Ulysses
*
Tom Rochford took the top disk from the pile he clasped
against his claret waistcoat.
—See? he said. Say it’s turn six. In here, see. Turn Now
On.
He slid it into the left slot for them. It shot down the
groove, wobbled a while, ceased, ogling them: six.
Lawyers of the past, haughty, pleading, beheld pass from
the consolidated taxing office to Nisi Prius court Rich-
ie Goulding carrying the costbag of Goulding, Collis and
Ward and heard rustling from the admiralty division of
king’s bench to the court of appeal an elderly female with
false teeth smiling incredulously and a black silk skirt of
great amplitude.
—See? he said. See now the last one I put in is over here:
Turns Over. The impact. Leverage, see?
He showed them the rising column of disks on the
right.
—Smart idea, Nosey Flynn said, snuffling. So a fellow
coming in late can see what turn is on and what turns are
over.
—See? Tom Rochford said.
He slid in a disk for himself: and watched it shoot, wob-
ble, ogle, stop: four. Turn Now On.
—I’ll see him now in the Ormond, Lenehan said, and
sound him. One good turn deserves another.
—Do, Tom Rochford said. Tell him I’m Boylan with im-
patience.