First watch:  Profession or trade.

Bloom:  Well, I follow a literary occupation, author-journalist.  In fact we are just bringing out a collection of prize stories of which I am the inventor, something that is an entirely new departure.  I am connected with the British and Irish press.  If you ring up ...

(Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, A Quill between his teeth.  His scarlet beak blazes within the aureole of his straw hat.  He dangles A Hank of Spanish onions in one hand and holds with the other hand A telephone receiver nozzle to his ear.)

Myles Crawford:  (His cock’s wattles wagging) Hello, seventyseven eightfour.  Hello.  FREEMAN’S urinal and weekly ARSEWIPE here.  Paralyse Europe.  You which?  Bluebags?  Who writes?  Is it Bloom?

(Mr Philip Beaufoy, PALEFACED, stands in the witnessbox, in accurate morning dress, OUTBREAST pocket with peak of handkerchief showing, creased lavender trousers and patent boots.  He carries A large portfolio labelled Matcham’s Masterstrokes.)

Beaufoy:  (Drawls) No, you aren’t.  Not by a long shot if I know it.  I don’t see it that’s all.  No born gentleman, no-one with the most rudimentary promptings of a gentleman would stoop to such particularly loathsome conduct.  One of those, my lord.  A plagiarist.  A soapy sneak masquerading as a litterateur.  It’s perfectly obvious that with the most inherent baseness he has cribbed some of my bestselling copy, really gorgeous stuff, a perfect gem, the love passages in which are beneath suspicion.  The Beaufoy books of love and great possessions, with which your lordship is doubtless familiar, are a household word throughout the kingdom.

Bloom:  (Murmurs with hangdog meekness glum) That bit about the laughing witch hand in hand I take exception to, if I may ...

Beaufoy:  (His lip UPCURLED, smiles superciliously on the court) You funny ass, you!  You’re too beastly awfully weird for words!  I don’t think you need over excessively disincommodate yourself in that regard.  My literary agent Mr J. B. Pinker is in attendance.  I presume, my lord, we shall receive the usual witnesses’ fees, shan’t we?  We are considerably out of pocket over this bally pressman johnny, this jackdaw of Rheims, who has not even been to a university.