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On Grattan bridge M'Coy and I, taking leave of each other, watch the carriages go by.
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@MCOY -- He's not one of your common or garden... you know... There's a touch of the artist about old Bloom.
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I lift my yachtingcap and scratch my hindhead rapidly. I glance sideways in the sunlight. @MCOY -- He's a cultured allroundman, Bloom is.
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@MCOY -- By God, she had Bloom cornered. That one, is it? says Chris Callinan, sure that's only what you might call a pinprick.
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@MCOY -- He knows them all, faith. At last she spotted a weeny weeshy one miles away. And what star is that, Poldy? says she.
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@MCOY -- the great bear and Hercules and the dragon and the whole jingbang lot. But, by God, I was lost, so to speak, in the milky way.
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@MCOY -- The lad stood to attention anyhow. Bloom was pointing out all the stars and the comets in the heavens to Callinan and the jarvey:
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@MCOY -- Like that. I hold my caved hands a cubit from me and blow a sweet chirp from my lips.
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@MCOY -- Bloom and Callinan were on one side and I was with the wife on the other. Hell's delights! She has a fine pair, God bless her.
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@MCOY -- it was blue o'clock the morning after the night before. Coming home it was a gorgeous winter's night on the Featherbed Mountain.
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@MCOY -- There was a long spread out at Glencree reformatory. The annual dinner you know. Boiled shirt affair. When we sallied forth,
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@MCOY -- I'll tell you a damn good one about comets' tails, he said. Come over in the sun.
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@MCOY -- Leopoldo or the Bloom is on the Rye
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We go up the steps and under Merchants' arch. @MCOY -- There he is
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@MCOY -- Even money. I knocked against Bantam Lyons in there going to back a bloody horse someone gave him that hasn't an earthly.
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@MCOY -- O. Madden. And a game filly she is.
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@MCOY -- This way. I want to pop into Lynam's to see Sceptre's starting price. What's the time by your gold watch and chain?
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At the Dolphin we halt to allow the ambulance car to gallop past us for Jervis street.
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And be damned but he got the rope round the poor devil and the two were hauled up. @MCOY -- The act of a hero.
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Down went Tom Rochford anyhow, booky's vest and all, with the rope round him.
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