drank a lovingcup of firstshot usquebaugh to the toast black and white from the skull of his immediate predecessor in the dynasty Kakachakachak, surnamed Forty Warts, after which he visited the chief factory of Cottonopolis and signed his mark in the visitors’ book, subsequently executing a charming old Abeakutic wardance, in the course of which he swallowed several knives and forks, amid hilarious applause from the girl hands.

—­Widow woman, says Ned.  I wouldn’t doubt her.  Wonder did he put that bible to the same use as I would.

—­Same only more so, says Lenehan.  And thereafter in that fruitful land the broadleaved mango flourished exceedingly.

—­Is that by Griffith? says John Wyse.

—­No, says the citizen.  It’s not signed Shanganagh.  It’s only initialled:  P.

—­And a very good initial too, says Joe.

—­That’s how it’s worked, says the citizen.  Trade follows the flag.

—­Well, says J. J., if they’re any worse than those Belgians in the Congo Free State they must be bad.  Did you read that report by a man what’s this his name is?

—­Casement, says the citizen.  He’s an Irishman.

—­Yes, that’s the man, says J. J. Raping the women and girls and flogging the natives on the belly to squeeze all the red rubber they can out of them.

—­I know where he’s gone, says Lenehan, cracking his fingers.

—­Who? says I.

—­Bloom, says he.  The courthouse is a blind.  He had a few bob on
throwaway and he’s gone to gather in the shekels.

—­Is it that whiteeyed kaffir? says the citizen, that never backed a horse in anger in his life?

—­That’s where he’s gone, says Lenehan.  I met Bantam Lyons going to back that horse only I put him off it and he told me Bloom gave him the tip.  Bet you what you like he has a hundred shillings to five on.  He’s the only man in Dublin has it.  A dark horse.

—­He’s a bloody dark horse himself, says Joe.

—­Mind, Joe, says I. Show us the entrance out.

—­There you are, says Terry.

Goodbye Ireland I’m going to Gort.  So I just went round the back of the yard to pumpship and begob (hundred shillings to five) while I was letting off my (throwaway twenty to) letting off my load gob says I to myself I knew he was uneasy in his (two pints off of Joe and one in Slattery’s off) in his mind to get off the mark to (hundred shillings is five quid) and when they were in the (dark horse) pisser Burke was telling me card party and letting on the child was sick (gob, must have done about a gallon) flabbyarse of a wife speaking down the tube she’s better or she’s (ow!) all a plan so he could vamoose with the pool if he won or (Jesus, full up I was) trading without a licence (ow!) Ireland my nation says he (hoik! phthook!) never be up to those bloody (there’s the last of it) Jerusalem (ah!) cuckoos.