2nd draft §B, January 1921, draft level 1

MS Buffalo V.A.21 1-19 Draft details

{ms, 001}

messageº evidently, as he took particular notice.

Though not an implicit believer in the lurid story narrated having detected a discrepancy between his name |1assuming he was the person he represented himself to be1| and the |1fictitious1| addressee of the missive nevertheless it was it reminded him in a way of a longcherished he meant to some day realise of travelling to London via long sea for he was at heart a born adventurer though by a trick of fate he had consistently remained a landlubberº Martin Cunningham frequently said he would work a pass but some hitch or other eternally cropped up with the result that the scheme fell through. But even suppose it did come to planking down it was not so dear, purse permitting, a few guineas at the outside considering the fare to Mullingar & back was 5/6. The trip would benefit health on account of the bracing ozone and be in every way thoroughly pleasurable seeing the different places along the coast, Plymouth, Falmouth |1Southampton1| and so on culminating in an instructive tour of the sights of the great metropolis, modern Babylon, tower, abbey, wealth of Park lane. Another thing just struck him was as not at all a bad notion was he might have a gaze around |1on the spot1| to see about trying to make arrangements about a concert tour |1embracing the chief pleasure resorts, Margate and so on.1| |1with not Not with1| a hole and corner company, |1witness1| Mrs M'Coy type lend me your valise and I'll send you the pawnticket. No, an all star Irish caste, perfectly simple matter providing puffs in the local papers could be managed and thus combine business with pleasure.

Also it struck him that much remained to be done in the line of opening up new routes apropos of the Fishguard-Rosslare route which they said was once more on the tapis in the circumlocution departments with the usual dillydallying of effete fogeydom and dunderheads generally. A great field there certainly was there for enterprise to meet the travelling needs of the public at large, the average man, i.e, Brown Robinson and so forth.

It was a subject of regret and absurd as well on the face of it and no small shame to our society that the man in the street for the matter of a couple of paltry pounds did not see more of the world they lived in instead of being always and ever cooped up since my old stick-in-the-mud took me for a wife. After all they had their 11 humdrum months of it and merited a radical change of venue in the summertime, for choice, when |1dame1| nature is at her best constituting nothing short of a new lease of life. There were delightful sylvan spots
{ms, 002}
for rejuvenation in and around Dublin even, Poulaphouca to which there was a steamtram but also farther away from the madding crowd in Wicklow, rightly termed the garden of Ireland, and in the wilds of Donegal, if report spoke true, though not easily gettatable. Because of course, uptodate tourist travelling was as yet only in its infancy, so to speak, and the accomodation left much to be desired. Interesting to fathom it seemed to him from a motive of curiosity, pure and simple, was whether it was the traffic that created the route or viveversa, the two sides, in fact. He turned back the other side of the card, picture, and passed it along to Stephen.

— I seen a Chinese one time, related the narrator, that had little pills like putty and he put them in the water and they opened and every pill was something different. One was a ship, another was a house, another was a flower. Cooks rats in your soup, he added, them Chinese does.

Possibly perceiving an expression of dubiosity on their faces the globetrotter went on, adhering to his adventures.

And I seen a man killed in Trieste. Knife in his back. Knife like that.

|1Whilst speaking1| He produced a dangerous looking claspknife |1quite in keeping with his character1| and held it in the striking position.

— In a knockingshop it was, count of a tryon between two smugglers. Fellow hid behind a door come up behind him. Like that. Prepare to meet your God, says he. Chuk! It went into his back up to the butt.

His heavy glance, drowsily travelling about, kind of defied their further questions if they even wanted.

That's a good bit of steel, repeated he, examining his formidable |1weapon knife1|.

After which |1harrowing tale1| he snapped the blade to and stowed the weapon in question away |1as before |ain his chamber of horrors, otherwise pocketa|1|.

— They're great for the |1knives cold steel1|, the somebody said for the benefit of them all. That was why they thought the park murders |1of the invincibles1| was done by foreigners on account of them using knives.

At this remark passed evidently in the spirit of where ignorance is bliss Mr B. and Stephen |1each in his own particular way1| both instinctively exchanged meaning glances in religious silence |1of the strictly entre nous variety1| however towards where the keeper, not turning a hair, was drawing spurts of liquid from
{ms, 003}
his boiler affair. His inscrutable face which was really |1a work of art1| a perfect study in itself conveyed the impression that he didn't understand one jot of what was going on. |1Funny, very.1|

There followed a somewhat lengthy pause. One man was reading a stained evening journal, another the card with the natives, another the seaman's discharge, Mr Bloom, so far as he was concerned, just pondering in pensive mood. He |1recollected |avividly recollected recollected vividly justa|1| when the occurrence alluded to took place as well as yesterday when it took the world figuratively by storm |1roughly some score of years previously during the land troubles1| in eightyone when he was just turned fifteen.

