Cranly came out through the door of the entrance hall, his hat thrust back on the nape of his neck and picking his teeth with care. —And here’s the wiseacre, said Temple. Do you know that about the Forsters? He paused for an answer. Cranly dislodged a figseed from his teeth on the point of his rude toothpick and gazed at it intently. —The Forster family, Temple said, is descended from Baldwin the First, king of Flanders. He was called the Forester. Forester and Forster are the same name. A descendant of Baldwin the First, captain Francis Forster, settled in Ireland and married the daughter of the last chieftain of Clanbrassil. Then there are the Blake Forsters. That’s a different branch. —From Baldhead, king of Flanders, Cranly repeated, rooting again deliberately at his gleaming uncovered teeth. —Where did you pick up all that history? O’Keeffe asked. —I know all the history of your family, too, Temple said, turning to Stephen. Do you know what Giraldus Cambrensis says about your family? —Is he descended from Baldwin too? asked a tall consumptive student with dark eyes. —Baldhead, Cranly repeated, sucking at a crevice in his teeth. —_Pernobilis et pervetusta familia,_ Temple said to Stephen. The stout student who stood below them on the steps farted briefly. Dixon turned towards him, saying in a soft voice: —Did an angel speak? Cranly turned also and said vehemently but without anger: —Goggins, you’re the flamingest dirty devil I ever met, do you know. —I had it on my mind to say that, Goggins answered firmly. It did no one any harm, did it? —We hope, Dixon said suavely, that it was not of the kind known to science as a _paulo post futurum._ —Didn’t I tell you he was a smiler? said Temple, turning right and left. Didn’t I give him that name? —You did. We’re not deaf, said the tall consumptive. Cranly still frowned at the stout student below him. Then, with a snort of disgust, he shoved him violently down the steps. —Go away from here, he said rudely. Go away, you stinkpot. And you are a stinkpot. Goggins skipped down on to the gravel and at once returned to his place with good humour. Temple turned back to Stephen and asked: —Do you believe in the law of heredity? —Are you drunk or what are you or what are you trying to say? asked Cranly, facing round on him with an expression of wonder. —The most profound sentence ever written, Temple said with enthusiasm, is the sentence at the end of the zoology. Reproduction is the beginning of death. He touched Stephen timidly at the elbow and said eagerly: —Do you feel how profound that is because you are a poet? Cranly pointed his long forefinger. —Look at him! he said with scorn to the others. Look at Ireland’s hope! They laughed at his words and gesture. Temple turned on him bravely, saying: —Cranly, you’re always sneering at me. I can see that. But I am as good as you any day. Do you know what I think about you now as compared with myself?