Iº was just |1talking saying passing the time of day1| with Old Troy |1of the DMP1| at the corner of Arbour hill there and be damned but a bloody sweep came by along and he near put his gear into my eye. I turned around to let him have the weight of my tongue and who |1did should1| I see |1but Hynes1| coming |1along1| out of Stony Batter |1but Joe Hynes1|.
— Hello, Joe, says I. How are you blowing? Did you see that c bloody chimneysweep near shoving my eye out with his brush? I ha
— |1Sooty is lucky Soot's luck1|, says Joe. Who's the old ballocks you're were talking to?
— Old Troy, says I, that was in the force. By I'm |1in on1| two minds |1not1| to give that fellow in charge for obstructing the path |1with his brooms and ladders1|.
— What are you doing round those parts|1,?1| says Joe
— Faith, says I, |1not devil a1| much. There's an |1old fellow |abloody biga| foxy thief1| round there |1beyond |aby the garrison churcha|1| at the corner of Chicken lane. |1I was just asking Old Troy about him Old Troy was just giving me a wrinkle about him1| |1that got lifted1| any God's quantity of tea and sugar |1to1| pay three bob a week said he had a farm in the county Down |1from off1| a |1fellow hop o' my thumb1| by the name of |1Moses1| Herzog over there near Heytesbury street.
— Circumcised|1,?1| says Joe
says I, a bit off the top. An old
named Geraghty. I'm on to his taw
the for the
fortnight and I can't get a penny
outº of him.
— Is that |1your lay the lay you're on1| now? says Joe
— Ay, |1by God,1| says I, |1how are the mighty fallen?1| collector of bad & doubtful debts. But that's |1the bloodiest |aas bloody an the most notoriousa|1| old schemer |1as you you'd1| meet in a day's walk |1and the face of him all pockmarks that'd hold a shower of rain1|. |1Jesus, he says Tell him, says he1|, |1if I call again he'll lodge an information against him, so I will if he sends you |arounda| here again I'll have him summonsed before the court, so I will1| for trading without a licence. |1And he after stuffing his guts till he's fit to burst1| Jesus, I had to laugh at the |1little1| jewy getting his shirt out. He drink |1me1| my teas. He eat |1me1| my sugars. He pay my moneys. Why he not no pay |1me1| my moneys?
goods bought of
Herzog, of 13 S. Kevin's parade in the city of Dublin, Wood quay ward,
vendora|1| and sold
and delivered to
E. Geraghty, esquire, of 29 Arbour hill in the city of Dublin, Arran quay ward,
videlicet, five pounds of
at three shillings per pound
and three stone of sugar, crushed crystal, at threepence per pound
E. Geraghty debtor to the said vendor,
Herzog, for of one
pound five shillings and sixpence sterling
value received1| which
amount shall be paid by said purchaser to said vendor in weekly instalments
days of three shillings
pence1| sterling: and
goods shall not be pawned or pledged
orº sold or otherwise alienated by the said purchaser but but shall be and remain |1& be held to be1| the sole and exclusive of property of the said vendor to be disposed of at his |1good1| will and pleasure until the said amount of one pound five shillings and sixpence sterling shall have duly paid by |1the1| said purchaser to |1the1| said vendor in the manner herein set forth as agreed |1this day1| hereby agreed |1upon1| between said vendor, for himself, his heirs, issue |1trustees1| and assigns on the one part and said purchaser, for himself, his heirs, issue|1, trustees1| and assigns on the other part.
— Are you a strict t.t.? says Joe.
— I'm not taking anything between drinks, says I.
— What about paying our respects to Christy |1Nixon, Meagher?1| |1says Joe1|
— He's up in John of God's, says I, gone off his head, poor man.
— Drinking his own stuff, says Joe.
— That's it, says I, whisky and water on the brain.
— Come around to |1Barney Kiernan's Barney's1|, says Joe. I want to the see the citizen.
— |1Barney's Barney Mavourneen's1| be it, says I. Anything strange or wonderful, Joe?
— Not a word, says Joe. I was up at that meeting in the City Arms
— What was that |1Joe1|? says I
— The cattle traders, says Joe, about the foot and mouth
disease. I want to give the citizen
the hard word about it.
Soº we |1went bevelled1| around by the Linenhall |1& the courthouse1|, talking |1about of1| one thing or another. Decent fellow, Joe, when he has it but sure like that he never has it. God, I couldn't get over that bloody foxy Geraghty. For trading without a licence, says he.
So we |1went turned1| into Barney Kiernan's and there, sure enough, was the citizen as large as life up in the corner having a great confab |1with1| himself and the bloody old mangy dog |1Garryowen1| and he waiting for what the |1Lord'd send him sky would drop in the way of drink1|
— There he is, says I, in his glory hole, working for the cause.
The old mongrel let a growl out of him |1would give you the creeps1|. Be a corporal work of mercy if someone would take the life of that bloody dog. I'm told |1for a fact1| he ate half the breeches of a constabulary man |1in Santry1| one time that came round pestering |1about for1| a licence.
— Stand and deliver, says he |1blank1|
— That's all right, citizen, says Joe. Friends here.
— Pass, friends, says he|1, doing the Vinegar hill touch.1|
Then he rubs his hand in his eye and says he:
Doing the rapparee touch. But, by God, Joe was equal to the occasion.
And says Joe, sticking his thumb in his pocket:
— Ah, give over your bloody codding, Joe, says I. I've a thirst on me I wouldn't sell for half a crown.
— Give it a name, citizen, says Joe.
— The wine of the country, says he.
— What's yours,? says Joe.
— Ditto MacAnaspey, says I.
— Three pints, Terry, says Joe.
And begob |1true as you're there1| he |1outs lands out1| with a golden sovereign
— Were you robbing a poorbox? says I.
— Sweat of my brow, says Joe.
|1'Twas the prudent member gave me the wheeze.
— I saw him, says I, |abefore I met youa| sloping around by |aGreek street Pill lanea| with his cod's eye counting |aupa| all the guts of the fish
(Description of LB)
Who comes through Michan's land, a hero in sable
armoura|? O'Bloom, the
son of Rory, it is he. Impervious to
hero is Rory's
sona|, he of the prudent
— For the old woman of Prince's street, says the citizen, the subsidised organ. And look at this blasted rag, says he, the Independent. The Irish Independent, if you please. Founded by Parnell to be the workingman's friends. Listen to their names.
And he starts reading out the births, deaths and marriages.
Barnfield Crescent, Exeter.
Redmayne at Iffley,
Saint Anne's-on-Sea the wife of William T Redmayne of a son. How's
that for Irish Ireland? says he. And listen to the deaths, says he.
Bristow at Whitehorse
Lane, London. Cann, at Manor road, Stoke Newington.
Cockburnº at the Moat House, Chepstow …
— I know that fellow, says Joe, from bitter experience.
— Dimsey |1|xat Crouch endx|1|, says the citizen, the wife of David Griffiths Dimsey, late of the admiralty. Miller, Tottenham aged 85. Welsh, June 12 at 35 Canning street Liverpool, Isabella Helen, eldest daughter of the late Alexander Welsh. How's that for William Martin Murphy, says he, the Bantry jobber!? |1Wouldn't it make poor Parnell turn in his grave? How's that for a national press?1|
— Ah, well, says Joe|1, handing round the boose1|. Thanks be to God they had the start of |1us me1|. Drink that, citizen
— I will, says he, honourable person.
— Health, Joe, says I.
I was badly in want of that pint, don't be talking. Jesus, I could hear it hit the pit of my stomach with a click.