— Ay, boss, the sailor broke in. Give us back them papers.

The request being complied with he clawed them up with a scrape.

Have you seen the rock of Gibraltar? Mr Bloom asked.

The sailor grimaced, chewing|1, in a way that might |abe read one way or the othera| be yes, ay or no1|.

— Ah, you've touched there too, Europa point |1se habla español1|? Mr Bloom |1said1|, thinking he had, in the hope that the rover might possibly by some reminiscences. But he failed to do so, simply letting spirt a jet of spew into the sawdust, and shook his head with a sort of lazy scorn.

— What year would that be about? Mr Bloom said. Can you remember the |1dates boats1|?

The sailor munched freshly awhile without answering.

— I'm tired of all them |1boats rocks1| in the sea, he said, and boats & ships. |1Salt junk all the time.1|

Tired seemingly, he ceased. His questioner perceiving that he was not likely to get |1much a great deal of1| change of such a wily old customer, fell to reflecting on the enormous dimensions of the water about the globe, |1suffice it to say that it covered1| fully three fourths of |1the globe it1|, and he fully realised what it meant therefore to rule the waves. On more than one occasion|1, a dozen at the lowest,1| near the Bull at Dollymount he had remarked a superannuated old salt |1evidently derelict1| seated |1habitually1| near the not particularly redolent sea, staring calmly at it and it at him |1dreaming of fresh woods and pastures new1|. And it |1set left1| him wondering why. Possibly he had tried to find out the secret floundering up and down and all that sort of thing and over
{ms, 004}
and under, well, not exactly under |1tempting the fates1|. And the odds were there was really no secret about it. Nevertheless the eloquent fact remained that the sea was there in all its glory and in the |1natural1| course somebody had to sail on it though |1it merely went to show1| people usually contrived to leave the onus to the other fellow like the hell idea |1and lotteries and insurance were run on precisely the same lines1|. |1And So that1| for |1this that very1| reason if no other lifeboat Sunday was a highly laudable institution by which the public at large |1no matter where living inland or seaside, having it brought home to them like that,1| could extend its gratitude also to the |1harbourmasters1| coastguard service who |1had to man the rigging and off and out whatever the season when duty called1| sometimes had a terrible time of it in the wintertime |1and not forgetting the Irish lights, the Kish and others, |awhere rounding whicha| he once with his daughter had experienced some |avery remarkablya| choppy, not to say stormy, weather1|.

— There was a fellow sailed with me in the Rover, the old seadog, himself a rover, proceeded, went ashore and took up a |1safe1| job as a gentleman's valet at six quid a month. Them are his trousers I've on me and he gave me an oilskin and that |1claspknife jackknife1|. I could do that job. I hate roaming about. There's my son now run off to sea and his mother got him took in a draper's in Cork where he could |1earn be drawing1| easy money.

— What age is he? one hearer asked who, by the way, seen from the side bore a distant resemblance to Henry Campbell, the town clerk, |1away from the cares of office1| unwashed of course and in a seedy get up |1with a suspicion of nosepaint1|

— Why, the sailor answered with a slow puzzled utterance, my son, he'd be about eighteen way I figure it.

He tore open his grey shirt |1with his two hands1| and scratched away at his chest on which was to be seen an image tattooed in blue Chinese ink intended to represent an anchor.

— There was lice in that bunk in Bridgwater, he remarked, sure as nuts. I must get a bath tomorrow or next day. It's them black lads I objects to. I hate those buggers. Suck your blood dry, they does.

Seeing they were all looking at his chest he accomodatingly dragged his shirt more open so that on top of the timehonoured symbol of the mariner's hope and rest |1was to be seen they had a full view of1| the figures 16 and a young man's profile looking frowningly rather.

— Tattoo, the exhibitor explained. That was done when we were lying becalmed off Odessa in the Black sea under Captain Dalton by a fellow|1, a Greek,1| the name of Antonio. |1There he is himself.1|

— Did it hurt much doing it,? one asked |1the sailor1|.

|1The sailor That worthy1|, however, was engaged in collecting the skin of the flesh some way.

— See here, he said. There he is cursing
{ms, 005}
the mate. And see now, he added, pulling the skin with his fingers some special way, there is now, the same fellow, laughing at a yarn.

