Page 826 - ULYSSES

Ulysses

PROFESSOR MACHUGH: (From the presstable, coughs
and calls) Cough it up, man. Get it out in bits.
(The crossexamination proceeds re Bloom and the bucket. A

large bucket. Bloom himself. Bowel trouble. In Beaver street
Gripe, yes. Quite bad. A plasterer’s bucket. By
walking stifflegged. Suffered untold misery. Deadly agony. About
noon. Love or burgundy. Yes, some spinach. Crucial moment.
He did not look in the bucket Nobody. Rather a mess. Not
completely. A Titbits back number.)
(Uproar and catcalls. Bloom in a torn frockcoat stained with
whitewash, dinged silk hat sideways on his head, a strip of
stickingplaster across his nose, talks inaudibly.)
J. J. O’MOLLOY: (In barrister’s grey wig and stuffgown,
speaking with a voice of pained protest) This is no place for
indecent levity at the expense of an erring mortal disguised
in liquor. We are not in a beargarden nor at an Oxford rag
nor is this a travesty of justice. My client is an infant, a
poor foreign immigrant who started scratch as a stowaway
and is now trying to turn an honest penny. The trumped
up misdemeanour was due to a momentary aberration of
heredity, brought on by hallucination, such familiarities as
the alleged guilty occurrence being quite permitted in my
client’s native place, the land of the Pharaoh. Prima facie, I
put it to you that there was no attempt at carnally

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