- The moon, professor MacHugh said. He forgot Hamlet." (U7.320)
- That mantles the vista far and wide and wait till the glowing orb of the moon shines forth to irradiate her silver effulgence...
- O! Mr Dedalus cried, giving vent to a hopeless groan. Shite and onions! That'll do, Ned. Life is too short.
He took off his silk hat and, blowing out impatiently his bushy moustache, welshcombed his hair with raking fingers.
Ned Lambert tossed the newspaper aside, chuckling with delight. An instant after a hoarse bark of laughter burst over professor MacHugh's unshaven blackspectacled face.
- Doughy Daw! he cried.
WHAT WETHERUP SAID
All very fine to jeer at it now in cold print but it goes down like hot cake that stuff. He was in the bakery line too, wasn't he? Why they call him Doughy Daw. Feathered his nest well anyhow." (U7.330)
- What is it?
- And here comes the sham squire himself! professor MacHugh said grandly.
- Getonouthat, you bloody old pedagogue! the editor said in recognition." (U7.344)
- Drink! the editor cried. No drinks served before mass." (U7.351)
Ned Lambert sidled down from the table. The editor's blue eyes roved towards Mr Bloom's face, shadowed by a smile.
- Will you join us, Myles? Ned Lambert asked." (U7.354)
- North Cork militia! the editor cried, striding to the mantelpiece. We won every time! North Cork and Spanish officers!
- Where was that, Myles? Ned Lambert asked with a reflective glance at his toecaps.
- In Ohio! the editor shouted.
- So it was, begad, Ned Lambert agreed.
Passing out he whispered to J.J. O'Molloy:
- Incipient jigs. Sad case.
- Ohio! the editor crowed in high treble from his uplifted scarlet face. My Ohio!
- A perfect cretic! the professor said. Long, short and long." (U7.358)
He took a reel of dental floss from his waistcoat pocket and, breaking off a piece, twanged it smartly between two and two of his resonant unwashed teeth.
- Bingbang, bangbang.
Mr Bloom, seeing the coast clear, made for the inner door.
- Just a moment, Mr Crawford, he said. I just want to phone about an ad.
He went in.
- What about that leader this evening? professor MacHugh asked, coming to the editor and laying a firm hand on his shoulder.
- That'll be all right, Myles Crawford said more calmly. Never you fret.
Hello, Jack. That's all right.
- Good day, Myles, J. J. O'Molloy said, letting the pages he held slip limply back on the file. Is that Canada swindle case on today?
The telephone whirred inside.
- Twenty eight... No, twenty... Double four... Yes." (U7.384)
He tossed the tissues on to the table.
Screams of newsboys barefoot in the hall rushed near and the door was flung open.
- Hush, Lenehan said. I hear feetstoops." (U7.388)
- It wasn't me, sir. It was the big fellow shoved me, sir." (U7.394)
Lenehan began to paw the tissues up from the floor, grunting as he stooped twice.
- Waiting for the racing special, sir, the newsboy said. It was Pat Farrell shoved me, sir.
He pointed to two faces peering in round the doorframe.
— Him, sir.
— Out of this with you, professor MacHugh said gruffly.
He hustled the boy out and banged the door to.
J. J. O'Molloy turned the files crackingly over, murmuring, seeking:
— Continued on page six, column four." (U7.399)
The bell whirred again as he rang off.
He came in quickly and bumped against Lenehan who was struggling up with the second tissue.
— Pardon, monsieur, Lenehan said, clutching him for an instant and making a grimace.
— My fault, Mr Bloom said, suffering his grip. Are you hurt? I'm in a hurry." (U7.414)
He made a comic face and whined, rubbing his knee:
- The accumulation of the anno Domini.
- Sorry, Mr Bloom said.
He went to the door and, holding it ajar, paused. J. J. O'Molloy slapped the heavy pages over." (U7.420)