Mr Bloom beheld it.

Mastering his troubled breath, he said: 

—­I’ll take this one.

The shopman lifted eyes bleared with old rheum.

—­Sweets of sin, he said, tapping on it.  That’s a good one.

* * * * *

The lacquey by the door of Dillon’s auctionrooms shook his handbell twice again and viewed himself in the chalked mirror of the cabinet.

Dilly Dedalus, loitering by the curbstone, heard the beats of the bell, the cries of the auctioneer within.  Four and nine.  Those lovely curtains.  Five shillings.  Cosy curtains.  Selling new at two guineas.  Any advance on five shillings?  Going for five shillings.

The lacquey lifted his handbell and shook it: 

—­Barang!

Bang of the lastlap bell spurred the halfmile wheelmen to their sprint.  J. A. Jackson, W. E. Wylie, A. Munro and H. T. Gahan, their stretched necks wagging, negotiated the curve by the College library.

Mr Dedalus, tugging a long moustache, came round from Williams’s row.  He halted near his daughter.

—­It’s time for you, she said.

—­Stand up straight for the love of the lord Jesus, Mr Dedalus said.  Are you trying to imitate your uncle John, the cornetplayer, head upon shoulder?  Melancholy God!

Dilly shrugged her shoulders.  Mr Dedalus placed his hands on them and held them back.

—­Stand up straight, girl, he said.  You’ll get curvature of the spine.  Do you know what you look like?

He let his head sink suddenly down and forward, hunching his shoulders and dropping his underjaw.

—­Give it up, father, Dilly said.  All the people are looking at you.

Mr Dedalus drew himself upright and tugged again at his moustache.

—­Did you get any money?  Dilly asked.

—­Where would I get money?  Mr Dedalus said.  There is no-one in Dublin would lend me fourpence.

—­You got some, Dilly said, looking in his eyes.

—­How do you know that?  Mr Dedalus asked, his tongue in his cheek.

Mr Kernan, pleased with the order he had booked, walked boldly along James’s street.

—­I know you did, Dilly answered.  Were you in the Scotch house now?

—­I was not, then, Mr Dedalus said, smiling.  Was it the little nuns taught you to be so saucy?  Here.

He handed her a shilling.

—­See if you can do anything with that, he said.

—­I suppose you got five, Dilly said.  Give me more than that.

—­Wait awhile, Mr Dedalus said threateningly.  You’re like the rest of them, are you?  An insolent pack of little bitches since your poor mother died.  But wait awhile.  You’ll all get a short shrift and a long day from me.  Low blackguardism!  I’m going to get rid of you.  Wouldn’t care if I was stretched out stiff.  He’s dead.  The man upstairs is dead.

He left her and walked on.  Dilly followed quickly and pulled his coat.