It was his first Christmas dinner and he thought of his little brothers
and sisters who were waiting in the nursery, as he had often waited,
till the pudding came. The deep low collar and the Eton jacket made him
feel queer and oldish: and that morning when his mother had brought him
down to the parlour, dressed for mass, his father had cried. That was
because he was thinking of his own father. And uncle Charles had said
so too.
Mr Dedalus covered the dish and began to eat hungrily. Then he said:
--Poor old Christy, he's nearly lopsided now with roguery.
--Simon, said Mrs Dedalus, you haven't given Mrs Riordan any sauce.
Mr Dedalus seized the sauceboat.
--Haven't I? he cried. Mrs Riordan, pity the poor blind. Dante covered
her plate with her hands and said:
--No, thanks.
Mr Dedalus turned to uncle Charles.
--How are you off, sir?
--Right as the mail, Simon.
--You, John?
--I'm all right. Go on yourself.
--Mary? Here, Stephen, here's something to make your hair curl.
He poured sauce freely over Stephen's plate and set the boat again on
the table. Then he asked uncle Charles was it tender. Uncle Charles
could not speak because his mouth was full; but he nodded that it was.
--That was a good answer our friend made to the canon.
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