—­The act of a hero, he said.

At the Dolphin they halted to allow the ambulance car to gallop past them for Jervis street.

—­This way, he said, walking to the right.  I want to pop into Lynam’s to see Sceptre’s starting price.  What’s the time by your gold watch and chain?

M’Coy peered into Marcus Tertius Moses’ sombre office, then at O’Neill’s clock.

—­After three, he said.  Who’s riding her?

—­O.  Madden, Lenehan said.  And a game filly she is.

While he waited in Temple bar M’Coy dodged a banana peel with gentle pushes of his toe from the path to the gutter.  Fellow might damn easy get a nasty fall there coming along tight in the dark.

The gates of the drive opened wide to give egress to the viceregal cavalcade.

—­Even money, Lenehan said returning.  I knocked against Bantam Lyons in there going to back a bloody horse someone gave him that hasn’t an earthly.  Through here.

They went up the steps and under Merchants’ arch.  A darkbacked figure scanned books on the hawker’s cart.

—­There he is, Lenehan said.

—­Wonder what he’s buying, M’Coy said, glancing behind.

—­Leopoldo or the bloom is on the rye, Lenehan said.

—­He’s dead nuts on sales, M’Coy said.  I was with him one day and he bought a book from an old one in Liffey street for two bob.  There were fine plates in it worth double the money, the stars and the moon and comets with long tails.  Astronomy it was about.

Lenehan laughed.

—­I’ll tell you a damn good one about comets’ tails, he said.  Come over in the sun.

They crossed to the metal bridge and went along Wellington quay by the riverwall.

Master Patrick Aloysius Dignam came out of Mangan’s, late
Fehrenbach’s, carrying a pound and a half of porksteaks.

—­There was a long spread out at Glencree reformatory, Lenehan said eagerly.  The annual dinner, you know.  Boiled shirt affair.  The lord mayor was there, Val Dillon it was, and sir Charles Cameron and Dan Dawson spoke and there was music.  Bartell d’Arcy sang and Benjamin Dollard ...

—­I know, M’Coy broke in.  My missus sang there once.

—­Did she?  Lenehan said.

A card unfurnished apartments reappeared on the windowsash of number 7 Eccles street.

He checked his tale a moment but broke out in a wheezy laugh.

—­But wait till I tell you, he said.  Delahunt of Camden street had the catering and yours truly was chief bottlewasher.  Bloom and the wife were there.  Lashings of stuff we put up:  port wine and sherry and curacao to which we did ample justice.  Fast and furious it was.  After liquids came solids.  Cold joints galore and mince pies ...

—­I know, M’Coy said.  The year the missus was there ...

Lenehan linked his arm warmly.