The young man named Antonio's |1livid1| face did in fact look like |1forced1| smiling till he and the curious effect excited |1the1| general |1& unaffected1| admiration of all, including the keeper who stretched over.

Ay, ay, the sailor sighed, looking down on his chest. He's gone too. Ate by sharks after. Ay, ay.

He let go offº the skin so that the profile resumed its normal expression.

— Neat bit of work, one said.

— And what's the number for? another said.

|1— Eaten alive? anot a third.1|

— Ay, ay, the sailor sighed again, more cheerfully this time with a kind of a smile |1for a brief duration1| in the direction of the last questioner. Ate. A Greek he was, and he added with a touch of grim humour. As bad as old Antonio he left me on my ownio.

The face of a streetwalker glazed and haggard under a black straw hat peered askew round the door of the shelter. Mr Bloom turned away quickly and, picking up from the table the pink sheet of the Abbey street organ which the carman, if such he was, had laid by. Mr Bloom had recognised the face which came on him as a surprise that afternoon on Ormond Quay, the female, i.e. of the lane who had begged the chance of his washing and knew the lady in the brown costume. The washing idea seemed rather vague than not, your washing, still he had washed Molly's soiled in Holles street and women did if they liked really the man his dirty shirts love me, love my shirt. Still just then he desired her room more than her company so it came as a genuine relief when the keeper made her a rude sign to take herself off. |1Her The female's1| face with demented amusement viewed the group of gazers round a man's painted chest then slowly |1after a fleeting glimpse1| was withdrawn with a |1glassy1| grin |1of evident amusement at his expense1|.

— The gunboat, the carman said.

— It beats me, Mr Bloom confided to Stephen, medically I am speaking, how a wretched creature like that from the Lock hospital reeking with disease can be barefaced enough to solicit or how any man in his sober senses
{ms, 006}
if he values his health at all. Unfortunate creature! Of course I suppose some man is responsible for her condition.

Stephen had not noticed her and shrugged his shoulders.

— In this country people sell much more than she ever had and do a roaring trade. Fear not them that sell the body but have not power to buy the soul. She is a bad merchant. She buys dear and sells cheap.

Mr Bloom, though not by any manner of means a prude, said it was nothing short of a crying scandal that women of that stamp, a necessary evil, were not licensed and medically inspected by the proper authorities |1a thing |ahe he could truthfully |bsay stateb| hea| was a stalwart advocate of from the very start1|. Whoever embarked on a policy of the sort, he said, would confer a lasting boon on the race.

— You as a good catholic, he |1added subjoined1| to Stephen, believe in the soul. Or do you mean the intelligence, the brainpower as such |1as distinct from, let us say, any object, the table, the cup of coffee1|. I believe in that myself because it has been explained materially. Otherwise we would never have such inventions as X rays, for instance.

Stephen had to make a superhuman effort of memory |1to try & concentrate &1| to remember before he could say:

— They tell me on the best authority that it is a simple substance and therefore incorruptible. It would be immortal, I understand, but for the possibility of its annihilation who is quite capable, from all I can hear, of adding that to his other feats |1corruptio per se and corruptio per accidens both being excluded by etiquette1|.

|1⇒ Mr Bloom thoroughlyº in the general drift of this though the finesse was quite beyond him.1|

— Simple, Mr Bloom demurred, I shouldn't think that is the right word for it. Of course |1I grant you, to concede a point,1| there are simple souls too. But what I am anxious to arrive at is, it is one thing for instance to invent those Röntgen rays they call them or the telescope |1or and the same applies to1| the laws of a natural phenomenon |1like so farreaching as1| electricity |1like Edison1| but a horse of quite another colour to believe in the existence of a God.

|1O,1| That, Stephen said expostulated, has been proved conclusively |1by several passages from Holy Writ1|, apart from circumstantial evidence.

|1⇒ On this knotty point however the opinions of the pair, poles apart as they were, |aboth in schooling and everything else, age with a marked difference in their |brespectiveb| ages,a| clashed.1|

— Has been? objected Mr Bloom |1sticking to his original point1| with a smile of unbelief. I'm not so sure about that. That's a matter of everyman's opinion |1and I beg to differ with you there1|. Those bits were put in by monks |1& it's a big question who precisely wrote them like Hamlet as, of course, you |aknow better than I |bknow all about blank know your Shakespeare infinitely better than Ib|a|1|. Can't you drink that coffee? Let me stir it. Take a piece of that bun. It's
{ms, 007}
as hard as one of our skipper's bricks. Still, no-one can give what he hasn't.

— Couldn't, Stephen said.

