—Go on, Temple, said a stout ruddy student near him. I’ll stand you a pint after. —I’m a believer in universal brotherhood, said Temple, glancing about him out of his dark oval eyes. Marx is only a bloody cod. Cranly gripped his arm tightly to check his tongue, smiling uneasily, and repeated: —Easy, easy, easy! Temple struggled to free his arm but continued, his mouth flecked by a thin foam: —Socialism was founded by an Irishman and the first man in Europe who preached the freedom of thought was Collins. Two hundred years ago. He denounced priestcraft, the philosopher of Middlesex. Three cheers for John Anthony Collins! A thin voice from the verge of the ring replied: —Pip! pip! Moynihan murmured beside Stephen’s ear: —And what about John Anthony’s poor little sister: Lottie Collins lost her drawers; Won’t you kindly lend her yours? Stephen laughed and Moynihan, pleased with the result, murmured again: —We’ll have five bob each way on John Anthony Collins. —I am waiting for your answer, said MacCann briefly. —The affair doesn’t interest me in the least, said Stephen wearily. You know that well. Why do you make a scene about it? —Good! said MacCann, smacking his lips. You are a reactionary, then? —Do you think you impress me, Stephen asked, when you flourish your wooden sword? —Metaphors! said MacCann bluntly. Come to facts. Stephen blushed and turned aside. MacCann stood his ground and said with hostile humour: —Minor poets, I suppose, are above such trivial questions as the question of universal peace. Cranly raised his head and held the handball between the two students by way of a peaceoffering, saying: —_Pax super totum sanguinarium globum._ Stephen, moving away the bystanders, jerked his shoulder angrily in the direction of the Tsar’s image, saying: —Keep your icon. If we must have a Jesus let us have a legitimate Jesus. —By hell, that’s a good one! said the gipsy student to those about him, that’s a fine expression. I like that expression immensely. He gulped down the spittle in his throat as if he were gulping down the phrase and, fumbling at the peak of his tweed cap, turned to Stephen, saying: —Excuse me, sir, what do you mean by that expression you uttered just now? Feeling himself jostled by the students near him, he said to them: —I am curious to know now what he meant by that expression. He turned again to Stephen and said in a whisper: —Do you believe in Jesus? I believe in man. Of course, I don’t know if you believe in man. I admire you, sir. I admire the mind of man independent of all religions. Is that your opinion about the mind of Jesus? —Go on, Temple, said the stout ruddy student, returning, as was his wont, to his first idea, that pint is waiting for you. —He thinks I’m an imbecile, Temple explained to Stephen, because I’m a believer in the power of mind. Cranly linked his arms into those of Stephen and his admirer and said: —_Nos ad manum ballum jocabimus._