Me? says Alf. Don't cast your nasturtiums on my character.
-- Whatever statement you make, says Joe, will be taken down in evidence against you.
-- Of course an action would lie, says J. J. It implies that he is not compos mentis. U. p. up.
-- Compos your eye! says Alf, laughing. Do you know that he's balmy? Look at his head. Do you know that some mornings he has to get his hat on with a shoehorn?
-- Yes, says J. J., but the truth of a libel is no defence to an indictment for publishing it in the eyes of the law.
-- Ha, ha, Alf, says Joe.
-- Still, says Bloom, on account of the poor woman, I mean his wife.
-- Pity about her, says the citizen. Or any other woman marries a half and half.
-- How half and half? says Bloom. Do you mean he.
-- Half and half I mean, says the citizen. A fellow that's neither fish nor flesh.
-- Nor good red herring, says Joe.
-- That what's I mean, says the citizen. A pishogue, if you know what that is.
Begob I saw there was trouble coming. And Bloom explained he meant, on account of it being cruel for the wife having to go round after the old stuttering fool. Cruelty to animals so it is to let that bloody povertystricken Breen out on grass with his beard out tripping him, bringing down the rain. And she with her nose cockahoop after she married him because a cousin of his old fellow's was pew opener to the pope. Picture of him on the wall with his smashall sweeney's moustaches. The signor Brini from Summerhill, the eyetallyano, papal zouave to the Holy Father, has left the quay and gone to Moss street. And who was he, tell us? A nobody, two pair back and passages, at seven shillings a week, and he covered with all kinds of breastplates bidding defiance to the world.
-- And moreover, says J. J., a postcard is publication. It was held to be sufficient evidence of malice in the testcase Sadgrove v. Hole. In my opinion an action might lie.
Six and eightpence, please. Who wants your opinion? Let us drink our pints in peace. Gob, we won't be let even do that much itself.
-- Well, good health, Jack, says Ned.
-- Good health, Ned, says J. J.
-- There he is again, says Joe.
-- Where? says Alf.
And begob there he was passing the door with his books under his oxter and the wife beside him and Corny Kelleher with his wall eye looking in as they went past, talking to him like a father, trying to sell him a secondhand coffin.
-- How did that Canada swindle case go off? says Joe.
-- Remanded, says J. J.