Faultfinding being a proverbially bad hat Mr Bloom thought well to stir, or try to, clotted sugar from the bottom of Stephen's cup and reflected with something approaching acrimony on the Coffee Palace and its temperance |1(& lucrative)1| work. Certainly it did a world of good, shelters such as the present one run on teetotal lines at night for poor vagrants, concerts and useful lectures for the lower orders. Still he recollected they had paid his wife, Madam Tweedy, a very modest remuneration indeed for her pianoplaying. The idea, he was strongly inclined to believe, was to do good and net a profit, there being no competition. Sulphate of copper |1poison1| case or some dried peas he remembered in a cheap eatinghouse somewhere but he could not remember when it was or where. Inspection, medical inspection, of food, seemed to |1him1| absolutely necessary.

— Try it now, he ventured to say of the coffee.

Thus prevailed on |1to taste it, at least,1| Stephen lifted the heavy mug from the brown lake in the saucer and drank from it a sip.

— Still, it's solid food, Mr Bloom urged. I'm a stickler for solid food|1. It's the sine qua non his one & only reason being that he believed in regular meals as the sine qua non1|. You ought to eat more solid food. You would feel a different man.

Liquids I can eat, Stephen said. But O, oblige me by taking away that bowieknife! I can't look at the point of it.

Mr Bloom promptly removed |1out of sight1| the incriminated article, a blunt hornhandled knife, observing that its point was the least conspicuous point about it.

— Our mutual friend's stories are like himself, Mr Bloom remarked to Stephen sotto voce. Do you think they are genuine? He could spin those yarns all night for hours on end |1all night long1| and lie like old boots. Look at him.

Yet still though his eyes were thick with sleep and sea air the world was full of a host of things |1& coincidences1| of a terrible nature and it was quite within the bounds of possibility that it was not an entire
{ms, 008}
fabrication though at first blush there was not much |1inherent1| probability about it.

He had |1been1| meantime taking stock of the individual in front of him. Though a wellpreserved man |1if a trifle b prone to baldness1| there was something |1spurious1| in the cut of his jib that suggested a jail delivery or the ticket of leave and it required no violent stretch of imagination to associate such a weirdlooking specimen with |1the1| oakum & |1the1| treadmill fraternity. He might even have done for his man supposing it was his own case he told that he killed him himself that is|1, though that was rather a far cry1|. Or, on the other hand, he might be only bluffing |1a pardonable weakness1|. |1because1| Meeting mugs like those jarvies |1Dublin residents1| wanting news from abroad would tempt anyone any ancient mariner to draw the long bow about the schooner Hesperus etcetera. And, when all was said and done, the lies a fellow told about himself couldn't probably hold a candle to the whoppers other fellows told about him.

Mind you, I'm not saying that it's all a pure invention, he resumed. Analogous scenes were are occasionally, though not often, met with. Giants you see once in a way. |1Marcella, the midget queen1| In the Waxworks in Henry street I myself saw some Aztecs, as they are called, sitting bowlegged. They couldn't straighten their legs because the muscles here, you see, he proceeded, indicating on his companion the brief outline of the sinews behind the right knee, were completely powerless from sitting that way so long cramped up., being adored as gods. There's an example again of simple souls.

However, reverting to friend Sinbad and his horrifying adventures, there was nothing intrinsically incompatible about it, he conceded. In point of fact that stab in the back touch seemed to him typical of those italianos though candidly he |1admitted was free to admit1| that those icecream and fishfriers and so on over in little Italy there near the Coombe were thrifty hardworking sober fellows except perhaps a bit too prone to |1hunting pothunting1| the harmless necessary cat |1of others1| at night in order to have a succulent meal with garlic de rigueur off him or her next day on the quiet, and, he added, on the cheap.

— “Spaniards, for instance,
{ms, 009}
he continued, passionate impetuous temperaments like that are given to taking the law in their own hands and give you your quietus doublequick with a those poignards they name them in the abdomen. It comes from the great heat, climate generally. My wife is, so to speak, Spanish, half that is. She has the Spanish type. Quite dark, regular brunette, black. I for one certainly believe climate influences character. That's why I asked you if you wrote poetry in Italian.

— The temperaments at the door, Stephen interposed with, were very passionate about five shillings. Roberto ruba roba sua.

— Quite so, Mr Bloom agreed.

— Then, Stephen said staring and rambling on to himself or some unknown listener somewhere, we have the impetuosity of Dante and the isoceles triangle he fell in love with and Leonardo and san Tommaso Mastino.

