―Come along with me to the subsheriff’s office, he said. I want to show you the new beauty Rock has for a bailiff. He’s a cross between Lobengula and Lynchehaun. He’s well worth seeing, mind you. Come along. I saw John Henry Menton casually in the Bodega just now and it will cost me a fall if I don’t … wait awhile … We’re on the right lay, Bob, believe you me.
―For a few days tell him, Father Cowley said anxiously.
Ben Dollard halted and stared, his loud orifice open, a dangling button of his coat wagging brightbacked from its thread as he wiped away the heavy shraums that clogged his eyes to hear aright.
―What few days? he boomed. Hasn’t your landlord distrained for rent?
―He has, Father Cowley said.
―Then our friend’s writ is not worth the paper it’s printed on, Ben Dollard said. The landlord has the prior claim. I gave him all the particulars. 29 Windsor avenue. Love is the name?
―That’s right, Father Cowley said. The reverend Mr Love. He’s a minister in the country somewhere. But are you sure of that?
―You can tell Barabbas from me, Ben Dollard said, that he can put that writ where Jacko put the nuts.
He led Father Cowley boldly forward linked to his bulk.
―Filberts I believe they were, Mr Dedalus said, as he dropped his glasses on his coatfront, following them.
―The youngster will be all right, Martin Cunningham said, as they passed out of the Castleyard gate.
The policeman touched his forehead.