―The school kip? Buck Mulligan said. How much? Four quid? Lend us one.

―If you want it, Stephen said.

―Four shining sovereigns, Buck Mulligan cried with delight. We’ll have a glorious drunk to astonish the druidy druids. Four omnipotent sovereigns.

He flung up his hands and tramped down the stone stairs, singing out of tune with a Cockney accent: