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.

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.