Page 232 - ULYSSES

Ulysses

He looked indecisively for a moment at their faces. The
editor who, leaning against the mantelshelf, had propped
his head on his hand, suddenly stretched forth an arm
amply.

—Begone! he said. The world is before you.
—Back in no time, Mr Bloom said, hurrying out.
J. J. O’Molloy took the tissues from Lenehan’s hand
and read them, blowing them apart gently, without
comment.
—He’ll get that advertisement, the professor said,
staring through his blackrimmed spectacles over the
crossblind. Look at the young scamps after him.
—Show. Where? Lenehan cried, running to the
window.

A STREET CORTEGE

Both smiled over the crossblind at the file of capering
newsboys in Mr Bloom’s wake, the last zigzagging white
on the breeze a mocking kite, a tail of white bowknots.
—Look at the young guttersnipe behind him hue and
cry, Lenehan said, and you’ll kick. O, my rib risible!
Taking off his flat spaugs and the walk. Small nines. Steal
upon larks.

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