He told his story with the usual detail:--
We saw a man walking about on the quay in Dublin, and looking at us
without saying a word. Then he came down to the yacht. 'Are you the
men from Aran?' said he.
'We are,' said we.
'You're to come with me so,' said he. 'Why?' said we.
Then he told us it was Mr. Synge had sent him and we went with him.
Mr. Synge brought us into his kitchen and gave the men a glass of
whisky all round, and a half-glass to me because I was a boy--though
at that time and to this day I can drink as much as two men and not
be the worse of it. We were some time in the kitchen, then one of
the men said we should be going. I said it would not be right to go
without saying a word to Mr. Synge. Then the servant-girl went up
and brought him down, and he gave us another glass of whisky, and he
gave me a book in Irish because I was going to sea, and I was able
to read in the Irish.
I owe it to Mr. Synge and that book that when I came back here,
after not hearing a word of Irish for thirty years, I had as good
Irish, or maybe better Irish, than any person on the island.
I could see all through his talk that the sense of superiority which
his scholarship in this little-known language gave him above the
ordinary seaman, had influenced his whole personality and been the
central interest of his life.
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