-- wise virgins, professor machugh said.
life on the raw
-- they buy one and fourpenceworth of brawn and four slices of panloaf at the north city dining rooms in marlborough street from miss kate collins, proprietress... they purchase-our and twenty ripe plums from a girl at the foot of nelson's pillar to take off the thirst of the brawn. they give two threepenny bits to the gentleman at the turnstile and begin to waddle slowly up the winding staircase, grunting, encouraging each other, afraid of the dark, panting, one asking the other have you the brawn, praising god and the blessed virgin, threatening to come down, peeping at the airslits. glory be to god. they had no idea it was that high.
their names are anne kearns and florence maccabe. anne kearns has the lumbago for which she rubs on lourdes water given her by a lady who got a bottleful from a passionist father. florence maccabe takes a crubeen and a bottle of double x for supper every saturday.
-- antithesis, the professor said, nodding twice. vestal virgins. i can see them. what's keeping our friend?
he turned.
a bevy of scampering newsboys rushed down the steps, scampering in all directions, yelling, their white papers fluttering. hard after them myles crawford appeared on the steps, his hat aureoling his scarlet face, talking with j.j. o'molloy.
-- come along, the professor cried, waving his arm.
he set off again to walk by stephen's side.
return of bloom
-- 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 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?