―Ascot. Gold cup. Wait, Bantam Lyons muttered. Half a mo. Maximum the second.

―I was just going to throw it away, Mr Bloom said.

Bantam Lyons raised his eyes suddenly and leered weakly.

―What’s that? his sharp voice said.

―I say you can keep it, Mr Bloom answered. I was going to throw it away that moment.

Bantam Lyons doubted an instant, leering: then thrust the outspread sheets back on Mr Bloom’s arms.

―I’ll risk it, he said. Here, thanks.