Page:Ulysses, 1922.djvu/244

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and putting up their props. From the sidemirrors two mourning Masters
Dignam gaped silently. Myler Keogh, Dublin’s pet lamb, will meet sergeant
major Bennett, the Portobello bruiser, for a purse of fifty sovereigns, Gob,
that’d be a good pucking match to see. Myler Keogh, that’s the chap sparring
out to him with the green sash. Two bar entrance, soldiers half price. I could
easy do a bunk on ma. Master Dignam on his left turned as he turned. That’s
me in mourning. When is it? May the twentysecond. Sure, the blooming
thing is all over. He turned to the right and on his right Master Dignam
turned, his cap awry, his collar sticking up. Buttoning it down, his chin
lifted, he saw the image of Marie Kendall, charming soubrette, beside the two
puckers. One of them mots that do be in the packets of fags Stoer smokes that
his old fellow welted hell out of him for one time he found out.
       Master Dignam got his collar down and dawdled on. The best pucker going
for strength was Fitzsimons. One puck in the wind from that fellow would knock
you into the middle of next week, man. But the best pucker for science was Jem
Corbet before Fitzsimons knocked the stuffings out of him, dodging and all.
       In Grafton street Master Dignam saw a red flower in a toff’s mouth and a
swell pair of kicks on him and he listening to what the drunk was telling him
and grinning all the time.
       No Sandymount tram.
       Master Dignam walked along Nassau street, shifted the porksteaks to his
other hand. His collar sprang up again and he tugged it down. The blooming
stud was too small for the buttonhole of the shirt, blooming end to it. He met
schoolboys with satchels. I’m not going tomorrow either, stay away till
Monday. He met other schoolboys. Do they notice I’m in mourning? Uncle
Barney said he’d get it into the paper tonight. Then they’ll all see it in the
paper and read my name printed and pa’s name.
       His face got all grey instead of being red like it was and there was a fly
walking over it up to his eye. The scrunch that was when they were screwing
the screws into the coffin : and the bumps when they were bringing it downstairs.
       Pa was inside it and ma crying in the parlour and uncle Barney telling
the men how to get it round the bend. A big coffin it was, and high and
heavylooking. How was that? The last night pa was boosed he was standing on
the landing there bawling out for his boots to go out to Tunney’s for to boose
more and he looked butty and short in his shirt. Never see him again. Death,
that is. Pa is dead. My father is dead. He told me to be a good son to ma.
I couldn’t hear the other things he said but I saw his tongue and his teeth