(She shuts the door behind
her. He settles his bed slowly, feeling the quilt with immense satisfaction.]
-- Well, it's a clean bed and soft with it, and it's great luck and company
I've won me in the end of time -- two fine women fighting for the likes of me
-- till I'm thinking this night wasn't I a foolish fellow not to kill my
father in the years gone by.
CURTAIN
ACT II.
SCENE, [as before. Brilliant morning light. Christy, looking bright and
cheerful, is cleaning a girl's boots.]
CHRISTY -- [to himself, counting jugs on dresser.] -- Half a hundred beyond.
Ten there. A score that's above. Eighty jugs. Six cups and a broken one.
Two plates. A power of glasses. Bottles, a school-master'd be hard set to
count, and enough in them, I'm thinking, to drunken all the wealth and wisdom
of the County Clare. (He puts down the boot carefully.) There's her boots
now, nice and decent for her evening use, and isn't it grand brushes she has?
(He puts them down and goes by degrees to the looking-glass.) Well, this'd be
a fine place to be my whole life talking out with swearing Christians, in
place of my old dogs and cat, and I stalking around, smoking my pipe and
drinking my fill, and never a day's work but drawing a cork an odd time, or
wiping a glass, or rinsing out a shiny tumbler for a decent man. (He takes
the looking-glass from the wall and puts it on the back of a chair; then sits
down in front of it and begins washing his face.) Didn't I know rightly I was
handsome, though it was the divil's own mirror we had beyond, would twist a
squint across an angel's brow; and I'll be growing fine from this day, the way
I'll have a soft lovely skin on me and won't be the like of the clumsy young
fellows do be ploughing all times in the earth and dung.
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