It's in the blood, Mr Bloom acceded at once. All are washed in the blood of the sun. Coincidence I just happened to be in the Kildare street museum today, shortly prior to our meeting if I can call it so., and I was just looking at those antique statues there. The splendid proportions, hips, bosom. You simply don't knock against those kind of women here. An exception here and there. Handsome, yes, in a way, you find but I'm talking about the female form. Besides they have so little taste Bes in dress, most of them. Rumpled stockings, it may be a foible of mine but still it's a thing I simply hate to see.

Interest, however, was beginning to flag somewhat all round and then the others got on to talking about accidents at sea, ships lost in fog, collisions with icebergs, all that sort of thing. The sailor of course had his say to say. He had doubled the cape a few times and weathered a monsoon in the china seas and, through all those dangers there was one thing stood to him, he declared, or words to that effect, a holy medal he had that saved him.

Then they drifted on to
{ms, 010}
the wreck off Daunt's Rock, wreck of the Norwegian barque nobody could think of her name for the moment till the jarvey who had really quite a look of Henry Campbell remembered it Palme on Booterstown strand. That was the talk of the town that year, breakers running over her and crowds and crowds on the shore petrified with horror. Then someone said something the case of the S.S. Lady Cairns of Swansea run into by the Mona which was on an opposite tack and lost with all hands. No aid was given. The Mona's master said he was afraid the collision bulkhead would give way. She had no water in her hold.

At this stage an incident happened. It having become necessary for him to unfurl a reef the sailor vacated his seat.

Let me cross your bows, mate, he said, to his neighbour who was gently about to doze.

He walked heavily slowilyº to the door, stepped heavily down the one step of the shelter and bore due left |1with a dumpy kind of a gait1|. While he was in the act of getting his bearings Mr Bloom who noticed when he stood up that he had two flasks |1presumably Ship's rum1| one in each pocket for his burning interior saw him take one out uncork and have a good long swig out of it on the strict q.t. The irrepressible Bloom, who had a shrewd suspicion he went out on a manoeuvre after the female apparition attraction who however had disappeared to all intents and purposes, could perceive him |1when duly refreshed1| gazing aloft at the bridge piers and girders of the Loop Line rather as to out of his depth as of course it was all radically altered |1& greatly improved1| since his last visit. Some invisible person directed him to the urinal, but, after a brief space of time during which silence reigned supreme, the sailor eased himself nearer at hand, the noise of his bilgewater some little time subsequently splashing on the ground where it apparently awoke
{ms, 011}
a horse of the cabrank. A hoof scooped anyway for new foothold after sleep and harness jingled. Slightly disturbed in his sentrybox by the brazier of live coke the watcher of the corporation stones also stirred and again reposed.

All meantime were lamenting the falling off in Irish shipping coastwise and foreign too which was part & parcel of the same thing. A Palgrave Murphy boat was put off the ways at Alexandra basin, the onlyº launchº that year. The harbours were there right enough only no ship ever called.

The keeper said there were wrecks and |1wrecks wreckers1|. What he wanted to know was why did that ship run bang against the only rock in the harbour when the Galway harbour scheme was mooted. Eh? Ask the then captain he |1told advised1| them, how much palmoil the Brit. govt. gave him for that day's work. Capt. John Lever of the Lever Line.

— Am I right, skippi? he queried of the |1now returning sailor sailor now returning1| |1after his private potation & the rest1|.

That worthy |1catching picking up the scent of1| the fagend of the song or words growled in |1agony none too musically wouldbe song1| but with great vim some kind of chanty or other in 2nds or 3rds. Possibly he often thought this was for him but no. The sailor who had several of his wits about him retired to rest as bold as unread. unread sunread Nauticus as he returned said little only hummed a chorus:
The biscuits were as 123- hard as Brass
& the Beef as salt as Lot's wife's arse

O. Johnny Lever,
Johnny Lever. O,

Mr Bloom's sharp ears heard him then expectorate probably the plug which it was after which the veteran mariner re-entered
{ms, 012}
and regaining his seat |1sat or more correctly let1| himself sink |1rather than sat1| heavily on to the form. Skin the goat, assuming he was he, |1evidently with an axe to grind1| was airing his grievances anent the natural resources of Ireland or something of that sort the richest country for its size on the face of God's earth |1containing coal in large quantities1| which he described |1in his dissertation1| as far & away superior to England, six million pounds worth of pork exported every year, ten millions between butter and eggs and all the riches drained out of it by England that did nothing but levy taxes on the poor people |1that paid through the nose always1| and gobble up the best meat in the country and a lot more surplus steam in the same strain. The conversation accordingly became general and all agreed that that was a fact. You could grow anything in Irish soil, he said, and there was that colonel Everard down there in Navan growing tobacco. Where would you find anywhere the like of Irish bacon? But a day of reckoning was coming for mighty England |1despite her power of pelf,1| he stated |1monopolising all the conversation1| with no uncertain voice, on account of her crimes in Ireland, her Achilles heel. There would be a fall & the greatest fall in history. The Germans and the Japs were going to have their little look in, he affirmed. The Boers were the beginning of the end. |1Brummagem1| Eng. was toppling already and her downfall would be Ireland, her Achilles heel. His advice to every Irishman was: remain in I., the land of yr birth, and work and live for I. I, P. said, could not spare a single one of her sons.

