—Talking about violent exercise, says Alf, were you at that Keogh-Bennett match?
—No, says Joe.
—I heard So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says Alf.
—Who? Blazes? says Joe.
And says Bloom:
—What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye.
—Ay, Blazes, says Alf. He let out that Myler was on the beer to run up the odds and he swatting all the time.
—We know him, says the citizen. The traitor's son. We know what put English gold in his pocket.
—-True for you, says Joe.
And Bloom cuts in again about lawn tennis and the circulation of the blood, asking Alf:
—Now, don't you think, Bergan?
—Myler dusted the floor with him, says Alf. Heenan and Sayers was only a b****y fool to it. Handed him the father and mother of a beating. See the little kipper
