—­Yes, he said.  I see them.

Mr Bloom, breathless, caught in a whirl of wild newsboys near the offices of the irish catholic and Dublin penny journal, called: 

—­Mr Crawford!  A moment!

—­Telegraph!  Racing special!

—­What is it?  Myles Crawford said, falling back a pace.

A newsboy cried in Mr Bloom’s face: 

—­Terrible tragedy in Rathmines!  A child bit by a bellows!

    Interview with the editor

—­Just this ad, Mr Bloom said, pushing through towards the steps, puffing, and taking the cutting from his pocket.  I spoke with Mr Keyes just now.  He’ll give a renewal for two months, he says.  After he’ll see.  But he wants a par to call attention in the telegraph too, the Saturday pink.  And he wants it copied if it’s not too late I told councillor Nannetti from the Kilkenny people.  I can have access to it in the national library.  House of keys, don’t you see?  His name is Keyes.  It’s a play on the name.  But he practically promised he’d give the renewal.  But he wants just a little puff.  What will I tell him, Mr Crawford?

    K.M.A.

—­Will you tell him he can kiss my arse?  Myles Crawford said throwing out his arm for emphasis.  Tell him that straight from the stable.

A bit nervy.  Look out for squalls.  All off for a drink.  Arm in arm.  Lenehan’s yachting cap on the cadge beyond.  Usual blarney.  Wonder is that young Dedalus the moving spirit.  Has a good pair of boots on him today.  Last time I saw him he had his heels on view.  Been walking in muck somewhere.  Careless chap.  What was he doing in Irishtown?

—­Well, Mr Bloom said, his eyes returning, if I can get the design I suppose it’s worth a short par.  He’d give the ad, I think.  I’ll tell him ...

    K.M.R.I.A.

—­He can kiss my royal Irish arse, Myles Crawford cried loudly over his shoulder.  Any time he likes, tell him.

While Mr Bloom stood weighing the point and about to smile he strode on jerkily.

    Raising the wind

—­NULLA Bona, Jack, he said, raising his hand to his chin.  I’m up to here.  I’ve been through the hoop myself.  I was looking for a fellow to back a bill for me no later than last week.  Sorry, Jack.  You must take the will for the deed.  With a heart and a half if I could raise the wind anyhow.

J. J. O’Molloy pulled a long face and walked on silently.  They caught up on the others and walked abreast.

—­When they have eaten the brawn and the bread and wiped their twenty fingers in the paper the bread was wrapped in they go nearer to the railings.

—­Something for you, the professor explained to Myles Crawford.  Two old Dublin women on the top of Nelson’s pillar.

    Some column!—­
    That’s what waddler one said