MOLL [_trying to look at her heels_]. How does it look round at the back, Paddy? PADDY. Jog across there a few paces. MOLL. Lord, it’s not a horse you’re vittin. PADDY. How then can I see your back if you don’t give me a show? Jog on. [_MOLL obeys._] Woah! Stand up straight.... Draw yourself together now and come on with the head well up, and shorten your stride a little. [_MOLL obeys._] Woah. It has just one fault. It’s far too stylish for the like of you. MOLL [_pleased_]. Oh, that’s a good fault. I’ll keep it. Let me see the hat now. _He takes out a bilious-looking hat entwined with varnished cherries._ PADDY. Put that on your head now. And then look in the glass. MOLL. Oh, it’s a beauty! Oh, I like the hat, Paddy. But I haven’t a hat-pin.... PADDY. There you are. Two of them. [_Hands her two pins._] MOLL [_putting hat on_]. God knows, Paddy Kinney, you’re a marvel. You forget nothing. PADDY. A man that’s looked after leppin’ horses for twenty years doesn’t forget much. MOLL. And to be a man you’re tasty. PADDY. A man that’s attended Dublin Horse Show for twenty years should know when a woman’s dressed. MOLL. Wait till I see how it looks. [_Goes to a mirror and stands twisting her neck._] PADDY. Take care you don’t twist your neck out of joint.... My God, the vanity of wimin! MOLL [_turning_]. Isn’t it simply gorgeous, Paddy? PADDY. You’ve left me without a word to say. It’s a pome. MOLL. I’m well pleased with everything, Paddy. What did they cost? PADDY. They cost you nothing at all. They’re an acknowledgment for all the imperence and washing and patching you’ve done for me.... Your health to wear them. MOLL. Ah, Paddy, Paddy.... PADDY. Not another word now or I’ll rise and lep through my weskit. MOLL. But ’twas too much, Paddy.... PADDY. No more, I say. It’s our last day under this roof, and you can face the world now well dressed and respectable. With that rig you’ll have no trouble getting new service.... MOLL. Whisht ... whisht! _O’C. and PROF. come in._ O’C. The Professor wants to speak to you, Paddy. PROF. Hallo, Paddy Kinney. Gun, I’d know your old phizog in a Sahara sandstorm. PADDY. Well, in sowl, you’ve the advantage of me ... for asleep or awake I’ve never seen you before. O’C. Nonsense, Paddy. You know him all right. Mrs. Scally’s brother--Professor Tim. PADDY. Ah, surely to God! It’s Tim of the hazel rod [_shaking hands_]. And how’s every inch of you, Professor? PROF. Gum, Paddy, I’m not as robust as I was. But I’m not getting any younger. And I’ve been travelling a deal lately. I’m tired. PADDY. You want a month on the grass with the shoes off. PROF. Exactly, Paddy. Complete rest. PADDY. Well, I’m glad to see you, Professor. Keep a good spirit. Plenty of good mate and drink and the pure air ’ill soon bring you into condition.