Part 36 (1/2)

He hustled the boy out and banged the door to.

J. J. O'Molloy turned the files crackingly over, murmuring, seeking:

--Continued on page six, column four.

--Yes, _Evening Telegraph_ here, Mr Bloom phoned from the inner office.

Is the boss...? Yes, _Telegraph_... To where? Aha! Which auction rooms ?... Aha! I see... Right. I'll catch him.

A COLLISION ENSUES

The bell whirred again as he rang off. He came in quickly and b.u.mped against Lenehan who was struggling up with the second tissue.

--_Pardon, monsieur_, Lenehan said, clutching him for an instant and making a grimace.

--My fault, Mr Bloom said, suffering his grip. Are you hurt? I'm in a hurry.

--Knee, Lenehan said.

He made a comic face and whined, rubbing his knee:

--The acc.u.mulation of the _anno Domini_.

--Sorry, Mr Bloom said.

He went to the door and, holding it ajar, paused. J. J. O'Molloy slapped the heavy pages over. The noise of two shrill voices, a mouthorgan, echoed in the bare hallway from the newsboys squatted on the doorsteps:

_--We are the boys of Wexford Who fought with heart and hand._

EXIT BLOOM

--I'm just running round to Bachelor's walk, Mr Bloom said, about this ad of Keyes's. Want to fix it up. They tell me he's round there in Dillon's.

He looked indecisively for a moment at their faces. 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 advertis.e.m.e.nt, 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 CORTEGE

Both smiled over the crossblind at the file of capering newsboys in Mr Bloom's wake, the last zigzagging white on the breeze a mocking kite, a tail of white bowknots.