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—The affair doesn’t interest me in the least, said Stephen
wearily. You know that well. Why do you make a scene
about it?
—Good! said MacCann, smacking his lips. You are a re-
actionary, then?
—Do you think you impress me, Stephen asked, when
you flourish your wooden sword?
—Metaphors! said MacCann bluntly. Come to facts.
Stephen blushed and turned aside. MacCann stood his
ground and said with hostile humour:
—Minor poets, I suppose, are above such trivial ques-
tions as the question of universal peace.
Cranly raised his head and held the handball between
the two students by way of a peace-offering, saying:
—PAX SUPER TOTUM SANGUINARIUM GLOBUM.
Stephen, moving away the bystanders, jerked his shoul-
der angrily in the direction of the Tsar’s image, saying:
—Keep your icon. If we must have a Jesus let us have a
legitimate Jesus.
—By hell, that’s a good one! said the gipsy student to
those about him, that’s a fine expression. I like that expres-
sion immensely.
He gulped down the spittle in his throat as if he were
gulping down the phrase and, fumbling at the peak of his
tweed cap, turned to Stephen, saying:
—Excuse me, sir, what do you mean by that expression
you uttered just now?
Feeling himself jostled by the students near him, he said
to them:

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