Page 433 - ULYSSES

Ulysses

club toff had it probably. John Mulligan, the manager of
the Hibernian bank, gave me a very sharp eye yesterday
on Carlisle bridge as if he remembered me.
Aham! Must dress the character for those fellows.

Knight of the road. Gentleman. And now, Mr Crimmins,
may we have the honour of your custom again, sir. The
cup that cheers but not inebriates, as the old saying has it.
North wall and sir John Rogerson’s quay, with hulls
and anchorchains, sailing westward, sailed by a skiff, a
crumpled throwaway, rocked on the ferrywash, Elijah is
coming.
Mr Kernan glanced in farewell at his image. High
colour, of course. Grizzled moustache. Returned Indian
officer. Bravely he bore his stumpy body forward on
spatted feet, squaring his shoulders. Is that Ned Lambert’s
brother over the way, Sam? What? Yes. He’s as like it as
damn it. No. The windscreen of that motorcar in the sun
there. Just a flash like that. Damn like him.
Aham! Hot spirit of juniper juice warmed his vitals and
his breath. Good drop of gin, that was. His frocktails
winked in bright sunshine to his fat strut.
Down there Emmet was hanged, drawn and quartered.
Greasy black rope. Dogs licking the blood off the street
when the lord lieutenant’s wife drove by in her noddy.

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