―Gentlemen, Stephen said. As the next motion on the agenda paper may I suggest that the house do now adjourn?
―You take my breath away. It is not perchance a French compliment? Mr O’Madden Burke asked. ’Tis the hour, methinks, when the winejug, metaphorically speaking, is most grateful in Ye ancient hostelry.
―That it be and hereby is resolutely resolved. All who are in favour say ay, Lenehan announced. The contrary no. I declare it carried. To which particular boosing shed … ? My casting vote is: Mooney’s!
He led the way, admonishing:
―We will sternly refuse to partake of strong waters, will we not? Yes, we will not. By no manner of means.
Mr O’Madden Burke, following close, said with an ally’s lunge of his umbrella:
―Lay on, Macduff!
―Chip of the old block! the editor cried, slapping Stephen on the shoulder. Let us go. Where are those blasted keys?
He fumbled in his pocket, pulling out the crushed typesheets.
―Foot and mouth. I know. That’ll be all right. That’ll go in. Where are they? That’s all right.
He thrust the sheets back and went into the inner office.
Let Us Hope
J. J. O’Molloy, about to follow him in, said quietly to Stephen:
―I hope you will live to see it published. Myles, one moment.