out of the porch, a leather portfolio tucked under his armpit. He marched towards the group, striking the flags with the heels of his boots and with the ferrule of his heavy umbrella. Then, raising the umbrella in salute, he said to all: —Good evening, sirs. He struck the flags again and tittered while his head trembled with a slight nervous movement. The tall consumptive student and Dixon and O’Keeffe were speaking in Irish and did not answer him. Then, turning to Cranly, he said: —Good evening, particularly to you. He moved the umbrella in indication and tittered again. Cranly, who was still chewing the fig, answered with loud movements of his jaws. —Good? Yes. It is a good evening. The squat student looked at him seriously and shook his umbrella gently and reprovingly. —I can see, he said, that you are about to make obvious remarks. —Um, Cranly answered, holding out what remained of the half chewed fig and jerking it towards the squat student’s mouth in sign that he should eat. The squat student did not eat it but, indulging his special humour, said gravely, still tittering and prodding his phrase with his umbrella: —Do you intend that... He broke off, pointed bluntly to the munched pulp of the fig, and said loudly: —I allude to that. —Um, Cranly said as before. —Do you intend that now, the squat student said, as _ipso facto_ or, let us say, as so to speak? Dixon turned aside from his group, saying: —Goggins was waiting for you, Glynn. He has gone round to the Adelphi to look for you and Moynihan. What have you there? he asked, tapping the portfolio under Glynn’s arm. —Examination papers, Glynn answered. I give them monthly examinations to see that they are profiting by my tuition. He also tapped the portfolio and coughed gently and smiled. —Tuition! said Cranly rudely. I suppose you mean the barefooted children that are taught by a bloody ape like you. God help them! He bit off the rest of the fig and flung away the butt. —I suffer little children to come unto me, Glynn said amiably. —A bloody ape, Cranly repeated with emphasis, and a blasphemous bloody ape! Temple stood up and, pushing past Cranly, addressed Glynn: —That phrase you said now, he said, is from the new testament about suffer the children to come to me. —Go to sleep again, Temple, said O’Keeffe. —Very well, then, Temple continued, still addressing Glynn, and if Jesus suffered the children to come why does the church send them all to hell if they die unbaptised? Why is that? —Were you baptised yourself, Temple? the consumptive student asked. —But why are they sent to hell if Jesus said they were all to come? Temple said, his eyes searching Glynn’s eyes.