Page 1014 - ULYSSES

Ulysses

and a bit of perfect poetry in its own small way. Never
about the runaway wife coming back, however much
devoted to the absentee. The face at the window! Judge of
his astonishment when he finally did breast the tape and

the awful truth dawned upon him anent his better half,
wrecked in his affections. You little expected me but I’ve
come to stay and make a fresh start. There she sits, a
grasswidow, at the selfsame fireside. Believes me dead,
rocked in the cradle of the deep. And there sits uncle
Chubb or Tomkin, as the case might be, the publican of
the Crown and Anchor, in shirtsleeves, eating rumpsteak
and onions. No chair for father. Broo! The wind! Her
brandnew arrival is on her knee, post mortem child. With a
high ro! and a randy ro! and my galloping tearing tandy,
O! Bow to the inevitable. Grin and bear it. I remain with
much love your brokenhearted husband D B Murphy.
The sailor, who scarcely seemed to be a Dublin
resident, turned to one of the jarvies with the request:
—You don’t happen to have such a thing as a spare
chaw about you?
The jarvey addressed as it happened had not but the
keeper took a die of plug from his good jacket hanging on
a nail and the desired object was passed from hand to
hand.

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