Page 321 - ULYSSES

Ulysses

—Tell us if you’re worth your salt and be damned to
you, Paddy Leonard said. Who gave it to you?
Mr Bloom on his way out raised three fingers in
greeting.

—So long! Nosey Flynn said.
The others turned.
—That’s the man now that gave it to me, Bantam
Lyons whispered.
—Prrwht! Paddy Leonard said with scorn. Mr Byrne,
sir, we’ll take two of your small Jamesons after that and a
...
—Stone ginger, Davy Byrne added civilly.
—Ay, Paddy Leonard said. A suckingbottle for the
baby.
Mr Bloom walked towards Dawson street, his tongue
brushing his teeth smooth. Something green it would have
to be: spinach, say. Then with those Rontgen rays
searchlight you could.
At Duke lane a ravenous terrier choked up a sick
knuckly cud on the cobblestones and lapped it with new
zest. Surfeit. Returned with thanks having fully digested
the contents. First sweet then savoury. Mr Bloom coasted
warily. Ruminants. His second course. Their upper jaw
they move. Wonder if Tom Rochford will do anything

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