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Delaney:   Useen:  [*]
— No, Mr Bloom said. Make it up, please. I'll call later in the day and I'll take one of those soaps. How much are they?
— Fourpence, sir.
Mr Bloom raised a cake to his nostrils. Sweet lemony wax.
— I'll take this one, he said. That makes three and a penny.
— Yes, sir, the chemist said. You can pay all together, sir, when you come back.
— Good, Mr Bloom said.
4p in 1904 = $2 today, 3s/1p = $20
He strolled out of the shop, the newspaper baton under his armpit, the coolwrappered soap in his left hand.
as with the milkmaid, there's an impressive level of trust
Delaney: At his armpit Bantam Lyons' voice and hand said:
— Hello, Bloom, what's the best news? Is that today's? Show us a minute.
mentioned on p71 as drinking at Conway's last night with M'Coy and Doran
(how might Bloom have handled this if he still had Martha's letter hidden there?)
Shaved off his moustache again, by Jove! Long cold upper lip. To look younger. He does look balmy. Younger than I am.
Bantam Lyons' yellow blacknailed fingers unrolled the baton. Wants a wash too. Take off the rough dirt. Good morning, have you used Pears' soap? Dandruff on his shoulders. Scalp wants oiling.
current thinking is that mineral oil is better than vegetable for dandruff
— I want to see about that French horse that's running today, Bantam Lyons said. Where the bugger is it?
He rustled the pleated pages, jerking his chin on his high collar. Barber's itch. Tight collar he'll lose his hair. Better leave him the paper and get shut of him.
— You can keep it, Mr Bloom said.
— Ascot. Gold cup. Wait, Bantam Lyons muttered. Half a mo. Maximum the second.
Zinfandel: 5 to 4
Sceptre: 7 to 4
Maximum II: 10 to 1
Throwaway: 20 to 1
— I was just going to throw it away, Mr Bloom said.
Bantam Lyons raised his eyes suddenly and leered weakly.
— What's that? his sharp voice said.
— I say you can keep it, Mr Bloom answered. I was going to throw it away that moment.
Bantam Lyons doubted an instant, leering: then thrust the outspread sheets back on Mr Bloom's arms.
— I'll risk it, he said. Here, thanks.
He sped off towards Conway's corner. God speed scut.
Delaney: Mr Bloom folded the sheets again to a neat square and lodged the soap in it, smiling. Silly lips of that chap. Betting. Regular hotbed of it lately. Messenger boys stealing to put on sixpence. Raffle for large tender turkey.
(belief in lucky omens is another lazy Lotus-eaters motif)
Lyons respects Bloom enough to take the 'tip' seriously
the adman in Bloom includes the "large tender" hype
lotus-eaters: 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83