(Tom and Sam Bohee， coloured coons in white duck suits， scarlet socks， upstarched Sambo chokers and lace scarlet asters in their buttonholes leap out. Each has his banjo slung. Their paler smaller negroid hands jingle the twingtwang wires. Flashing white Kaffir eyes and tusks they rattle through a breakdown in clumsy clogs， twinging， singing， back to back， toe heel， heel toe， with smackfatclacking nigger lips.)There's someone in the house with Dina
There's someone in the house， I know，
There's someone in the house with Dina
Playing on the old banjo.
(They whisk black masks from raw babby faces： then， chuckling， chortling， trumming， twanging they diddle diddle cakewalk dance away.)BLOOM (With a sour tenderish smile.) A little frivol， shall we， if you are so inclined？ Would you like me perhaps to embrace you just for a fraction of a second？
MRS BREEN (Screams gaily.) O， you ruck！ You ought to see yourself！
BLOOM For old sake'sake. I only meant a square party， a mixed marriage mingling of our different little conjugials. You know I had a soft corner for you. (Gloomily.) 'Twas I sent you that valentine of the dear gazelle.
MRS BREEN Glory Alice， you do look a holy show！ Killing simply. (She puts out her hand inquisitively.) What are you hiding behind your back？ Tell us， there's a dear.
BLOOM (Seizes her wrist with his free hand.) Josie Powell that was， prettiest deb in Dublin. How time flies by！ Do you remember， harking back in a retrospective arrangement， Old Christmas night Georgina Simpson's housewarming while they were playing the Irving Bishop game， finding the pin blindfold and thoughtreading？ Subject， what is in this snuff box？
MRS BREEN You were the lion of the night with your seriocomic recitation and you looked the part. You were always a favourite with the ladies.
BLOOM (Squire of dames， in dinner jacket， with watered-silk facings， blue masonic badge in his buttonhole， black bow and mother-of-pearl studs， a prismatic champagne glass tilted in his hand.) Ladies and gentlemen， I give you Ireland， home and beauty.
MRS BREEN The dear dead days beyond recall. Love's old sweet song.
BLOOM (Meaningfully dropping his voice.) I confess I'm teapot with curiosity to find out whether some person's something is a little teapot at present.
MRS BREEN (Gushingly.) Tremendously teapot！ London's tea pot and I'm simply teapot all over me. (She rubs sides with him.) After the parlour mystery games and the crackers from the tree we sat on the staircase ottoman. Under the mistletoe. Two is company.
BLOOM (Wearing a purple Napoleon hat with an amber halfmoon， his fingers and thumbs passing slowly down to her soft moist meaty palm which she surrenders gently.) The witching hour of night. I took the splinter out of this hand， carefully， slowly. (Tenderly， as he slips on her finger a ruby ring.) Là ci darem la mano.
MRS BREEN (In a onepiece eveningfrock executed in moonlight blue， a tinsel sylph's diadem on her brow with her dancecard fallen beside her moonblue satin slipper curves her palm softly， breathing quickly.) Voglio e non. You're hot！ You're scalding！ The left hand nearest the heart.
BLOOM When you made your present choice they said it was beauty and the beast. I can never forgive you for that. (His clenched fist at his brow.) Think what it means. All you meant to me then. (Hoarsely.) Woman， it's breaking me！ (Dennis Breen， whitetallhatted， with Wisdom Hely's sandwich board， shuffles past them in cadet slippers， his dull beard thrust out， muttering to right and left. Little Alf Bergan， cloaked in the pall of the ace of spaces， dogs him to left and right， doubled in laughter.)ALF BERGAN (Points jeering at the sandwich boards.) U.p.： Up.
MRS BREEN (To Bloom.) High jinks below stairs. (She gives him the glad eye.) Why didn't you kiss the spot to make it well？ You wanted to.
BLOOM (Shocked.) Molly's best friend！ Could you？
MRS BREEN (Her pulpy tongue between her lips， offers a pigeon kiss.) Hnhn. The answer is a lemon. Have you a little present for me there？
BLOOM (Off handedly.) Kosher. A snack for supper. The home without potted meat is incomplete. I was at Leah. Mrs Bandman Palmer. Trenchant exponent of Shakespeare. Unfortunately threw away the programme. Rattling good place round there for pig's feet. Feel.
(Richie Goulding， three ladies' hats pinned on his head， appears weighted to one side by the black legal bag of Collis and Ward on which a skull and crossbones are painted in white limewash. He ins it and shows it full of polonies， kippered， herrings， Findon haddies and tightpacked pills.)RICHIE Best value in Dub.
(Bald Pat， bothered beetle， stands on the curbstone， folding his napkin， waiting to wait.)PAT (Advances with a tilted dish of spillspilling gravy.) Steak and kidney. Bottle of lager. Hee hee hee. Wait till I wait.
RICHIE Goodgod. Inev erate inall...
(With hanging head he marches doggedly forward. The navvy， lurching by， gores him with his flaming pronghorn.)RICHIE (With a cry of pain， his hand to his back) Ah！ Bright's！ Lights！
BLOOM (Points to the navvy.) A spy. Don't attract attention. I hate stupid crowds. I am not on pleasure bent. I am in a grave predicament.
MRS BREEN Humbugging and delutbering as per usual with your cock and bull story.
BLOOM I want to tell you a little secret about how I came to be here. But you must never tell. Not even Molly. I have a most particular reason.
MRS BREEN (All agog.) O， not for worlds.
BLOOM Let's walk on. Shall us？
MRS BREEN Let's.
(The bawd makes an unheeded sign. Bloom walks on with Mrs Breen. The terrier follows， whining piteously， wagging his tail.)THE BAWD Jewman's melt！
