Page:Ulysses, 1922.djvu/615

612 accompaniment of large potations of pottheen and the usual blarney about himself for as to who he in reality was let XX equal my right name and address, as Mr Algebra remarks passim. At the same time he inwardly chuckled over his repartee to the blood and ouns champion about his God being a jew. People could put up with being bitten by a wolf but what properly riled them was a bite from a sheep. The most vulnerable point too of tender Achilles, your God was a jew, because mostly they appeared to imagine he came from Carrick-on-Shannon or somewhere about in the county Sligo.

I propose, our hero eventually suggested, after mature reflection, while prudently pocketing her photo, as it’s rather stuffy here, you just come home with me and talk things over. My diggings are quite close in the vicinity. You can’t drink that stuff. Wait, I’ll just pay this lot.

The best plan clearly being to clear out, the remainder being plain sailing, he beckoned, while prudently pocketing the photo, to the keeper, of the shanty, who didn’t seem to...

Yes, that’s the best, he assured Stephen, to whom for the matter of that Brazen Head or him or anywhere else was all more or less...

All kinds of Utopian plans were flashing through his (Bloom’s) busy brain. Education (the genuine article), literature, journalism, prize titbits, up to date billing, hydros and concert tours in English watering resorts packed with theatres, turning money away, duets in Italian with the accent perfectly true to nature and a quantity of other things, no necessity of course to tell the world and his wife from the housetops about it and a slice of luck. An opening was all was wanted. Because he more than suspected he had his father’s voice to bank his hopes on which it was quite on the cards he had so it would be just as well, by the way no harm, to trail the conversation in the direction of that particular red herring just to...

The cabby read out of the paper he had got hold of that the former viceroy, Earl Cadogan, had presided at the cabdrivers’ association dinner in London somewhere. Silence with a yawn or two accompanied this thrilling announcement. Then the old specimen in the corner who appeared to have some spark of vitality left read out that Sir Anthony MacDonnell had left Euston for the chief secretary’s lodge or words to that effect. To which absorbing piece of intelligence echo answered why.

Give us a squint at that literature, grandfather, the ancient mariner put in, manifesting some natural impatience.

And welcome, answered the elderly party thus addressed.