Are you not my son Leopold, the grandson of Leopold? Are you not my dear son Leopold who left the house of his father and left the god of his fathers Abraham and Jacob?

BLOOM: (With precaution.) I suppose so, father. Mosenthal. All that’s left of him.

RUDOLPH: (Severely.) One night they bring you home drunk as dog after spend your good money. What you call them running chaps?

BLOOM: (In youth’s smart blue Oxford suit with white vestslips, narrowshouldered, in brown Alpine hat, wearing gent’s sterling silver waterbury keyless watch and double curb Albert with seal attached, one side of him coated with stiffening mud.) Harriers, father.

Only that once.