He pushed in the glass swingdoor and entered, stepping over strewn packing paper. Through a lane of clanking drums he made his way towards Nannetti's reading closet.
Hynes here too: account of the funeral probably. Thumping thump." (U7.69)
THE DISSOLUTION OF A MOST RESPECTED
This morning the remains of the late Mr Patrick Dignam. Machines. Smash a man to atoms if they got him caught. Rule the world today. His machineries are pegging away too. Like these, got out of hand: fermenting. Working away, tearing away. And that old grey rat tearing to get in.
HOW A GREAT DAILY ORGAN IS TURNED OUT" (U7.77)
Strange he never saw his real country. Ireland my country. Member for College green. He boomed that workaday worker tack for all it was worth." (U7.84)
As can be seen from this issue dated 1901, M.A.P. stands for Mainly About People, and published "pleasant gossip, personal portraits and social news." It also had several pages of ads, and a few tips for investors.
Soon be calling him my lord mayor. Long John is backing him, they say.
The foreman, without answering, scribbled press on a corner of the sheet and made a sign to a typesetter. He handed the sheet silently over the dirty glass screen.
- Right: thanks, Hynes said moving off." (U7. 106)
In June 1904, Joseph Hutchinson was lord mayor of Dublin. Joseph Patrick Nanetti, as Bloom predicts, immediately followed him, for the 2 terms 1906 - 1907. The correct way to call the mayor however would be "Right Honourable..." and not "My lord mayor." This picture shows the Rt. Hon. Joseph Nannetti.
[Image courtesy of the ZJJF]
- If you want to draw the cashier is just going to lunch, he said, pointing backward with his thumb.
- Did you? Hynes asked.
- Mm, Mr Bloom said. Look sharp and you'll catch him.
- Thanks, old man, Hynes said. I'll tap him too.
He hurried on eagerly towards the Freeman's Journal office.
Three bob I lent him in Meagher's. Three weeks. Third hint." (U7.112)
Hell of a racket they make. He doesn't hear it. Nannan. Iron nerves. Maybe he understands what I.
The foreman turned round to hear patiently and, lifting an elbow, began to scratch slowly in the armpit of his alpaca jacket.
- Like that, Mr Bloom said, crossing his forefingers at the top.
Let him take that in first.
Mr Bloom, glancing sideways up from the cross he had made, saw the foreman's sallow face, think he has a touch of jaundice, and beyond the obedient reels feeding in huge webs of paper. Clank it. Clank it." (U7.126)
This is a (much later) similar design for the R.A.F. No. 16 Squadron.
Slipping his words deftly into the pauses of the clanking he drew swiftly on the scarred woodwork.
HOUSE OF KEY(E)S
- Like that, see. Two crossed keys here. A circle. Then here the name. Alexander Keyes, tea, wine and spirit merchant. So on.
Better not teach him his own business.
- You know yourself, councillor, just what he wants. Then round the top in leaded: the house of keys. You see? Do you think that's a good idea?
The foreman moved his scratching hand to his lower ribs and scratched there quietly." (U7.136)
I could ask him perhaps about how to pronounce that voglio. But then if he didn't know only make it awkward for him. Better not.
- We can do that, the foreman said. Have you the design?
- I can get it, Mr Bloom said. It was in a Kilkenny paper. He has a house there too. I'll just run out and ask him. Well, you can do that and just a little par calling attention. You know the usual. Highclass licensed premises. Longfelt want. So on." (U7.150)
On the back of this photograph is pencilled "Uncle Andy and his family during their trip in Ireland."