Which auction rooms

-- Throw him out and shut the door, the editor said. There's a hurricane blowing.
Lenehan began to paw the tissues up from the floor, grunting as he stooped twice.
-- Waiting for the racing special, sir, the newsboy said. It was Pat Farrel shoved me, sir.
He pointed to two faces peering in round the door-frame.
-- Him, sir.
-- Out of this with you, professor MacHugh said gruffly.
He hustled the boy out and banged the door to.
J.J. O'Molloy turned the files crackingly over, murmuring, seeking:
-- Continued on page six, column four.
-- Yes... Evening Telegraph here, Mr Bloom phoned from the inner office. Is the boss... ? Yes, Telegraph... To where?... Aha! Which auction rooms?... Aha! I see... Right. I'll catch him.
A Collision ensues
The bell whirred again as he rang off. He came in quickly and bumped against Lenehan who was struggling up with the second tissue.
-- Pardon, monsieur, Lenehan said, clutching him for an instant and making a grimace.
-- My fault, Mr Bloom said, suffering his grip. Are you hurt? I'm in a hurry.
-- Knee, Lenehan said.
He made a comic face and whined, rubbing his knee.