Ulysses by James Joyce Chapter 7 Page 30

We won every time! North Cork and Spanish officers!

Where was that, Myles? Ned Lambert asked with a reflective glance at his toecaps.

In Ohio! the editor shouted.

So it was, begad, Ned Lambert agreed.

Passing out he whispered to J. J. O’Molloy:

Incipient jigs. Sad case.

Ohio! the editor crowed in high treble from his uplifted scarlet face. My Ohio!

A perfect cretic! the professor said. Long, short and long.

O, HARP EOLIAN!

He took a reel of dental floss from his waistcoat pocket and, breaking off a piece, twanged it smartly between two and two of his resonant unwashed teeth.