Lindblom Media

Buck Mulligan sighed and, having filled his mouth with a crust
thickly buttered on both sides, stretched forth his legs and began to
search his trouser pockets.

--Pay up and look pleasant, Haines said to him, smiling.

Stephen filled a third cup, a spoonful of tea colouring faintly the thick
rich milk. Buck Mulligan brought up a florin, twisted it round in his
fingers and cried:

--A miracle!

He passed it along the table towards the old woman, saying:

--Ask nothing more of me, sweet. All I can give you I give.

Stephen laid the coin in her uneager hand.

--We'll owe twopence, he said.

--Time enough, sir, she said, taking the coin. Time enough. Good morning,
sir.

She curtseyed and went out, followed by Buck Mulligan's tender
chant:

--HEART OF MY HEART, WERE IT MORE,
MORE WOULD BE LAID AT YOUR FEET.

He turned to Stephen and said:

--Seriously, Dedalus. I'm stony. Hurry out to your school kip and bring
us back some money. Today the bards must drink and junket. Ireland expects
that every man this day will do his duty.

--That reminds me, Haines said, rising, that I have to visit your
national library today.

--Our swim first, Buck Mulligan said.

He turned to Stephen and asked blandly:

--Is this the day for your monthly wash, Kinch?

Then he said to Haines:

--The unclean bard makes a point of washing once a month.

--All Ireland is washed by the gulfstream, Stephen said as he let honey
trickle over a slice of the loaf.

Haines from the corner where he was knotting easily a scarf about
the loose collar of his tennis shirt spoke:

--I intend to make a collection of your sayings if you will let me.

Speaking to me. They wash and tub and scrub. Agenbite of inwit.
Conscience. Yet here's a spot.

--That one about the cracked lookingglass of a servant being the symbol
of Irish art is deuced good.