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Updated: June 22, 2025
Louis. Several books have been printed at this press in the languages of the different tribes. The object of Mr. M'Coy and his associates is to furnish historical sketches of past, and notices of present occurrences, including the transactions of the general government and of societies.
M'Coy tasted his whisky contentedly and shook his head with a double intention, saying: "That's no joke, I can tell you." "We didn't learn that, Tom," said Mr. Power, following Mr. M'Coy's example, "when we went to the penny-a-week school." "There was many a good man went to the penny-a-week school with a sod of turf under his oxter," said Mr. Kernan sententiously.
O. Madden, Lenehan said. And a game filly she is. While he waited in Temple bar M'Coy dodged a banana peel with gentle pushes of his toe from the path to the gutter. Fellow might damn easy get a nasty fall there coming along tight in the dark. The gates of the drive opened wide to give egress to the viceregal cavalcade. Even money, Lenehan said returning.
Lenehan stopped and leaned on the riverwall, panting with soft laughter. I'm weak, he gasped. M'Coy's white face smiled about it at instants and grew grave. Lenehan walked on again. He lifted his yachtingcap and scratched his hindhead rapidly. He glanced sideways in the sunlight at M'Coy. He's a cultured allroundman, Bloom is, he said seriously.
The Irish priesthood is honoured all the world over." "O yes," said Mr. Power. "Not like some of the other priesthoods on the continent," said Mr. M'Coy, "unworthy of the name." "Perhaps you're right," said Mr. Kernan, relenting. "Of course I'm right," said Mr. Cunningham. "I haven't been in the world all this time and seen most sides of it without being a judge of character."
After some time the sufferer attempted to get up; one of the slaves standing by, seized him by the feet and held him fast; upon which he yielded, and M'Coy continued to flog him ten or fifteen minutes. When he was up, and had put on his trowsers, the blood came through them. "About half a mile from M'Coy's was a plantation owned by his step-daughter.
I knocked against Bantam Lyons in there going to back a bloody horse someone gave him that hasn't an earthly. Through here. They went up the steps and under Merchants' arch. A darkbacked figure scanned books on the hawker's cart. There he is, Lenehan said. Wonder what he's buying, M'Coy said, glancing behind. Leopoldo or the Bloom is on the Rye, Lenehan said. He's dead nuts on sales, M'Coy said.
You just shove in my name if I'm not there, will you? I'll do that, Mr Bloom said, moving to get off. That'll be all right. Right, M'Coy said brightly. Thanks, old man. I'd go if I possibly could. Well, tolloll. Just C. P. M'Coy will do. That will be done, Mr Bloom answered firmly. Didn't catch me napping that wheeze. The quick touch. Soft mark. I'd like my job.
The light music of whisky falling into glasses made an agreeable interlude. "What's that you were saying, Tom?" asked Mr. M'Coy. "Papal infallibility," said Mr. Cunningham, "that was the greatest scene in the whole history of the Church." "How was that, Martin?" asked Mr. Power. Mr. Cunningham held up two thick fingers.
"Well, I'm not seventy," said the invalid. "God forbid," said Mr. Cunningham. "It doesn't pain you now?" asked Mr. M'Coy. Mr. M'Coy had been at one time a tenor of some reputation. His wife, who had been a soprano, still taught young children to play the piano at low terms.
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