Answered anyhow. He slipped card and letter into his sidepocket, revie-
wing again the soldiers on parade. Where’s old Tweedy’s regiment? Castoff
soldier. There : bearskin cap and hackle plume. No, he’s a grenadier. Pointed
cuffs. There he is : royal Dublin fusiliers. Redcoats. Too showy. That
must be why the women go after them. Uniform. Easier to enlist and
drill. Maud Gonne’s letter about taking them off O’Connell street at
night : disgrace to our Irish capital. Griffith’s paper is on the same tack
now : an army rotten with venereal disease : overseas or halfseasover
empire. Half baked they look : hypnotised like. Eyes front. Mark time. Table :
able. Bed : ed. The King’s own. Never see him dressed up as a fireman or
a bobby. A mason, yes.
He strolled out of the postoffice and turned to the right. Talk : as if that
would mend matters. His hand went into his pocket and a forefinger felt its
way under the flap of the envelope, ripping it open in jerks. Women will pay
a lot of heed, I don’t think. His fingers drew forth the letter and crumpled the
envelope in his pocket. Something pinned on : photo perhaps. Hair? No.
M’Coy. Get rid of him quickly. Take me out of my way. Hate company
when you.
— Hello, Bloom. Where are you off to?
— Hello, M’Coy. Nowhere in particular.
— How’s the body?
— Fine. How are you?
— Just keeping alive, M’Coy said.
His eyes on the black tie and clothes he asked with low respect :
— Is there any... no trouble I hope? I see you’re...
— O no, Mr Bloom said. Poor Dignam, you know. The funeral is today.
— To be sure, poor fellow. So it is. What time?
A photo it isn’t. A badge maybe.
— E... eleven, Mr Bloom answered.
— I must try to get out there, M’Coy said. Eleven, is it? I only heard
it last night. Who was telling me? Holohan. You know Hoppy?
— I know.
Mr Bloom gazed across the road at the outsider drawn up before the door
of the Grosvenor. The porter hoisted the valise up on the well. She stood
still, waiting, while the man, husband, brother, like her, searched his pockets
for change. Stylish kind of coat with that roll collar, warm for a day like this,
looks like blanketcloth. Careless stand of her with her hands in those patch