depicted in Maritana on which occasion the former’s ball passed through
the latter’s hat), having detected a discrepancy between his name (assuming
he was the person he represented himself to be and not sailing under false
colours after having boxed the compass on the strict q. t. somewhere), and the
fictitious addressee of the missive which made him nourish some suspicions of our
friend’s bona fides nevertheless it reminded him in a way of a longcherished
plan he meant to one day realise some Wednesday or Saturday of travelling
to London via long sea not to say that he had ever travelled extensively to
any great extent but he was at heart a born adventurer though by a trick of
fate he had consistently remained a landlubber except you call going to
Holyhead which was his longest. Martin Cunningham frequently said he
would work a pass through Egan but some deuced hitch or other eternally
cropped up with the net result that the scheme fell through. But even suppose
it did come to planking down the needful and breaking Boyd’s heart it was not
so dear, purse permitting, a few guineas at the outside, considering the fare to
Mullingar where he figured on going was five and six there and back. The trip
would benefit health on account of the bracing ozone and be in every way
thoroughly pleasurable, especially for a chap whose liver was out of order, seeing
the different places along the route, Plymouth, Falmouth, Southampton and
so on, culminating in an instructive tour of the sights of the great metropolis,
the spectacle of our modern Babylon where doubtless he would see the greatest
improvement tower, abbey, wealth of Park Lane to renew acquaintance with.
Another thing just struck him as a by no means bad notion was he might
have a gaze around on the spot to see about trying to make arrangements about
a concert tour of summer music embracing the most prominent pleasure resorts,
Margate with mixed bathing and firstrate hydros and spas, Eastbourne,
Scarborough, Margate and so on, beautiful Bournemouth, the Channel
islands and similar bijou spots, which might prove highly remunerative.
Not, of course, with a hole and corner scratch company or local ladies on
the job, witness Mrs C. P. M’Coy type — lend me your valise and I’ll post
you the ticket. No, something top notch, an all star Irish caste, the Tweedy-
Flower grand opera company with its own legal consort as leading lady as a
sort of counterblast to the Elster Grimes and Moody-Manners, perfectly simple
matter and he was quite sanguine of success, providing puffs in the local
papers could be managed by some fellow with a bit of bounce who could pull
the indispensable wires and thus combine business with pleasure. But who?
That was the rub.
Page:Ulysses, 1922.djvu/585
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