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)
Lenehan came out of the inner office with Sport' s tissues.
- Who wants a dead cert for the Gold cup? he asked. Sceptre with O. Madden up.
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." (U7.386)
- 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. " (U7.399)
A COLLISION ENSUES
The bell whirred again as he rang off." (U7.411)
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)
- We are the boys of Wexford
Who fought with heart and hand." (U7.425)
- I'm just running round to Bachelor's walk, Mr Bloom said, about this ad of Keyes's. Want to fix it up. They tell me he's round there in Dillon's.
He looked indecisively for a moment at their faces. The editor who, leaning against the mantelshelf, had propped his head on his hand, suddenly stretched forth an arm amply.
- Begone! he said. The world is before you.
- Back in no time, Mr Bloom said, hurrying out.
J. J. O'Molloy took the tissues from Lenehan's hand and read them, blowing them apart gently, without comment.
- He'll get that advertisement, the professor said, staring through his blackrimmed spectacles over the crossblind. Look at the young scamps after him.
- Show. Where? Lenehan cried, running to the window." (U7.429)
Both smiled over the crossblind at the file of capering newsboys in Mr Bloom's wake, the last zigzagging white on the breeze a mocking kite, a tail of white bowknots.
- Look at the young guttersnipe behind him hue and cry, Lenehan said, and you'll kick. O, my rib risible! Taking off his flat spaugs and the walk. Small nines. Steal upon larks." (U7.443)
- What's that? Myles Crawford said with a start. Where are the other two gone?
- Who? the professor said, turning. They're gone round to the Oval for a drink. Paddy Hooper is there with Jack Hall. Came over last night.
- Come on then, Myles Crawford said. Where's my hat?" (U7.450)
- He's pretty well on, professor MacHugh said in a low voice.
- Seems to be, J.J. O'Molloy said, taking out a cigarette case in murmuring meditation, but it is not always as it seems. Who has the most matches?" (U7.458)
He offered a cigarette to the professor and took one himself. Lenehan promptly struck a match for them and lit their cigarettes in turn. J.J. O'Molloy opened his case again and offered it.
- Thanky vous, Lenehan said, helping himself." (U7.464)
- 'Twas rank and fame that tempted thee,
'Twas empire charmed thy heart.
The professor grinned, locking his long lips.
- Eh? You bloody old Roman empire? Myles Crawford said.
He took a cigarette from the open case. Lenehan, lighting it for him with quick grace, said:
- Silence for my brandnew riddle!
- Imperium romanum, J.J. O'Molloy said gently. It sounds nobler than British or Brixton. The word reminds one somehow of fat in the fire.
Myles Crawford blew his first puff violently towards the ceiling.
- That's it, he said. We are the fat. You and I are the fat in the fire. We haven't got the chance of a snowball in hell." (U7.469)
- Wait a moment, professor MacHugh said, raising two quiet claws. We mustn't be led away by words, by sounds of words. We think of Rome, imperial, imperious, imperative.
He extended elocutionary arms from frayed stained shirtcuffs, pausing:
- What was their civilisation? Vast, I allow: but vile. Cloacae: sewers." (U6.483)