hatterton. Daresay he writes him an odd shaky cheque or two on
gale days. Windfall when he kicks out. Alleluia.

--Just another spasm, Ned Lambert said.

--What is it? Mr Bloom asked.

--A recently discovered fragment of Cicero, professor MacHugh answered
with pomp of tone. _Our lovely land_. SHORT BUT TO THE POINT

--Whose land? Mr Bloom said simply.

--Most pertinent question, the professor said between his chews. With an
accent on the whose.

--Dan Dawson's land Mr Dedalus said.

--Is it his speech last night? Mr Bloom asked.

Ned Lambert nodded.

--But listen to this, he said.

The doorknob hit Mr Bloom in the small of the back as the door was
pushed in.

--Excuse me, J. J. O'Molloy said, entering.

Mr Bloom moved nimbly aside.

--I beg yours, he said.

--Good day, Jack.

--Come in. Come in.

--Good day.

--How are you, Dedalus?

--Well. And yourself?

J. J. O'Molloy shook his head.

SAD

Cleverest fellow at the junior bar he used to be. Decline, poor chap.
That hectic flush spells finis for a man. Touch and go with him. What's
in the wind, I wonder. Money worry.

--_Or again if we but climb the serried mountain peaks._

--You're looking extra.

--Is the editor to be seen? J. J. O'Molloy asked, looking towards the
inner door.

--Very much so, professor MacHugh said. To be seen and heard. He's in
his sanctum with Lenehan.

J. J. O'Molloy strolled to the sloping desk and began to turn back the
pink pages of the file.

Practice dwindling. A mighthavebeen. Losing heart. Gambling. Debts of
honour. Reaping the whirlwind. Used to get good retainers from D. and T.
Fitzgerald. Their wigs to show the grey matter. Brains on their sleeve
like the statue in Glasnevin. Believe he does some literary work for the
_Express_ with Gabriel Conroy. Wellread fellow. Myles Crawford began
on the _Independent._ Funny the way those newspaper men veer about when
they get wind of a new opening. Weathercocks. Hot and cold in the same
breath. Wouldn't know which to believe. One story good till you hear
the next. Go for one another baldheaded in the papers and then all blows
over. Hail fellow well met the next moment.

--Ah, listen to this for God' sake, Ned Lambert pleaded. _Or again if we
but climb the serried mountain peaks..._

--Bombast! the professor broke in testily. Enough of the inflated
windbag!

--_Peaks_, Ned Lambert went on, _towering high on high, to bathe our
souls, as it were..._