Hynes wanted to get him away before Bloom came back for the next round.
— |+1Come on, Change the venue,+|1| citizen, says he. Come where the boose is cheaper.
But Cusack was blue mouldy for a fight. |1|+The porter was up in him.+|1|
— His country, says he. A bloody jew. He's a wolf in sheep's clothing. His country. No man's land.
— Hath not a jew eyes, says O'Madden Burke
He's always coming out with a quotation from Shakespeare or the melodies. He was a school teacher one time. Don't know how he knocks it out now. Always the silk umbrella on show. Gentleman, patriot, scholar and judge of malt.
— Well, says JJ, if you grant the jew human impulses why can't he love his country too. I mean, logically, why not?
— Why not? says young Dedalus, when he is quite sure which country it is.
Old MacHugh began laughing and says he, settling his specs
— That's Gallic, says he. Paris did that for you, says he.
Bit of a sharper that fellow, son of Si Dedalus. He was in Paris
in the quartier latin and he came back an atheist. He'll never be as good a man as his father anyhow.
— Talking about Gaelic, says Ned, you should have seen our friend B. chopping up raw onions for the missus for her complexion.
— When was that? says Hynes
— When he had a job in up in the knacker's yard then, says Ned. Cuffe's the salesmaster's. He was staying up in the City Arms Hotel there near the markets in Prussia street.
— Weren't they going to be divorced Stink Burke was there at the time. He told me about our friend chopping the onions in the kitchen. You should hear him taking off the two of them chewing the fat. Bloom with his but don't you see and but on the other hand and the wife screeching his head off.
— She's a bloody awful bitch by all accounts, says Ned.
— I don't know about that, says J.J.. She was the belle of Dublin in her day. Black hair down to her middle. I suspect the fault is on the other side.
— How's that? says Hynes.
— I know what you mean, says Ned, ay Ay. Gaffney told gave me a wrinkle about that. Said she used to be in tears there with Mrs O'Dowd that keeps the hotel. I don't think our friend does the trick of the loop at all.
— I heard some talk one time that they were going to be divorced, says Hynes.
— Restitution of conjugal rights, says MacHugh. What, Jack?
— Still, they say he's always dancing attendance on her. Brings her up her breakfast in the bed every morning and has his own bit down in the kitchen.
— Separatio a mensa et a thoro, says JJ.
— |+1Ay, says Ned, that's right.+|1| Separation from bed and breakfast|+1., says young Dedalus.+|1|
— Breakfast in bed! says Ned. It's something else she wants in the bed. What you call a rough and tumble.
— Call it specific performance, says J.J.
Thus did they speak of her: the ravenlocked daughter of Tweedy. A rockbound isle of ocean bore her where the middle sea changes its name. There grew she to peerless beauty where the wafty groves of orange and olivegarths scent the air. The chaste spouse of Leopold is she: Marion of the bountiful bosoms.
— I'll tell you a bloody good one Gaffney told me, says Ned. There was an old one |1|+stopping+|1| in the hotel, a Mrs Riordan that had some money of her own |1|+and no chick or child |abelonged to hera| only a nephew of hers and a bloody mangy terrier |ashe hada|.+|1| and Bloom of course got the soft side of her, doing the molly coddle. Playing bézique with her every night and wouldn't eat meat of a Friday because she was an old bitch that was thumping her craw.
— Suppose he thought he'd get some of the wampum in the will, says Joe.
— What else? says Ned. The whitehaired boy. Same as he |+1made sucked+|1| up to his mother-in-law.
— Ah, is that how he managed? says J.J. That was always a mystery to me. Commend me to a jewman. Ah. That explains it. I see. |1|+The mother-in-law.+|1|
— Ay, says Lenehan. That explains the milk in the cocoanut and the absence of hair on the animal's chest.
Terry brought the boose
— Anyway, says Ned. The young chap,
the nephew, came to stop with her and my brave Bloom put in for giving him lessons in German.
— Is he a German? says Joe
— Yerra, I don't know what he isn't, says Ned. But anyhow, as I was saying, one day he took the young chap out for a walking lesson but, by God, when they came back to tea, he was as drunk as a boiled owl.
— Who? says Lenehan. Bloom drunk?
— No, says Ned, the young chap, blind to Jaysus and laughing in their faces like a bloody fool. O, Gaffney says, you should have heard the three women, the old one, |+1Bloom's Mrs Bloom+|1| and the landlady. |1|+missing+|1| Gave him all sorts. Roasted him, by herrings. What did he do a thing like that for? Was he mad? Sha, poor Bloom said he did it to teach him the evils of drink.
— Bloody good idea too, says Joe. Will you join us, Alf?
— I don't mind, Joe.
— Give it a name then.
— Uphander, says Alf. Imperial yeomanry, Terry.
— Right, says Joe. Terry, bottle of Allsopp. Here, Ned, says he, handing the boose. Take that in your right hand and repeat after me the following words.
— Which is which? says Ned.
— After you with the push. That's mine, says Joe, as the devil said to the dead policeman.