Page 447 - ULYSSES

Ulysses

council chamber. And old Barlow the macebearer laid up
with asthma, no mace on the table, nothing in order, no
quorum even, and Hutchinson, the lord mayor, in
Llandudno and little Lorcan Sherlock doing locum tenens

for him. Damned Irish language, language of our
forefathers.
Long John Fanning blew a plume of smoke from his
lips.
Martin Cunningham spoke by turns, twirling the peak
of his beard, to the assistant town clerk and the subsheriff,
while John Wyse Nolan held his peace.
—What Dignam was that? long John Fanning asked.
Jimmy Henry made a grimace and lifted his left foot.
—O, my corns! he said plaintively. Come upstairs for
goodness’ sake till I sit down somewhere. Uff! Ooo!
Mind!
Testily he made room for himself beside long John
Fanning’s flank and passed in and up the stairs.
—Come on up, Martin Cunningham said to the
subsheriff. I don’t think you knew him or perhaps you
did, though.
With John Wyse Nolan Mr Power followed them in.

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