for you,” he said, nodding. “Even more than the race, the music they like.”

For what were the voices yelling in the dark?

“Run it again over. That last song! Phil!” “No. No one move. I’m in heaven. Doone, how
right you were!”

Nolan passed me, going in to sit. I stood for a long moment looking down along at all the rows where the teams of Anthem Sprinters sat, none having stirred, wiping their eyes.

“Phil, darling?” called Timulty, somewhere up front.

“It’s done!” said Phil.

“And this time,” added Timulty, “without the anthem.” Applause for this.

The dim lights flashed off. The screen glowed like a great warm hearth.

I looked back out at the bright sane world of Grafton Street, the Four Provinces pub, the hotels, shops and nightwandering folk. I hesitated.

Then, to the tune of “The Lovely Isle of Innisfree,” I took off the cap and scarf, hid these laurels under a seat, and slowly, luxuriously, with all the time in the world, sat myself down…

1963

The end