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STEPHEN: Hark! Our friend noise in the street.
ZOE: (Holds up her hand) Stop!
PRIVATE CARR, PRIVATE COMPTON AND CISSY
CAFFREY:
Yet I’ve a sort a
Yorkshire relish for ...ZOE: That’s me. (She claps her hands) Dance! Dance!
(She runs to the pianola) Who has twopence?
BLOOM: Who’ll ...?
LYNCH: (Handing her coins) Here.
STEPHEN: (Cracking his fingers impatiently) Quick!
Quick! Where’s my augur’s rod? (He runs to the piano and
takes his ashplant, beating his foot in tripudium)
ZOE: (Turns the drumhandle) There.
(She drops two pennies in the slot. Gold, pink and violet
lights start forth. The drum turns purring in low hesitation
waltz. Professor Goodwin, in a bowknotted periwig, in court
dress, wearing a stained inverness cape, bent in two from in-
credible age, totters across the room, his hands fluttering. He
sits tinily on the pianostool and lifts and beats handless sticks
of arms on the keyboard, nodding with damsel’s grace, his
bowknot bobbing)
ZOE: (Twirls round herself, heeltapping) Dance. Any-
body here for there? Who’ll dance? Clear the table.
(The pianola with changing lights plays in waltz time the
prelude of My Girl’s a Yorkshire Girl. Stephen throws his
ashplant on the table and seizes Zoe round the waist. Florry