Alf Bergan:  (Points jeering at the SANDWICHBOARDS) U. p:  Up.

Mrs Breen:  (To bloom) High jinks below stairs. (She gives him the glad eye) Why didn’t you kiss the spot to make it well?  You wanted to.

Bloom:  (Shocked) Molly’s best friend!  Could you?

Mrs Breen:  (Her pulpy tongue between her lips, offers A pigeon kiss)
Hnhn.  The answer is a lemon.  Have you a little present for me there?

Bloom:  (Offhandedly) Kosher.  A snack for supper.  The home without potted meat is incomplete.  I was at Leah.  Mrs Bandmann Palmer.  Trenchant exponent of Shakespeare.  Unfortunately threw away the programme.  Rattling good place round there for pigs’ feet.  Feel.

(Richie Goulding, three ladies’ hats pinned on his head, appears weighted
to one side by the black legal bag of Collis and ward on which A skull
and crossbones are painted in white limewash.  He opens it and shows it
full of polonies, kippered herrings, Findon HADDIES and TIGHTPACKED
pills.)

Richie:  Best value in Dub.

(Bald pat, bothered beetle, stands on the curbstone, folding his napkin,
waiting to wait.)

Pat:  (Advances with A tilted dish of SPILLSPILLING gravy) Steak and kidney.  Bottle of lager.  Hee hee hee.  Wait till I wait.

Richie:  Goodgod.  Inev erate inall ...

(With hanging head he marches doggedly forward.  The navvy, lurching by,
gores him with his flaming pronghorn.)

Richie:  (With A cry of pain, his hand to his back) Ah!  Bright’s!  Lights!

Bloom:  (Points to the navvy) A spy.  Don’t attract attention.  I hate stupid crowds.  I am not on pleasure bent.  I am in a grave predicament.

Mrs Breen:  Humbugging and deluthering as per usual with your cock and bull story.

Bloom:  I want to tell you a little secret about how I came to be here. 
But you must never tell.  Not even Molly.  I have a most particular reason.

Mrs Breen:  (All agog) O, not for worlds.