(He opens door, then staggers back.)
Saints of glory! Holy angels from the throne of light!
WIDOW QUIN -- [going over.] -- What ails you?
CHRISTY. It's the walking spirit of my murdered da?
WIDOW QUIN -- [looking out.] -- Is it that tramper?
CHRISTY -- [wildly.] Where'll I hide my poor body from that ghost of hell?
[The door is pushed open, and old Mahon appears on threshold. Christy darts
in behind door.]
WIDOW QUIN -- [in great amusement.] -- Cod save you, my poor man.
MAHON -- [gruffly.] Did you see a young lad passing this way in the early
morning or the fall of night?
WIDOW QUIN. You're a queer kind to walk in not saluting at all.
MAHON. Did you see the young lad?
WIDOW QUIN -- [stiffly.] What kind was he?
MAHON. An ugly young streeler with a murderous gob on him, and a little
switch in his hand. I met a tramper seen him coming this way at the fall of
night.
WIDOW QUIN. There's harvest hundreds do be passing these days for the Sligo
boat. For what is it you're wanting him, my poor man?
MAHON. I want to destroy him for breaking the head on me with the clout of a
loy. (He takes off a big hat, and shows his head in a mass of bandages and
plaster, with some pride.) It was he did that, and amn't I a great wonder to
think I've traced him ten days with that rent in my crown?
WIDOW QUIN -- [taking his head in both hands and examining it with extreme
delight.] -- That was a great blow. And who hit you? A robber maybe?
MAHON.
Pages:
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60