Улисс

           —Iforesee,MrDeasysaid,thatyouwillnotremainhereverylongatthiswork.Youwerenotborntobeateacher,Ithink.PerhapsIamwrong.

           —Alearnerrather,Stephensaid.

           Andherewhatwillyoulearnmore?

           MrDeasyshookhishead.

           —Whoknows?hesaid.Tolearnonemustbehumble.Butlifeisthegreatteacher.

           Stephenrustledthesheetsagain.

           —Asregardsthese,hebegan.

           —Yes,MrDeasysaid.Youhavetwocopiesthere.Ifyoucanhavethempublishedatonce.

           Telegraph.IrishHomestead.

           —Iwilltry,Stephensaid,andletyouknowtomorrow.Iknowtwoeditorsslightly.

           —Thatwilldo,MrDeasysaidbriskly.IwrotelastnighttoMrField,M.P.Thereisameetingofthecattletraders’associationtodayattheCityArmshotel.Iaskedhimtolaymyletterbeforethemeeting.Youseeifyoucangetitintoyourtwopapers.Whatarethey?

           —TheEveningTelegraph...

           —Thatwilldo,MrDeasysaid.Thereisnotimetolose.NowIhavetoanswerthatletterfrommycousin.

           —Goodmorning,sir,Stephensaid,puttingthesheetsinhispocket.Thankyou.

           —Notatall,MrDeasysaidashesearchedthepapersonhisdesk.Iliketobreakalancewithyou,oldasIam.

           —Goodmorning,sir,Stephensaidagain,bowingtohisbentback.

           Hewentoutbytheopenporchanddownthegravelpathunderthetrees,hearingthecriesofvoicesandcrackofsticksfromtheplayfield.Thelionscouchantonthepillarsashepassedoutthroughthegate:toothlessterrors.StillIwillhelphiminhisfight.Mulliganwilldubmeanewname:thebullockbefriendingbard.

           —MrDedalus!

           Runningafterme.Nomoreletters,Ihope