Page:Ulysses, 1922.djvu/210

Rh Puck Mulligan, panamahelmeted, went step by step, iambing, trolling:

He spluttered to the air:

—O, the chinless Chinaman! Chin Chon Eg Lin Ton. We went over to their playbox, Haines and I, the plumbers’ hall. Our players are creating a new art for Europe like the Greeks or M. Maeterlinck. Abbey theatre! I smell the public sweat of monks.

He spat blank.

Forgot: any more than he forgot the whipping lousy Lucy gave him. And left the femme de trente ans. And why no other children born? And his first child a girl?

Afterwit. Go back.

The dour recluse still there (he has his cake) and the douce youngling, minion of pleasure, Phedo’s toyable fair hair.

Eh… I just eh… wanted… I forgot… he…

—Longworth and M’Curdy Atkinson were there…

Puck Mulligan footed featly, trilling:

Jest on. Know thyself.

Halted below me, a quizzer looks at me. I halt.

—Mournful mummer, Buck Mulligan moaned. Synge has left off wearing black to be like nature. Only crows, priests and English coal are black.

A laugh tripped over his lips.