—­For a few days tell him, Father Cowley said anxiously.

Ben Dollard halted and stared, his loud orifice open, a dangling button of his coat wagging brightbacked from its thread as he wiped away the heavy shraums that clogged his eyes to hear aright.

—­What few days? he boomed.  Hasn’t your landlord distrained for rent?

—­He has, Father Cowley said.

—­Then our friend’s writ is not worth the paper it’s printed on, Ben Dollard said.  The landlord has the prior claim.  I gave him all the particulars. 29 Windsor avenue.  Love is the name?

—­That’s right, Father Cowley said.  The reverend Mr Love.  He’s a minister in the country somewhere.  But are you sure of that?

—­You can tell Barabbas from me, Ben Dollard said, that he can put that writ where Jacko put the nuts.

He led Father Cowley boldly forward, linked to his bulk.

—­Filberts I believe they were, Mr Dedalus said, as he dropped his glasses on his coatfront, following them.

* * * * *

—­The youngster will be all right, Martin Cunningham said, as they passed out of the Castleyard gate.

The policeman touched his forehead.

—­God bless you, Martin Cunningham said, cheerily.

He signed to the waiting jarvey who chucked at the reins and set on towards Lord Edward street.

Bronze by gold, Miss Kennedy’s head by Miss Douce’s head, appeared above the crossblind of the Ormond hotel.

—­Yes, Martin Cunningham said, fingering his beard.  I wrote to Father Conmee and laid the whole case before him.

—­You could try our friend, Mr Power suggested backward.

—­Boyd?  Martin Cunningham said shortly.  Touch me not.

John Wyse Nolan, lagging behind, reading the list, came after them quickly down Cork hill.

On the steps of the City hall Councillor Nannetti, descending, hailed
Alderman Cowley and Councillor Abraham Lyon ascending.

The castle car wheeled empty into upper Exchange street.

—­Look here, Martin, John Wyse Nolan said, overtaking them at the mail office.  I see Bloom put his name down for five shillings.

—­Quite right, Martin Cunningham said, taking the list.  And put down the five shillings too.

—­Without a second word either, Mr Power said.

—­Strange but true, Martin Cunningham added.

John Wyse Nolan opened wide eyes.

—­I’ll say there is much kindness in the jew, he quoted, elegantly.

They went down Parliament street.

—­There’s Jimmy Henry, Mr Power said, just heading for Kavanagh’s.

—­Righto, Martin Cunningham said.  Here goes.

Outside la maison Claire Blazes Boylan waylaid Jack Mooney’s brother-in-law, humpy, tight, making for the liberties.

John Wyse Nolan fell back with Mr Power, while Martin Cunningham took the elbow of a dapper little man in a shower of hail suit, who walked uncertainly, with hasty steps past Micky Anderson’s watches.