MRS. S. Soft John! You’d give him the shirt off your back. And he’s the boy would take it. But he won’t be here when you come back. Not if I have to drive him in to the station myself and ship him! [_Sniffing_] Mercy! the smell of this house ... snuff or something. [_Opens all the doors and windows and comes back to the centre._] If the Kilroys see him or get to know who he is--that ends everything.... _PEGGY comes in shaking her head._ PEGGY. We’re lost, mother. He’s gone off across the fields to the auction. MRS. S. [_shrieks_]. What! Gone to the auction! Why did you let him out? PEGGY. Because I couldn’t keep him in. He threatened me with the knife. The man’s either an eccentric, or he’s crazy.... MRS. S. [_sinks on a chair_]. Oh, Lord above! Am I to be persecuted and afflicted off the face of the earth? Or why do You permit these people--one and all of them--to make my life a misery? Why, why? _Curtain_ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ACT II _O’CAHAN’S dining-room. Windows look out on lawn. Door from the hall._ _The room has a general tumble-down appearance. There are pictures of race-horses, jockeys, and a large portrait of O’CAHAN’S deceased uncle on the walls. A few silver cups and other trophies are piled on the sideboard._ _MOLL FLANAGAN, a squat, middle-aged maid, is trying to hang a clean curtain. The sun has darkened, and the bluish light suggests rain._ MOLL. Och, hum, anee oh! May the curse of Cain fall on anyone who comes to the auction, and may they roast forever in eternal torments that buy it over his unfortunate head! [_Fights with curtain_] Blast you, stay up! _O’C. comes in and looks around for a book._ O’C. Well, Moll, are you spring cleaning? MOLL. I’m trying to make it a wee bit dacent-looking, dear. O’C. I think the shutters would be more suitable. MOLL. We’ll keep a bold front as long as we can. O’C. But aren’t you a little foolish to hang clean curtains for somebody else? MOLL. God look down to your wit if you think I’m hanging them for somebody else! It’s for our own bit of respect and dacency. And God look down to your wit if you think Moll Flanagan won’t tear them down after the auction. O’C. [_going to bookcase_]. Suit yourself, Moll. You’re the housekeeper. MOLL. And I’ll tear down more than the curtains. I’ll not leave a whole pane of glass in the house, nor a square inch of plaster on the walls or ceilings that I won’t smash off with the hatchet. And they’ll be lucky if I don’t burn it to the ground. O’C. You mustn’t do anything of the kind, Moll. I draw the line at vandalism. Don’t you see him watching you? MOLL. Who’s watching me? O’C. [_pointing to portrait_]. Uncle Hugh. If you start smashing anything he’ll come out of his frame and speak to you.