The Playboy of the Western World

epub:type="z3998:persona">Shawn’s hat on Christy. Fit them clothes on you anyhow, young fellow, and he’d maybe loan them to you for the sports. Pushing him towards inner door. Fit them on and you can give your answer when you have them tried. Christy Beaming, delighted with the clothes. I will then. I’d like herself to see me in them tweeds and hat. He goes into room and shuts the door. Shawn In great anxiety. He’d like herself to see them. He’ll not leave us, Widow Quin. He’s a score of divils in him the way it’s well nigh certain he will wed Pegeen. Widow Quin Jeeringly. It’s true all girls are fond of courage and do hate the like of you. Shawn Walking about in desperation. Oh, Widow Quin, what’ll I be doing now? I’d inform again him, but he’d burst from Kilmainham and he’d be sure and certain to destroy me. If I wasn’t so God-fearing, I’d near have courage to come behind him and run a pike into his side. Oh, it’s a hard case to be an orphan and not to have your father that you’re used to, and you’d easy kill and make yourself a hero in the sight of all. Coming up to her. Oh, Widow Quin, will you find me some contrivance when I’ve promised you a ewe? Widow Quin A ewe’s a small thing, but what would you give me if I did wed him and did save you so? Shawn With astonishment. You? Widow Quin Aye. Would you give me the red cow you have and the mountainy ram, and the right of way across your rye path, and a load of dung at Michaelmas, and turbary upon the western hill? Shawn Radiant with hope. I would surely, and I’d give you the wedding ring I have, and the loan of a new suit, the way you’d have him decent on the wedding-day. I’d give you two kids for your dinner, and a gallon of poteen, and I’d call the piper on the long car to your wedding from Crossmolina or from Ballina. I’d give you.⁠ ⁠… Widow Quin That’ll do so, and let you whisht, for he’s coming now again. Christy comes in very natty in the new clothes. Widow Quin goes to him admiringly. Widow Quin If you seen yourself now, I’m thinking you’d be too proud to speak to us at all, and it’d be a pity surely to have your like sailing from Mayo to the Western World. Christy As proud as a peacock. I’m not going. If this is a poor place itself, I’ll make myself contented to be lodging here. Widow Quin makes a sign to Shawn to leave them. Shawn Well, I’m going measuring the racecourse while the tide is low, so I’ll leave you the garments and my blessing for the sports today. God bless you! He wriggles out. Widow Quin Admiring Christy. Well, you’re mighty spruce, young fellow. Sit down now while you’re quiet till you talk with me. Christy Swaggering. I’m going abroad on the hillside for to seek Pegeen. Widow Quin You’ll have time and plenty for to seek Pegeen, and you heard me saying at the fall of night the two of us should be great company. Christy From this out I’ll have no want of company when all sorts is bringing me their food and clothing, He swaggers to the door, tightening his belt. the way they’d set their eyes upon a gallant orphan cleft his father with one blow to the breeches belt. 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 amazement. God 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 It was my own son hit me, and he the divil a robber, or anything else, but a dirty, stuttering lout. Widow Quin Letting go his skull and wiping her hands in her apron. You’d best be wary of a mortified scalp, I think they call it, lepping around with that wound in the splendour of the sun. It was a bad blow surely, and you should have vexed him fearful to make him strike that gash in his da. Mahon Is it me? Widow Quin Amusing herself. Aye. And isn’t it a great shame when the old and hardened do torment the young? Mahon Raging. Torment him is it? And I after holding out with the patience of a martyred saint till there’s nothing but destruction on, and I’m driven out in my