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Delaney:    Useen:            [*]
in 1901, 61yo Laurence ORourke, grocer, lived at 72 Dorset St Upper with his wife and four children
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Delaney: Bald head over the blind. Cute old codger. No use canvassing him for an ad. Still he knows his own business best. There he is, sure enough, my bold Larry, leaning against the sugarbin in his shirtsleeves watching the aproned curate swab up with mop and bucket. Simon Dedalus takes him off to a tee with his eyes screwed up. Do you know what I'm going to tell you? What's that, Mr O'Rourke? Do you know what? The Russians, they'd only be an eight o'clock breakfast for the Japanese.
Delaney: Stop and say a word: about the funeral perhaps. Sad thing about poor Dignam, Mr O'Rourke.
Turning into Dorset street he said freshly in greeting through the doorway:
— Good day, Mr O'Rourke.
— Good day to you.
— Lovely weather, sir.
— 'Tis all that.
Where do they get the money? Coming up redheaded curates from the county Leitrim, rinsing empties and old man in the cellar. Then, lo and behold, they blossom out as Adam Findlaters or Dan Tallons. Then think of the competition. General thirst. Good puzzle would be cross Dublin without passing a pub. Save it they can't. Off the drunks perhaps. Put down three and carry five. What is that, a bob here and there, dribs and drabs. On the wholesale orders perhaps. Doing a double shuffle with the town travellers. Square it with the boss and we'll split the job, see?
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Delaney: How much would that tot to off the porter in the month? Say ten barrels of stuff. Say he got ten per cent off. Or more. Fifteen. He passed Saint Joseph's National school. Brats' clamour. Windows open. Fresh air helps memory. Or a lilt. Ahbeesee defeegee kelomen opeecue rustyouvee doubleyou. Boys are they? Yes. Inishturk, Inishark. Inishboffin. At their joggerfry. Mine. Slieve Bloom.
school seems to be in session
He halted before Dlugacz's window, staring at the hanks of sausages, polonies, black and white. Fifteen multiplied by. The figures whitened in his mind, unsolved: displeased, he let them fade. The shiny links packed with
Bloom has apparently crossed the street, because he'll watch his neighbor turn right not left on leaving.
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