“And as a hare, whom hounds and horn pursue, Pants to the place from whence at first she flew, I still had hopes, my long vexations past, Here to return--and die at home at last.” What an autobiography I could give the Scallys, if they’d the wit to let me stay here! A man with the dust of forty countries on his shoes.... _PEGGY comes in with the money._ PEGGY. Three pounds, uncle. Don’t let on to mother. PROF. [_taking it_]. No fear, Peggy. I know your mother of old. [_Puts money in pocket._] PEGGY. Have you had any breakfast? PROF. I don’t know. [_Feels at his stomach._] I don’t think so.... Probably had something to eat yesterday. I’m not a big feeder, Peggy. [_Takes out snuff box_] Have a pinch? Jockey Club. PEGGY. Oh, gracious heavens! Don’t let mother see that. Do you snuff? PROF. That’s obvious. [_Takes snuff._] Clears the head, Peggy. I feel better already.... If your mother wasn’t so hostile I could stay here long enough. Would you mind, Peggy? PEGGY. Not if you behaved yourself.... Whisht! _MRS. S. comes in very warlike._ MRS. S. Are you still here? PROF. That’s obvious. Where did you think I’d be? Evaporated? MRS. S. Have you no spirit left? PROF. I’ve far too much spirit. I’m all spirit. What I want is more physical ability. MRS. S. Oh, you disgrace! You prodigal! You vagabond! That the very smell of the house is insufferable.... PEGGY. It’s only snuff, mother. If you leave him to me he’ll give no trouble. I’ll get him something to eat and he’ll rest and go away. MRS. S. He’ll never break bread in my house! He’ll never sleep under my roof! God only knows where he’s coming from, or what plague he has with him. PROF. My only plague is poverty. A chronic attack of penury. It arises from an absence of brass in the vest pocket. And at my age it’s incurable. _JOHN comes in back._ JOHN. Now, Tim, your own sister won’t have you here. I’ve got my orders to shift you. It’s a dirty job, but you needn’t blame me. I’m only carrying out my orders. Come now, like a good fella. I’ll drive you in to the station and buy you a ticket for some big town.... PROF. You won’t let me stay to rest? MRS. S. No. You’re not fit to be in human habitation. PROF. I’m a sick man. A broken man. MRS. S. You weren’t too sick to come and affront us.... You prodigal! JOHN. Easy now, Briget. It’s a fearful thing to turn your face away from a broken man. We’re all prodigals ... and we’ll all have to crawl back some day.... MRS. S. Silence, you! It’s me’s turning him out. He’ll not be here! PROF. [_struggling to his feet_]. All right, sister, I’m going. I can crawl back the road I come. MRS. S. John’ll drive you to the station and see you off. You’re not going to affront us--crawling along the road like that....