The prefect was there again and it was his voice that was saying that he was to get up, that Father Minister had said he was to get up and dress and go to the infirmary.  And while he was dressing himself as quickly as he could the prefect said: 

—­We must pack off to Brother Michael because we have the
collywobbles!

He was very decent to say that.  That was all to make him laugh.  But he could not laugh because his cheeks and lips were all shivery:  and then the prefect had to laugh by himself.

The prefect cried: 

—­Quick march!  Hayfoot!  Strawfoot!

They went together down the staircase and along the corridor and past the bath.  As he passed the door he remembered with a vague fear the warm turf-coloured bogwater, the warm moist air, the noise of plunges, the smell of the towels, like medicine.

Brother Michael was standing at the door of the infirmary and from the door of the dark cabinet on his right came a smell like medicine.  That came from the bottles on the shelves.  The prefect spoke to Brother Michael and Brother Michael answered and called the prefect sir.  He had reddish hair mixed with grey and a queer look.  It was queer that he would always be a brother.  It was queer too that you could not call him sir because he was a brother and had a different kind of look.  Was he not holy enough or why could he not catch up on the others?

There were two beds in the room and in one bed there was a fellow:  and when they went in he called out: 

—­Hello!  It’s young Dedalus!  What’s up?

—­The sky is up, Brother Michael said.

He was a fellow out of the third of grammar and, while Stephen was undressing, he asked Brother Michael to bring him a round of buttered toast.

—­Ah, do! he said.

—­Butter you up! said Brother Michael.  You’ll get your walking papers in the morning when the doctor comes.

—­Will I? the fellow said.  I’m not well yet.

Brother Michael repeated: 

—­You’ll get your walking papers.  I tell you.

He bent down to rake the fire.  He had a long back like the long back of a tramhorse.  He shook the poker gravely and nodded his head at the fellow out of third of grammar.

Then Brother Michael went away and after a while the fellow out of third of grammar turned in towards the wall and fell asleep.

That was the infirmary.  He was sick then.  Had they written home to tell his mother and father?  But it would be quicker for one of the priests to go himself to tell them.  Or he would write a letter for the priest to bring.

    Dear Mother,

    I am sick.  I want to go home.  Please come and take me home. 
    I am in the infirmary.

    Your fond son,
    Stephen