The sailor heard these |1lurid1| tidings undismayed.

— Take a bit of doing, boss, he |1said retaliated |aas a colda|1|

To which |1cold douche1| the keeper concurred but nevertheless held to his main view.
{ms, 013}

— Who's the best troops in the army? the |1irate sailor grizzled old veteran irately1| interrogated. And the best jumpers & racers? And the best admirals and generals we've got! Tell me that.

— The Irish for choice, retorted the cabby

— That's right, |1the sailor1| corroborated |1old tarpaulin1| , and don't The Irish catholic peasant is the backbone of our empire. You know Jem Mullins?

While allowing him his individual opinions as to every man, the keeper added he cared nothing for any empire and considered no Irishman worthy of his salt that served it. Then they began to have a few |1irascible1| words when it waxed hotter, both of course appealing to the listeners |1who followed with interest so long as they didn't indulge in recriminations and come to blows1|.

Mr Bloom |1from inside information1| was rather inclined to poohpooh the suggestion |1on a par with the |aquixotica| idea that in a 100,000,000 years Englandsº coal seams would be played out.1| for |1pending that consummation devoutly to be or not to be wished for,1| he was fully cognisant of the fact that their neighbours across the channel|1, unless they were bigger fools than he took them for,1| rather concealed their strength than the opposite. The amours of whores and chummies reminded him Irish soldiers had as often fought for Eng. as against her. And now why? The scene between the two, |1Skin the if he was the licensee of the place rumoured to be or have been Fitzharris the1| and the other, |1the bogus,1| suggested a little the confidence trick and the lookers on|1, a student of the human soul if anything,1| saw least of the game. As for the keeper (who probably wasn't the other man at all) he couldn't help feeling and most properly that it was better to give people like that the goby |1& refuse to have anything to do with them & their felonsetting1| because there was always the offchance of a Dannyman informer turning queen's evidence |1to divulge the names of his accomplices1| like Denis Carey, an idea he repudiated, and h then he disliked those careers of crime |1& wrongdoing1| on principle. Yet he certainly did feel some kind of an admiration for a man who had brandished a knife with the courage of his political convictions or, say, those love vendettas of the south, have her or swing for her, until it struck him that Fitzharris, nicknamed Skin the Goat, simply drove the car |1for the actual perpetrators of the outrage1| and so was not, as he was reliably informed, actually party to the ambush, matter of fact that was the plea he saved his skin on. In any case that was ancient historyº
{ms, 014}
And as for our friend |1the pseudo1| Skin etcetera he had outlived his welcome. He ought to have died either naturally or on the scaffold highº Like actresses, always farewell performances and never retiring. Then as for the sailor Mr Bloom had heard quite recently pretty much the identical lingo and he told S. of how he |1had simply1| silenced the offender.

He took umbrage at something or other, |1he that much injured person1| declared, he called me a jew. And in |1an offensive way a heated fashion offensively1|. So I, without deviating from plain facts, told him his God was a jew, |1Christ I mean I mean Christ1|, and all his family like me though I'm not really. That was one for him |1a soft answer turns away wrath1|. He hadn't a word to say for himself, as everyone saw. Be Am I not right!

He turned a long you are wrong gaze on S. of dark timorous pride |1|afor the soft impeachmenta|1| with glances of entreaty |1for the soft impeachment1|, however.

Ex quibus, Stephen mumbled |1their eyes conversing1|, all alone to himself, Christus or Bloom |1his name is1| or after all any other, secundum carnem.

— Of course, went on Mr B proceeded to say. You must look at both sides of the question. It is hard to lay down any hard & fast rule as to what is right or wrong but there certainly is room for improvement though every country, they say, has the government it deserves. But with a little goodwill |1to prevail1| all round it ought to be. It's all very well to boast of mutual superiority but what about mutual equality. I resent violence & intolerance in any shape or form. It never reaches anything or stops anything. A revolution must come bit by bit. It's absurd to hate people because they live round the corner & speak another language, in the next house so to speak.

