Ulysses

will for the deed. With a heart and a half if I could raise the wind
anyhow.

J. J. O'Molloy pulled a long face and walked on silently. They caught
up on the others and walked abreast.

--When they have eaten the brawn and the bread and wiped their twenty
fingers in the paper the bread was wrapped in they go nearer to the
railings.

--Something for you, the professor explained to Myles Crawford. Two old
Dublin women on the top of Nelson's pillar.


    SOME COLUMN!--
    THAT'S WHAT WADDLER ONE SAID


--That's new, Myles Crawford said. That's copy. Out for the waxies
Dargle. Two old trickies, what?

--But they are afraid the pillar will fall, Stephen went on. They see the
roofs and argue about where the different churches are: Rathmines' blue
dome, Adam and Eve's, saint Laurence O'Toole's. But it makes them giddy to
look so they pull up their skirts ...


    THOSE SLIGHTLY RAMBUNCTIOUS FEMALES


--Easy all, Myles Crawford said. No poetic licence. We're in the
archdiocese here.

--And settle down on their striped petticoats, peering up at the statue
of the onehandled adulterer.

--Onehandled adulterer! the professor cried. I like that. I see the idea.
I see what you mean.


    DAMES DONATE DUBLIN'S CITS SPEEDPILLS
    VELOCITOUS AEROLITHS, BELIEF


--It gives them a crick in their necks, Stephen said, and they are too
tired to look up or down or to speak. They put the bag of plums between
them and eat the plums out of it, one after another, wiping off with their
handkerchiefs the plumjuice that dribbles out of their mouths and spitting
the plumstones slowly out between the railings.

He gave a sudden loud young laugh as a close. Lenehan and Mr O'Madden
Burke, hearing, turned, beckoned and led on across towards Mooney's.

--Finished? Myles Crawford said. So long as they do no worse.


    SOPHIST WALLOPS HAUGHTY HELEN SQUARE ON
    PROBOSCIS. SPARTANS GNASH MOLARS. ITHACANS
    VOW PEN IS CHAMP.


--You remind me of Antisthenes, the professor said, a disciple of
Gorgias, the sophist. It is said of him that none could tell if he were
bitterer against others or against himself. He was the son of a noble and
a bondwoman. And he wrote a book in which he took away the palm of beauty
from Argive Helen and handed it to poor Penelope.

Poor Penelope. Penelope Rich.

They made ready to cross O'Connell street.


    HELLO THERE, CENTRAL!


At various points along the eight lines tramcars with motionless
trolleys stood in their tracks, bound for or from Rathmines, Rathfarnham,
Blackrock, Kingstown and Dalkey, Sandymount Green, Ringsend and
Sandymount Tower, Donnybrook, Palmerston Park and Upper Rathmines,
all still, becalmed in short circuit. Hackney cars, cabs, delivery
waggons, mailvans, private broughams, aerated mineral water floats with
rattling crates of bottles, rattled, rolled, horsedrawn, rapidly.



    WHAT?--AND LIKEWISE--WHERE?


--But what do you call it? Myles Crawford asked. Where did they get the
plums?


    VIRGILIAN, SAYS PEDAGOGUE.
    SOPHOMORE PLUMPS FOR OLD MAN MOSES.


--Call it, wait, the professor said, opening his long lips wide to
reflect. Call it, let me see. Call it: DEUS NOBIS HAEC OTIA FECIT.

--No, Stephen said. I call it A PISGAH SIGHT OF PALESTINE OR THE PARABLE