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—Like that, Mr Bloom said, crossing his forefingers at
the top.
Let him take that in first.
Mr Bloom, glancing sideways up from the cross he had
made, saw the foreman’s sallow face, think he has a touch
of jaundice, and beyond the obedient reels feeding in huge
webs of paper. Clank it. Clank it. Miles of it unreeled.
What becomes of it after? O, wrap up meat, parcels:
various uses, thousand and one things.
Slipping his words deftly into the pauses of the clanking
he drew swiftly on the scarred woodwork.
HOUSE OF KEY(E)S
—Like that, see. Two crossed keys here. A circle. Then
here the name. Alexander Keyes, tea, wine and spirit
merchant. So on.
Better not teach him his own business.
—You know yourself, councillor, just what he wants.
Then round the top in leaded: the house of keys. You see?
Do you think that’s a good idea?
The foreman moved his scratching hand to his lower
ribs and scratched there quietly.
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—The idea, Mr Bloom said, is the house of keys. You
know, councillor, the Manx parliament. Innuendo of
home rule. Tourists, you know, from the isle of Man.
Catches the eye, you see. Can you do that?
I could ask him perhaps about how to pronounce that
voglio. But then if he didn’t know only make it awkward
for him. Better not.
—We can do that, the foreman said. Have you the
design?
—I can get it, Mr Bloom said. It was in a Kilkenny
paper. He has a house there too. I’ll just run out and ask
him. Well, you can do that and just a little par calling
attention. You know the usual. Highclass licensed
premises. Longfelt want. So on.
The foreman thought for an instant.
—We can do that, he said. Let him give us a three
months’ renewal.
A typesetter brought him a limp galleypage. He began
to check it silently. Mr Bloom stood by, hearing the loud
throbs of cranks, watching the silent typesetters at their
cases.
ORTHOGRAPHICAL
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Want to be sure of his spelling. Proof fever. Martin
Cunningham forgot to give us his spellingbee conundrum
this morning. It is amusing to view the unpar one ar
alleled embarra two ars is it? double ess ment of a harassed
pedlar while gauging au the symmetry with a y of a peeled
pear under a cemetery wall. Silly, isn’t it? Cemetery put in
of course on account of the symmetry.
I should have said when he clapped on his topper.
Thank you. I ought to have said something about an old
hat or something. No. I could have said. Looks as good as
new now. See his phiz then.
Sllt. The nethermost deck of the first machine jogged
forward its flyboard with sllt the first batch of quirefolded
papers. Sllt. Almost human the way it sllt to call attention.
Doing its level best to speak. That door too sllt creaking,
asking to be shut. Everything speaks in its own way. Sllt.
NOTED CHURCHMAN AN
OCCASIONAL CONTRIBUTOR
The foreman handed back the galleypage suddenly,
saying:
—Wait. Where’s the archbishop’s letter? It’s to be
repeated in the Telegraph. Where’s what’s his name?
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He looked about him round his loud unanswering
machines.
—Monks, sir? a voice asked from the castingbox.
—Ay. Where’s Monks?
—Monks!
Mr Bloom took up his cutting. Time to get out.
—Then I’ll get the design, Mr Nannetti, he said, and
you’ll give it a good place I know.
—Monks!
—Yes, sir.
Three months’ renewal. Want to get some wind off my
chest first. Try it anyhow. Rub in August: good idea:
horseshow month. Ballsbridge. Tourists over for the show.
A DAYFATHER
He walked on through the caseroom passing an old
man, bowed, spectacled, aproned. Old Monks, the
dayfather. Queer lot of stuff he must have put through his
hands in his time: obituary notices, pubs’ ads, speeches,
divorce suits, found drowned. Nearing the end of his
tether now. Sober serious man with a bit in the
savingsbank I’d say. Wife a good cook and washer.
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Daughter working the machine in the parlour. Plain Jane,
no damn nonsense.
AND IT WAS THE FEAST OF THE
PASSOVER
He stayed in his walk to watch a typesetter neatly
distributing type. Reads it backwards first. Quickly he
does it. Must require some practice that. mangiD kcirtaP.
Poor papa with his hagadah book, reading backwards with
his finger to me. Pessach. Next year in Jerusalem. Dear, O
dear! All that long business about that brought us out of
the land of Egypt and into the house of bondage Alleluia.
Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu. No, that’s the other. Then the
twelve brothers, Jacob’s sons. And then the lamb and the
cat and the dog and the stick and the water and the
butcher. And then the angel of death kills the butcher and
he kills the ox and the dog kills the cat. Sounds a bit silly
till you come to look into it well. Justice it means but it’s
everybody eating everyone else. That’s what life is after all.
How quickly he does that job. Practice makes perfect.
Seems to see with his fingers.
Mr Bloom passed on out of the clanking noises through
the gallery on to the landing. Now am I going to tram it
out all the way and then catch him out perhaps. Better
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