— Bloody Bridge battle, Stephen said, was fought between the boss of Skinner's alley and |1that memorable1| Ormond market.

Yes, Mr Bl. thoroughly agreed. |1That was overwhelmingly right.1| It was, as yet, a manifest fact. The world was full of that sort of thing

— You just took the words out of my mouth, he said. A hocuspocus of conflicting evidence you couldn't …
{ms, 015}

It was Mr B's view that all that all those wretched quarrels, stirring up bad blood, from some bump of combativeness or gland of the kind, |1erroneously1| supposed to be about honour and a flag |1unread offence1| were largely a question of money which was at the back of everything jealously & greed. People never knew when to stop.

— They accuse, Mr Bloom audibly remarked

He turned away from the others who probably. and spoke t nearer to |1so as the others1|.

— Jews, he |1said |aunread unreaded imparted, |bin an asideb|a|1| in Stephen's ear softly, are accused of ruining. Not a word of truth in it as I can show. History proves that Spain decayed when the inquisition hounded the jews out and England prospered when Cromwell brought them in. Why? Because they are practical. I don't want to say anything because you a good catholic but the priest spells poverty. Spain again. They, compared with America. Turkey. It's the religion. Because if they didn't believe they go to heaven after death they'd try to make life here better. Do you see? That's the secret how the p.p's raise all the cash they do on false pretences. I'm as good an Irishman as |1he summed up with dramatic force,º1| that rude man I told you of at the outset and I want to see everyone, he concluded his collocution, all creeds and classes having a comfortable income, something in the neighbourhood of £300 per annum. That's the real issue at stake. And it's feasible. At least |1and would be provocative of friendlier intercourse between man & man1| that's my idea for what it is worth. I call that patriotism. Where you can live well. Ubi patria (as we learned a smattering of in our classical days, vita bene. Where you can live well, the sense is, if you work.

Over his untastable apology for |1a cup of1| coffee |1listening to this synopsis of things in general1| Stephen stared at nothing special. He heard or saw all kinds of words changing colour like little crabs and burrowing quickly into all
{ms, 016}
colours of different sorts of the same sand where they had a home somewhere beneath or seemed to.
Then he looked up and saw the eyes that said or didn't say the words the voice he heard said.

— Count me out, he said, meaning work.

The eyes he saw that said the words was surprised at this observation because as he, the person who owned the eyes pro. tem., observed or rather his voice |1did1| we all must work, have to, together.

— I mean of course, he hastened to affirm work in the widest possible sense. Also literary labour not merely for the kudos of the thing. Writing for the newspapers which is the readiest channel nowadays. That's work too. Important work too. After all the money expended on your education |1from the little I know of you1| you are entitled to recoup yourself |1& command yr. price1|. You have every bit as much right to live by your pen |1in pursuit of yr. philosophy1| as the peasant. What? You both belong to Ireland, the brain and the brawn. Each is equally important.

— You suspect I may be important, Stephen retorted, because I belong to Ireland.

— I would go a step farther, Mr Bloom said |1began insinuated1|  …

— I suspect, Stephen interrupted with, that Ireland is important because it belongs to me.

— What belongs? queried Mr Bloom bending. Excuse me. Unfortunately I didn't catch the latter portion. What was it you …?

Stephen evidently rather crosstempered repeated and shoved aside his mug none too politely adding:

— We can't change the |1subject country1|. Let us change the subject.

|1At this pertinent suggestion1| Mr Bloom, to change the subject, looked down but in a quandary|1, not knowing what construction exactly to put on belongs to1|. The rebuke of some kind was clearer than
{ms, 017}
the |1other1| remark. Of course the fumes of his recent orgy spoke then in a curious bitter way |1missing1|. Probably the homelife to which Mr B. attached the utmost importance had not been all that was needful or he hadn't met the right sort of people. With a touch of fear for the young man beside him whom he furtively scrutinised |1remembering he had just come back from Paris with an air of some consternation1| |1failing to throw much light on the subject however1| he brought to mind instances of cultured fellows |1a bit too precious1| that promised so brilliantly nipped in the bud of premature decay. And no-one to blame but themselves. For instance there was the case of O'Callaghan, the half crazy faddist |1|arespectably connecteda|1| with his mad vagaries among whose other gay doings he |1was in the habit1| ostentatiously |1wore missingº1| in public a suit of brown paper (a fact). |1and |aas per usual it wound up by his being got off the |busualb| denoument being he got into hot water & had to spiriteda| off secretly by his friends at a strong hint from John Mallon of lower Castle Yard., section 2 of criminal law amendment act, certain names being handed in but not divulged for reasons1| |1Putting this and that together Antonio and |aso forth jockeys and esthetes |bsix-sixten & tattoo which was all the vogue in the house of Lords because the then Heir apparentb|a|, errors of great men |ain a way scarcely intended by naturea|, that people were terribly down on not for the reason they |asaid thought they werea| probably whatever it was except women who were always fiddling at themselves and one another more or less being probably a question of dress largely |a& all the rest of it |bladies who like distinctive underclothing should every welldressed man mustb|a| trying to make the difference wider |athan with savages for instance, |bat 90° in the shadeb|a| to give it more of a filip |ato the improprieties between the twoa|, unbuttoned his his & he untied her, mind the pin1| On the other hand some though of inadequate means had forged their way to the top from the lowest rung. |1Case Sheer force1| of natural genius. With brains, sir.

