--They buy one and fourpenceworth of brawn and four slices of panloaf at
the north city diningrooms in Marlborough street from Miss Kate Collins,
proprietress ... They purchase four and twenty ripe plums from a girl at
the foot of Nelson's pillar to take off the thirst of the brawn. They give
two threepenny bits to the gentleman at the turnstile and begin to waddle
slowly up the winding staircase, grunting, encouraging each other, afraid
of the dark, panting, one asking the other have you the brawn, praising
God and the Blessed Virgin, threatening to come down, peeping at the
airslits. Glory be to God. They had no idea it was that high.

Their names are Anne Kearns and Florence MacCabe. Anne Kearns
has the lumbago for which she rubs on Lourdes water, given her by a lady
who got a bottleful from a passionist father. Florence MacCabe takes a
crubeen and a bottle of double X for supper every Saturday.

--Antithesis, the professor said nodding twice. Vestal virgins. I can see
them. What's keeping our friend?

He turned.

A bevy of scampering newsboys rushed down the steps, scattering in
all directions, yelling, their white papers fluttering. Hard after them
Myles Crawford appeared on the steps, his hat aureoling his scarlet face,
talking with J. J. O'Molloy.

--Come along, the professor cried, waving his arm.

He set off again to walk by Stephen's side.


RETURN OF BLOOM


--Yes, he said. I see them.

Mr Bloom, breathless, caught in a whirl of wild newsboys near the
offices of the IRISH CATHOLIC AND DUBLIN PENNY JOURNAL, called:

--Mr Crawford! A moment!

--TELEGRAPH! Racing special!

--What is it? Myles Crawford said, falling back a pace.

A newsboy cried in Mr Bloom's face:

--Terrible tragedy in Rathmines! A child bit by a bellows!



INTERVIEW WITH THE EDITOR


--Just this ad, Mr Bloom said, pushing through towards the steps,
puffing, and taking the cutting from his pocket. I spoke with Mr Keyes
just now. He'll give a renewal for two months, he says. After he'll see.
But he wants a par to call attention in the TELEGRAPH too, the Saturday
pink. And he wants it copied if it's not too late I told councillor
Nannetti from the KILKENNY PEOPLE. I can have access to it in the national
library. House of keys, don't you see? His name is Keyes. It's a play on
the name. But he practically promised he'd give the renewal. But he wants
just a little puff. What will I tell him, Mr Crawford?



K.M.A.


--Will you tell him he can kiss my arse? Myles Crawford said throwing out
his arm for emphasis. Tell him that straight from the stable.

A bit nervy. Look out for squalls. All off for a drink. Arm in arm.
Lenehan's yachting cap on the cadge beyond. Usual blarney. Wonder is
that young Dedalus the moving spirit. Has a good pair of boots on him
today. Last time I saw him he had his heels on view. Been walking in muck
somewhere. Careless chap. What was he doing in Irishtown?

--Well, Mr Bloom said, his eyes returning, if I can get the design I
suppose it's worth a short par. He'd give the ad, I think. I'll tell
him ...


K.M.R.I.A.


--He can kiss my royal Irish arse, Myles Crawford cried loudly over his
shoulder. Any time he likes, tell him.

While Mr Bloom stood weighing the point and about to smile he strode
on jerkily.


RAISING THE WIND


--NULLA BONA, Jack, he said, raising his hand to his chin. I'm up to
here. I've been through the hoop myself. I was looking for a fellow to
back a bill for me no later than last week. Sorry, Jack. You must take the


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