A tall boy behind Stephen rubbed his hands and said: --That's game ball. What are our ideas or ambitions? Play. Stephen, following his own thought, was silent for an instant. Lynch gazed after him, his lip curling in slow scorn till his face resembled a devil's mask: --To think that that yellow pancake-eating excrement can get a good job, he said at length, and I have to smoke cheap cigarettes! They turned their faces towards Merrion Square and went for a little in silence.