He, Bloom, felt |1though why he could not exactly tell1| it was his interest and duty even to wait on |1& profit by this unlookedfor occasion1| as he had let himself in for it largely and cultivate the acquaintance of someone |1of no uncommon calibre1| who could provide interesting talk which would amply repay any small. Intellectual stimulation, as such, was, he felt, from time to time a firstrate tonic for the mind. Then coincidence of meeting discussion, dance, the row, old sailor, loafers at night, all went to make up a miniature picture of the world we live in, taken as a whole. He wondered whether he might meet with anything approaching the same luck as Mr Philip Beaufoy suppose he could pen something out of the usual groove at the rate of 1 guinea per column. My experiences in a cabman's shelter.

The pink edition, extra sporting, of the Telegraph lay, as it happened, beside his elbow and as he was just puzzling again|1, far from satisfied,1| over a country belonging to him |1the vessel Rosevean came from Bridgwater and the postcard was addressed Boudin find the captain's age,1| his eyes went
{ms, 018}
|1idly aimlessly1| over the captions. Great Battle, Tokio. Lovemaking in Irish. £200 damages. Gordon Bennett Cup. Emigration Swindle. Ascot Meeting. The Gold Cup |1victory of outsider Throwaway at long odds recalls the Derby of '92 when Capt. Marshall's dark horse sir Hugo captured the blue ribband at long odds1|. New York disaster 1000 lives Lost. Foot and Mouth. Funeral of the late Mr Patrick Dignam.

To change the subject he read about funerals |1which, he reflected, was anything but a good sendoff |aOr a change of address anyway.a|1|

— This morning the remains of the late Mr Patrick Dignam were removed from his residence, blank, Sandymount, for interment in Glasnevin. The deceased gentleman was a most popular and genial personality in city life and his demise after a brief illness came as a great shock to citizens of all classes by whom he is deeply regretted. The obsequies, at which many friends of the deceased were present, were carried out by Messrs H.J. O'Neill & Son, Amiens street. The mourners included: Patk. Dignam |1(son)1|, Bernard Corrigan (brother-in-law), John Henry Menton, solr, Martin Cunningham, John Power, .)eatondph 1/8 ador dorador douradora, Thomas Kernan, Simon Dedalus, Stephen Dedalus B.A. Edw. J. Lambert Cornelius T. Kelleher, Joseph M'C. Hynes, L Boom, C P M'Coy, — Mackintosh and several others.

Irritated not a little by L Boom and the line of bitched type but amused by C P M'Coy and Stephen Dedalus B.A. who were conspicuous by their absence, Mr Bloom pointed it out to Stephen who stifled another yawn, half nervousness.

— Is that first epistle to the Hebrews in,? asked Stephen. Open your mouth and put your foot in it.

— Yes, Mr Bloom said, overjoyed. There.

While he was reading it Mr Bloom whiled away a leisure
{ms, 019}
moment |1in fits & starts1| with the account of the race on page three, his side. Value 1000 sovs. with 300 sovs in specie added. For entire colts & fillies. Throwaway by Rightaway-Theale (W Lane) 1. Lord Howard de Walden's Zinfandel (M. Cannon) 2. Mr W Bass's Sceptre. Betting 5 to 4 on Zinfandel. 20 to 1 Throwaway (off). Sceptre a shade heavier, 5 to 4 on Zinfandel, 20 to 1 Throwaway (off). Throwaway and Zinfandel stood close order. Secured the verdict cleverly by a length. 1000 sovs with 3000 in specie added. Also ran: J. de Bremond's Maximum II. Winner trained by Braime. Different methods. unreadtting money divided Mr B's unreadtention, turf and then the lovemaking in Irish. £200, though less, damages.º