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.
On one voyage he had a fellow-sailor who often boasted that he had been at school and learned Greek, and this incident took place:
One night we had a quarrel, and I asked him could he read a Greek book with all his talk of it.
'I can so,' said he.
'We'll see that,' said I.
Then I got the Irish book out of my chest, and I gave it into his hand.
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