―Not at all, Mr Deasy said as he searched the papers on his desk. I like to break a lance with you, old as I am.

―Good morning, sir, Stephen said again, bowing to his bent back.

He went out by the open porch and down the gravel path under the trees, hearing the cries of voices and crack of sticks from the playfield. The lions couchant on the pillars as he passed out through the gate; toothless terrors. Still I will help him in his fight. Mulligan will dub me a new name: the bullockbefriending bard.

― Mr Dedalus!

Running after me. No more letters, I hope.

―Just one moment.

―Yes, sir, Stephen said, turning back at the gate.