Ulysses
part and parcel of the same thing. A Palgrave Murphy boat
was put off the ways at Alexandra basin, the only launch
that year. Right enough the harbours were there only no
ships ever called.
There were wrecks and wreckers, the keeper said, who
was evidently au fait.
What he wanted to ascertain was why that ship ran bang
against the only rock in Galway bay when the Galway har-
bour scheme was mooted by a Mr Worthington or some
name like that, eh? Ask the then captain, he advised them,
how much palmoil the British government gave him for that
day’s work, Captain John Lever of the Lever Line.
—Am I right, skipper? he queried of the sailor, now
returning after his private potation and the rest of his ex-
ertions.
That worthy picking up the scent of the fagend of the
song or words growled in wouldbe music but with great
vim some kind of chanty or other in seconds or thirds. Mr
Bloom’s sharp ears heard him then expectorate the plug
probably (which it was), so that he must have lodged it for
the time being in his fist while he did the drinking and
making water jobs and found it a bit sour after the liquid
fire in question. Anyhow in he rolled after his successful li-
bation-cum-potation, introducing an atmosphere of drink
into the soirée, boisterously trolling, like a veritable son of
a seacook:—The biscuits was as hard as brass
And the beef as salt as Lot’s wife’s arse.