The editor who, leaning against the mantelshelf, had propped his head on his hand, suddenly stretched forth an arm amply.

Begone! he said. The world is before you.

Back in no time, Mr Bloom said, hurrying out.

J. J. O’Molloy took the tissues from Lenehan’s hand and read them, blowing them apart gently, without comment.

He’ll get that advertisement, the professor said, staring through his blackrimmed spectacles over the crossblind. Look at the young scamps after him.

Show. Where? Lenehan cried, running to the window.

A STREET CORT�GE

Both smiled over the crossblind at the file of capering newsboys in Mr Bloom’s