Ulysses
cracked his skull on the cobblestones. I oughtn’t to have got
myself swept along with those medicals. And the Trinity
jibs in their mortarboards. Looking for trouble. Still I got
to know that young Dixon who dressed that sting for me in
the Mater and now he’s in Holles street where Mrs Purefoy.
Wheels within wheels. Police whistle in my ears still. All
skedaddled. Why he fixed on me. Give me in charge. Right
here it began.
—Up the Boers!
—Three cheers for De Wet!
—We’ll hang Joe Chamberlain on a sourapple tree.
Silly billies: mob of young cubs yelling their guts out.
Vinegar hill. The Butter exchange band. Few years’ time
half of them magistrates and civil servants. War comes on:
into the army helterskelter: same fellows used to. Whether
on the scaffold high.
Never know who you’re talking to. Corny Kelleher he has
Harvey Duff in his eye. Like that Peter or Denis or James
Carey that blew the gaff on the invincibles. Member of the
corporation too. Egging raw youths on to get in the know
all the time drawing secret service pay from the castle. Drop
him like a hot potato. Why those plainclothes men are al-
ways courting slaveys. Easily twig a man used to uniform.
Squarepushing up against a backdoor. Maul her a bit. Then
the next thing on the menu. And who is the gentleman does
be visiting there? Was the young master saying anything?
Peeping Tom through the keyhole. Decoy duck. Hotblood-
ed young student fooling round her fat arms ironing.
—Are those yours, Mary?