old man
to Stephen. Do you know that?

--Are you? asked Stephen.

--Bedad I am, said the little old man. I have two bouncing
grandchildren out at Sunday's Well. Now, then! What age do you think I
am? And I remember seeing your grandfather in his red coat riding out
to hounds. That was before you were born.

--Ay, or thought of, said Mr Dedalus.

--Bedad I did, repeated the little old man. And, more than that, I can
remember even your great-grandfather, old John Stephen Dedalus, and a
fierce old fire-eater he was. Now, then! There's a memory for you!

--That's three generations--four generations, said another of the
company. Why, Johnny Cashman, you must be nearing the century.

--Well, I'll tell you the truth, said the little old man. I'm just
twenty-seven years of age.

--We're as old as we feel, Johnny, said Mr Dedalus. And just finish
what you have there and we'll have another. Here, Tim or Tom or
whatever your name is, give us the same again here. By God, I don't
feel more than eighteen myself. There's that son of mine there not half
my age and I'm a better man than he is any day of the week.

--Draw it mild now, Dedalus. I think it's time for you to take a back
seat, said the gentleman who had spoken before.

--No, by God! asserted Mr Dedalus. I'll sing a tenor song against him
or I'll vault a five-barred gate against him or I'll run with him after
the hounds across the country as I did thirty years ago along with the
Kerry Boy and the best man for it.

--But he'll beat you here, said the little old man, tapping his
forehead and raising his glass to drain it.

--Well, I hope he'll be as good a man as his father. That's all I can
say, said Mr Dedalus.

--If he is, he'll do, said the little old man.

--And thanks be to God, Johnny, said Mr Dedalus, that we lived so long
and did so little harm.

--But did so much good, Simon, said the little old man gravely. Thanks
be to God we lived so long and did so much good.

Stephen watched the three glasses being raised from the counter as his
father and his two cronies drank to the memory of their past. An abyss
of fortune or of temperament sundered him from them. His mind seemed
older than theirs: it shone coldly on their strifes and happiness and
regrets like a moon upon a younger earth. No life or youth stirred in
him as it had stirred in them. He had known neither the pleasure of
companionship with others nor the vigour of rude male health nor filial
p