His heavy hand took Stephen’s firmly. Human eyes. They gazed curiously an instant and turned quickly towards a Dalkey tram.

Eccolo, Almidano Artifoni said in friendly haste. Venga a trovarmi e ci pensi. Addio, caro.

Arrivederla, maestro, Stephen said, raising his hat when his hand was freed. E grazie.

Di che? Almidano Artifoni said. Scusi, eh? Tante belle cose!

Almidano Artifoni, holding up a baton of rolled music as a signal, trotted on stout trousers after the Dalkey tram.

In vain he trotted, signalling in vain among the rout of barekneed gillies smuggling implements of music through Trinity gates.

* * *