Page 580 - ULYSSES

Ulysses

And Bloom cuts in again about lawn tennis and the
circulation of the blood, asking Alf:
—Now, don’t you think, Bergan?
—Myler dusted the floor with him, says Alf. Heenan

and Sayers was only a bloody fool to it. Handed him the
father and mother of a beating. See the little kipper not up
to his navel and the big fellow swiping. God, he gave him
one last puck in the wind, Queensberry rules and all, made
him puke what he never ate.
It was a historic and a hefty battle when Myler and
Percy were scheduled to don the gloves for the purse of
fifty sovereigns. Handicapped as he was by lack of
poundage, Dublin’s pet lamb made up for it by superlative
skill in ringcraft. The final bout of fireworks was a
gruelling for both champions. The welterweight
sergeantmajor had tapped some lively claret in the
previous mixup during which Keogh had been
receivergeneral of rights and lefts, the artilleryman putting
in some neat work on the pet’s nose, and Myler came on
looking groggy. The soldier got to business, leading off
with a powerful left jab to which the Irish gladiator
retaliated by shooting out a stiff one flush to the point of
Bennett’s jaw. The redcoat ducked but the Dubliner lifted
him with a left hook, the body punch being a fine one.

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