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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Улисс
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- Стр. 402/821
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—
How
do
you
do
,
Mr
Dollard
?
—
Eh
?
How
do
?
How
do
?
Ben
Dollard
’
s
vague
bass
answered
,
turning
an
instant
from
Father
Cowley
’
s
woe
.
He
won
’
t
give
you
any
trouble
,
Bob
.
Alf
Bergan
will
speak
to
the
long
fellow
.
We
’
ll
put
a
barleystraw
in
that
Judas
Iscariot
’
s
ear
this
time
.
Sighing
Mr
Dedalus
came
through
the
saloon
,
a
finger
soothing
an
eyelid
.
—
Hoho
,
we
will
,
Ben
Dollard
yodled
jollily
.
Come
on
,
Simon
.
Give
us
a
ditty
.
We
heard
the
piano
.
Bald
Pat
,
bothered
waiter
,
waited
for
drink
orders
.
Power
for
Richie
.
And
Bloom
?
Let
me
see
.
Not
make
him
walk
twice
.
His
corns
.
Four
now
.
How
warm
this
black
is
.
Course
nerves
a
bit
.
Refracts
(
is
it
?
)
heat
.
Let
me
see
.
Cider
.
Yes
,
bottle
of
cider
.
—
What
’
s
that
?
Mr
Dedalus
said
.
I
was
only
vamping
,
man
.
—
Come
on
,
come
on
,
Ben
Dollard
called
.
Begone
dull
care
.
Come
,
Bob
.
He
ambled
Dollard
,
bulky
slops
,
before
them
(
hold
that
fellow
with
the
:
hold
him
now
)
into
the
saloon
.
He
plumped
him
Dollard
on
the
stool
.
His
gouty
paws
plumped
chords
.
Plumped
,
stopped
abrupt
.
Bald
Pat
in
the
doorway
met
tealess
gold
returning
.
Bothered
,
he
wanted
Power
and
cider
.
Bronze
by
the
window
,
watched
,
bronze
from
afar
.
