The Annotated "Ulysses"/Page 099
— I was down there for the, Cork park races on Easter Monday, Ned
Lambert said. Same old six and eightpence. Stopped with Dick Tivy.
— And how is Dick, the solid man?
— Nothing between himself and heaven, Ned Lambert answered.
— By the holy Paul! Mr Dedalus said in subdued wonder. Dick Tivy
bald?
— Martin is going to get up a whip for the youngsters, Ned Lambert said,
pointing ahead. A few bob a skull. Just to keep them going till the insurance
is cleared up.
— Yes, yes, Mr Dedalus said dubiously. Is that the eldest boy in front?
— Yes, Ned Lambert said, with the wife’s brother. John Henry Menton is
behind. He put down his name for a quid.
— I’ll engage he did, Mr Dedalus said. I often told poor Paddy he ought
to mind that job. John Henry is not the worst in the world.
— How did he lose it? Ned Lambert asked. Liquor, what?
— Many a good man’s fault, Mr Dedalus said with a sigh.
They halted about the door of the mortuary chapel. Mr Bloom stood
behind the boy with the wreath, looking down at his sleek combed hair and
the slender furrowed neck inside his brandnew collar. Poor boy! Was he there
when the father? Both unconscious. Lighten up at the last moment and
recognise for the last time. All he might have done. I owe three shillings to
O’Grady. Would he understand? The mutes bore the coffin into the chapel.
Which end is his head?
After a moment he followed the others in, blinking in the screened light.
The coffin lay on its bier before the chancel four tall yellow candles at its
corners. Always in front of us. Corny Kelleher, laying a wreath at each fore
corner, beckoned to the boy to kneel. The mourners knelt here and there in
praying desks. Mr Bloom stood behind near the font and, when all had knelt
dropped carefully his unfolded newspaper from his pocket and knelt his right
knee upon it. He fitted his black hat gently on his left knee and, holding its
brim, bent over piously.
A server, bearing a brass bucket with something in it, came out through
a door. The whitesmocked priest came after him tidying his stole with one
hand, balancing with the other a little book against his toad’s belly. Who’ll
read the book? I, said the rook.
They halted by the bier and the priest began to read out of his book with
a fluent croak.