Page 310 - ULYSSES

Ulysses

—For near a month, man, before it came off. Sucking
duck eggs by God till further orders. Keep him off the
boose, see? O, by God, Blazes is a hairy chap.
Davy Byrne came forward from the hindbar in

tuckstitched shirtsleeves, cleaning his lips with two wipes
of his napkin. Herring’s blush. Whose smile upon each
feature plays with such and such replete. Too much fat on
the parsnips.
—And here’s himself and pepper on him, Nosey Flynn
said. Can you give us a good one for the Gold cup?
—I’m off that, Mr Flynn, Davy Byrne answered. I
never put anything on a horse.
—You’re right there, Nosey Flynn said.
Mr Bloom ate his strips of sandwich, fresh clean bread,
with relish of disgust pungent mustard, the feety savour of
green cheese. Sips of his wine soothed his palate. Not
logwood that. Tastes fuller this weather with the chill off.
Nice quiet bar. Nice piece of wood in that counter.
Nicely planed. Like the way it curves there.
—I wouldn’t do anything at all in that line, Davy
Byrne said. It ruined many a man, the same horses.
Vintners’ sweepstake. Licensed for the sale of beer,
wine and spirits for consumption on the premises. Heads I
win tails you lose.

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