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 race-course while the tide is low, so I’ll leave you the garments and my blessing for the sports to-day. 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?