Page 274 - ULYSSES

Ulysses

baron of beef. Powerful man he was at stowing away
number one Bass. Barrel of Bass. See? It all works out.
A procession of whitesmocked sandwichmen marched
slowly towards him along the gutter, scarlet sashes across

their boards. Bargains. Like that priest they are this
morning: we have sinned: we have suffered. He read the
scarlet letters on their five tall white hats: H. E. L. Y. S.
Wisdom Hely’s. Y lagging behind drew a chunk of bread
from under his foreboard, crammed it into his mouth and
munched as he walked. Our staple food. Three bob a day,
walking along the gutters, street after street. Just keep skin
and bone together, bread and skilly. They are not Boyl:
no, M Glade’s men. Doesn’t bring in any business either. I
suggested to him about a transparent showcart with two
smart girls sitting inside writing letters, copybooks,
envelopes, blottingpaper. I bet that would have caught on.
Smart girls writing something catch the eye at once.
Everyone dying to know what she’s writing. Get twenty
of them round you if you stare at nothing. Have a finger
in the pie. Women too. Curiosity. Pillar of salt. Wouldn’t
have it of course because he didn’t think of it himself first.
Or the inkbottle I suggested with a false stain of black
celluloid. His ideas for ads like Plumtree’s potted under
the obituaries, cold meat department. You can’t lick ‘em.

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