Page 243 - ULYSSES

Ulysses

Gallaher, that was a pressman for you. That was a pen.
You know how he made his mark? I’ll tell you. That was
the smartest piece of journalism ever known. That was in
eightyone, sixth of May, time of the invincibles, murder in

the Phoenix park, before you were born, I suppose. I’ll
show you.
He pushed past them to the files.
—Look at here, he said turning. The New York World
cabled for a special. Remember that time?
Professor MacHugh nodded.
—New York World, the editor said, excitedly pushing
back his straw hat. Where it took place. Tim Kelly, or
Kavanagh I mean. Joe Brady and the rest of them. Where
Skin-the-Goat drove the car. Whole route, see?
—Skin-the-Goat, Mr O’Madden Burke said. Fitzharris.
He has that cabman’s shelter, they say, down there at Butt
bridge. Holohan told me. You know Holohan?
—Hop and carry one, is it? Myles Crawford said.
—And poor Gumley is down there too, so he told me,
minding stones for the corporation. A night watchman.
Stephen turned in surprise.
—Gumley? he said. You don’t say so? A friend of my
father’s, is it?

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