Stephen, taking his ashplant from its leaningplace, followed them out and, as they went down the ladder, pulled to the slow iron door and locked it. He put the huge key in his inner pocket.
At the foot of the ladder Buck Mulligan asked:
―Did you bring the key?
―I have it, Stephen said, preceding them.
He walked on. Behind him he heard Buck Mulligan club with his heavy bathtowel the leader shoots of ferns or grasses.
―Down, sir. How dare you, sir.
Haines asked:
―Do you pay rent for this tower?
―Twelve quid, Buck Mulligan said.
―To the secretary of state for war, Stephen added over his shoulder.
They halted while Haines surveyed the tower and said at last:
―Rather bleak in wintertime, I should say. Martello you call it?
―Billy Pitt had them built, Buck Mulligan said, when the French were on the sea. But ours is the omphalos .
―What is your idea of Hamlet? Haines asked Stephen.
―No, no, Buck Mulligan shouted in pain. I’m not equal to Thomas Aquinas and the fiftyfive reasons he has made to prop it up. Wait till I have a few pints in me first.
He turned to Stephen, saying as he pulled down neatly the peaks of his primrose waistcoat: