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           Hehimself?

           BuckMulliganslunghistowelstolewiseroundhisneckand,bendinginlooselaughter,saidtoStephen’sear:

           —O,shadeofKinchtheelder!Japhetinsearchofafather!

           —We’realwaystiredinthemorning,StephensaidtoHaines.Anditisratherlongtotell.

           BuckMulligan,walkingforwardagain,raisedhishands.

           —ThesacredpintalonecanunbindthetongueofDedalus,hesaid.

           —Imeantosay,HainesexplainedtoStephenastheyfollowed,thistowerandthesecliffshereremindmesomehowofElsinore.Thatbeetleso’erhisbaseintothesea,isn’tit?

           BuckMulliganturnedsuddenlyforaninstanttowardsStephenbutdidnotspeak.InthebrightsilentinstantStephensawhisownimageincheapdustymourningbetweentheirgayattires.

           —It’sawonderfultale,Hainessaid,bringingthemtohaltagain.

           Eyes,paleastheseathewindhadfreshened,paler,firmandprudent.Theseas’ruler,hegazedsouthwardoverthebay,emptysaveforthesmokeplumeofthemailboatvagueonthebrightskylineandasailtackingbytheMuglins.

           —Ireadatheologicalinterpretationofitsomewhere,hesaidbemused.TheFatherandtheSonidea.TheSonstrivingtobeatonedwiththeFather.

           BuckMulliganatonceputonablithebroadlysmilingface.Helookedatthem,hiswellshapedmouthopenhappily,hiseyes,fromwhichhehadsuddenlywithdrawnallshrewdsense,blinkingwithmadgaiety.Hemovedadoll’sheadtoandfro,thebrimsofhisPanamahatquivering,andbegantochantinaquiethappyfoolishvoice:

           —I’mthequeerestyoungfellowthateveryouheard.