Mr Casey took the glass, drank, and placed it near him on the mantelpiece.  Then he said: 

—­Well, I can’t help thinking of our friend Christopher manufacturing...

He broke into a fit of laughter and coughing and added: 

—...manufacturing that champagne for those fellows.

Mr Dedalus laughed loudly.

—­Is it Christy? he said.  There’s more cunning in one of those warts on his bald head than in a pack of jack foxes.

He inclined his head, closed his eyes, and, licking his lips profusely, began to speak with the voice of the hotel keeper.

—­And he has such a soft mouth when he’s speaking to you, don’t you know.  He’s very moist and watery about the dewlaps, God bless him.

Mr Casey was still struggling through his fit of coughing and laughter.  Stephen, seeing and hearing the hotel keeper through his father’s face and voice, laughed.

Mr Dedalus put up his eyeglass and, staring down at him, said quietly and kindly: 

—­What are you laughing at, you little puppy, you?

The servants entered and placed the dishes on the table.  Mrs Dedalus followed and the places were arranged.

—­Sit over, she said.

Mr Dedalus went to the end of the table and said: 

—­Now, Mrs Riordan, sit over.  John, sit you down, my hearty.

He looked round to where uncle Charles sat and said: 

—­Now then, sir, there’s a bird here waiting for you.

When all had taken their seats he laid his hand on the cover and then said quickly, withdrawing it: 

—­Now, Stephen.

Stephen stood up in his place to say the grace before meals: 

Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts which through
Thy bounty we are about to receive through Christ our
Lord.  Amen.

All blessed themselves and Mr Dedalus with a sigh of pleasure lifted from the dish the heavy cover pearled around the edge with glistening drops.

Stephen looked at the plump turkey which had lain, trussed and skewered, on the kitchen table.  He knew that his father had paid a guinea for it in Dunn’s of D’Olier Street and that the man had prodded it often at the breastbone to show how good it was:  and he remembered the man’s voice when he had said: 

—­Take that one, sir.  That’s the real Ally Daly.

Why did Mr Barrett in Clongowes call his pandybat a turkey?  But Clongowes was far away:  and the warm heavy smell of turkey and ham and celery rose from the plates and dishes and the great fire was banked high and red in the grate and the green ivy and red holly made you feel so happy and when dinner was ended the big plum pudding would be carried in, studded with peeled almonds and sprigs of holly, with bluish fire running around it and a little green flag flying from the top.

It was his first Christmas dinner and he thought of his little brothers and sisters who were waiting in the nursery, as he had often waited, till the pudding came.  The deep low collar and the Eton jacket made him feel queer and oldish:  and that morning when his mother had brought him down to the parlour, dressed for mass, his father had cried.  That was because he was thinking of his own father.  And uncle Charles had said so too.