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longer.
—You pique my curiosity, Haines said amiably. Is it some
paradox?
—Pooh! Buck Mulligan said. We have grown out of Wil-
de and paradoxes. It’s quite simple. He proves by algebra
that Hamlet’s grandson is Shakespeare’s grandfather and
that he himself is the ghost of his own father.
—What? Haines said, beginning to point at Stephen. He
himself?
Buck Mulligan slung his towel stolewise round his neck
and, bending in loose laughter, said to Stephen’s ear:
—O, shade of Kinch the elder! Japhet in search of a fa-
ther!
—We’re always tired in the morning, Stephen said to
Haines. And it is rather long to tell.
Buck Mulligan, walking forward again, raised his
hands.
—The sacred pint alone can unbind the tongue of Deda-
lus, he said.
—I mean to say, Haines explained to Stephen as they fol-
lowed, this tower and these cliffs here remind me somehow
of Elsinore. That beetles o’er his base into the sea, isn’t it?
Buck Mulligan turned suddenly. for an instant towards
Stephen but did not speak. In the bright silent instant Ste-
phen saw his own image in cheap dusty mourning between
their gay attires.
—It’s a wonderful tale, Haines said, bringing them to
halt again.
Eyes, pale as the sea the wind had freshened, paler, firm