. Sllt.

NOTED CHURCHMAN AN OCCASIONAL CONTRIBUTOR

The foreman handed back the galleypage suddenly, saying:

--Wait. Where's the archbishop's letter? It's to be repeated in the
_Telegraph._ Where's what's his name?

He looked about him round his loud unanswering machines.

--Monks, sir? a voice asked from the castingbox.

--Ay. Where's Monks?

--Monks!

Mr Bloom took up his cutting. Time to get out.

--Then I'll get the design, Mr Nannetti, he said, and you'll give it a
good place I know.

--Monks!

--Yes, sir.

Three months' renewal. Want to get some wind off my chest first. Try it
anyhow. Rub in August: good idea: horseshow month. Ballsbridge. Tourists
over for the show.

A DAYFATHER

He walked on through the caseroom passing an old man, bowed, spectacled,
aproned. Old Monks, the dayfather. Queer lot of stuff he must have put
through his hands in his time: obituary notices, pubs' ads, speeches,
divorce suits, found drowned. Nearing the end of his tether now. Sober
serious man with a bit in the savingsbank I'd say. Wife a good cook and
washer. Daughter working the machine in the parlour. Plain Jane, no damn
nonsense. AND IT WAS THE FEAST OF THE PASSOVER

He stayed in his walk to watch a typesetter neatly distributing type.
Reads it backwards first. Quickly he does it. Must require some practice
that. mangiD kcirtaP. Poor papa with his hagadah book, reading backwards
with his finger to me. Pessach. Next year in Jerusalem. Dear, O dear!
All that long business about that brought us out of the land of Egypt
and into the house of bondage _Alleluia. Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu_.
No, that's the other. Then the twelve brothers, Jacob's sons. And then
the lamb and the cat and the dog and the stick and the water and the
butcher. And then the angel of death kills the butcher and he kills the
ox and the dog kills the cat. Sounds a bit silly till you come to look
into it well. Justice it means but it's everybody eating everyone else.
That's what life is after all. How quickly he does that job. Practice
makes perfect. Seems to see with his fingers.

Mr Bloom passed on out of the clanking noises through the gallery on to
the landing. Now am I going to tram it out all the way and then catch
him out perhaps. Better phone him up first. Number? Yes. Same as
Citron's house. Twentyeight. Twentyeight double four.

ONLY ONCE MORE THAT SOAP

He went down the house staircase. Who the deuce scrawled all over tho