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John Henry Menton stared at him for an instant without moving . — There , Martin Cunningham helped , pointing also . John Henry Menton took off his hat , bulged out the dinge and smoothed the nap with care on his coatsleeve . He clapped the hat on his head again . — It’s all right now , Martin Cunningham said . John Henry Menton jerked his head down in acknowledgment . — Thank you , he said shortly . They walked on towards the gates . Mr Bloom , chapfallen , drew behind a few paces so as not to overhear . Martin laying down the law . Martin could wind a sappyhead like that round his little finger , without his seeing it . Oyster eyes . Never mind . Be sorry after perhaps when it dawns on him . Get the pull over him that way . Thank you . How grand we are this morning ! [ 7 ] IN THE HEART OF THE HIBERNIAN METROPOLIS Before Nelson’s pillar trams slowed , shunted , changed trolley , started for Blackrock , Kingstown and Dalkey , Clonskea , Rathgar and Terenure , Palmerston Park and upper Rathmines , Sandymount Green , Rathmines , Ringsend and Sandymount Tower , Harold’s Cross . The hoarse Dublin United Tramway Company’s timekeeper bawled them off : — Rathgar and Terenure ! — Come on , Sandymount Green ! Right and left parallel clanging ringing a doubledecker and a singledeck moved from their railheads , swerved to the down line , glided parallel . — Start , Palmerston Park ! THE WEARER OF THE CROWN Under the porch of the general post office shoeblacks called and polished . Parked in North Prince’s street His Majesty’s vermilion mailcars , bearing on their sides the royal initials , E . R . , received loudly flung sacks of letters , postcards , lettercards , parcels , insured and paid , for local , provincial , British and overseas delivery . GENTLEMEN OF THE PRESS Grossbooted draymen rolled barrels dullthudding out of Prince’s stores and bumped them up on the brewery float . On the brewery float bumped dullthudding barrels rolled by grossbooted draymen out of Prince’s stores . — There it is , Red Murray said . Alexander Keyes . — Just cut it out , will you ? Mr Bloom said , and I’ll take it round to the Telegraph office . The door of Ruttledge’s office creaked again . Davy Stephens , minute in a large capecoat , a small felt hat crowning his ringlets , passed out with a roll of papers under his cape , a king’s courier . Red Murray’s long shears sliced out the advertisement from the newspaper in four clean strokes . Scissors and paste . — I’ll go through the printingworks , Mr Bloom said , taking the cut square . — Of course , if he wants a par , Red Murray said earnestly , a pen behind his ear , we can do him one . — Right , Mr Bloom said with a nod . I’ll rub that in . We .
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