But he spent most of his time in trying to prevent himself from thinking.
However, from his window, the street views now were usually interesting; he was an unconvinced spectator of the mob which started for the _Daily News_ office, hissing, cat-calling, yelling: "Show your colours!" "Run up your colours!" He saw the mob visit the _Journal of Commerce_, and then turn on the _Herald_, yelling insult and bellowing threats which promptly inspired that journal to execute a political flip-flap that set the entire city smiling.
Stephen, who had conceived a younger man's furtive admiration for Berkley and his rumoured misdemeanours, often came into his room when opportunity offered.

That morning he chanced in for a moment and found Berkley at the window chewing the end of a pencil, perhaps in lieu of the cigar he could no longer afford.
"These are spectacular times," observed the latter, with a gesture toward the street below.

"Observe yonder ladylike warrior in brand-new regimentals.

Apparently, Stephen, he's a votary of Mars and pants for carnage; but in reality he continues to remain the sartorial artist whose pants are more politely emitted.

He emitted these--" patting his trousers with a ruler.