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Lenehan, lighting it for him with quick grace, said: Silence for my brandnew riddle! Imperium romanum, J. J. O'Molloy said gently. It sounds nobler than British or Brixton. The word reminds one somehow of fat in the fire. Myles Crawford blew his first puff violently towards the ceiling. That's it, he said. We are the fat. You and I are the fat in the fire.
Fine! Myles Crawford said at once. The divine afflatus, Mr O'Madden Burke said. You like it? J. J. O'Molloy asked Stephen. Stephen, his blood wooed by grace of language and gesture, blushed. He took a cigarette from the case. J. J. O'Molloy offered his case to Myles Crawford. Lenehan lit their cigarettes as before and took his trophy, saying: Muchibus thankibus.
But listen to this, he said. The doorknob hit Mr Bloom in the small of the back as the door was pushed in. Excuse me, J. J. O'Molloy said, entering. Mr Bloom moved nimbly aside. I beg yours, he said. Good day, Jack. Come in. Come in. Good day. How are you, Dedalus? Well. And yourself? J. J. O'Molloy shook his head. Cleverest fellow at the junior bar he used to be. Decline, poor chap.
Hot members they were all of them, the Geraldines. The horses he passed started nervously under their slack harness. He slapped a piebald haunch quivering near him and cried: Woa, sonny! He turned to J. J. O'Molloy and asked: Well, Jack. What is it? What's the trouble? Wait awhile. Hold hard. With gaping mouth and head far back he stood still and, after an instant, sneezed loudly. Chow! he said.
Grattan and Flood wrote for this very paper, the editor cried in his face. Irish volunteers. Where are you now? Established 1763. Dr Lucas. Who have you now like John Philpot Curran? Psha! Well, J. J. O'Molloy said, Bushe K.C., for example. Bushe? the editor said. Well, yes: Bushe, yes. He has a strain of it in his blood. Kendal Bushe or I mean Seymour Bushe.
Joseph. A man dressed like a pries and known as Father O'Molloy, came forward. He was received with signs of much sympathy, succeeded by complete silence. He addressed them in a popular and animated style on the advantages of education. They knew what that was, and then they cheered.. Education taught them to know their rights.
I call it A Pisgah Sight of Palestine or the Parable of The Plums. I see, the professor said. He laughed richly. I see, he said again with new pleasure. Moses and the promised land. We gave him that idea, he added to J. J. O'Molloy. J. J. O'Molloy sent a weary sidelong glance towards the statue and held his peace. I see, the professor said.
He began to mazurka in swift caricature across the floor on sliding feet past the fireplace to J. J. O'Molloy who placed the tissues in his receiving hands. What's that? Myles Crawford said with a start. Where are the other two gone? Who? the professor said, turning. They're gone round to the Oval for a drink. Paddy Hooper is there with Jack Hall. Came over last night.
J. J. O'Molloy took the tissues from Lenehan's hand and read them, blowing them apart gently, without comment. He'll get that advertisement, the professor said, staring through his blackrimmed spectacles over the crossblind. Look at the young scamps after him. Show. Where? Lenehan cried, running to the window.
Sorry, Mr Bloom said. He went to the door and, holding it ajar, paused. J. J. O'Molloy slapped the heavy pages over. The noise of two shrill voices, a mouthorgan, echoed in the bare hallway from the newsboys squatted on the doorsteps: We are the boys of Wexford Who fought with heart and hand. I'm just running round to Bachelor's walk, Mr Bloom said, about this ad of Keyes's. Want to fix it up.
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