Page 28 - ULYSSES

Ulysses

—That one about the cracked lookingglass of a servant
being the symbol of Irish art is deuced good.
Buck Mulligan kicked Stephen’s foot under the table
and said with warmth of tone:

—Wait till you hear him on Hamlet, Haines.
—Well, I mean it, Haines said, still speaking to
Stephen. I was just thinking of it when that poor old
creature came in.
—Would I make any money by it? Stephen asked.
Haines laughed and, as he took his soft grey hat from
the holdfast of the hammock, said:
—I don’t know, I’m sure.
He strolled out to the doorway. Buck Mulligan bent
across to Stephen and said with coarse vigour:
—You put your hoof in it now. What did you say that
for?
—Well? Stephen said. The problem is to get money.
From whom? From the milkwoman or from him. It’s a
toss up, I think.
—I blow him out about you, Buck Mulligan said, and
then you come along with your lousy leer and your
gloomy jesuit jibes.
—I see little hope, Stephen said, from her or from him.

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