MAHON. _wandering about the room._—I’m after walking hundreds and long scores of miles, winning clean beds and the fill of my belly four times in the day, and I doing nothing but telling stories of that naked truth. (_He comes to them a little aggressively._) Give me a supeen and I’ll tell you now. (_Widow Quin comes in and stands aghast behind him. He is facing Jimmy and Philly, who are on the left._) JIMMY. Ask herself beyond. She’s the stuff hidden in her shawl. WIDOW QUIN. _coming to Mahon quickly._—you here, is it? You didn’t go far at all? MAHON. I seen the coasting steamer passing, and I got a drought upon me and a cramping leg, so I said, “The divil go along with him,” and turned again. (_Looking under her shawl._) And let you give me a supeen, for I’m destroyed travelling since Tuesday was a week. WIDOW QUIN. _getting a glass, in a cajoling tone._—Sit down then by the fire and take your ease for a space. You’ve a right to be destroyed indeed, with your walking, and fighting, and facing the sun (_giving him poteen from a stone jar she has brought in_). There now is a drink for you, and may it be to your happiness and length of life. MAHON. _taking glass greedily and sitting down by fire._—God increase you! WIDOW QUIN. _taking men to the right stealthily._—Do you know what? That man’s raving from his wound to-day, for I met him a while since telling a rambling tale of a tinker had him destroyed. Then he heard of Christy’s deed, and he up and says it was his son had cracked his skull. O isn’t madness a fright, for he’ll go killing someone yet, and he thinking it’s the man has struck him so? JIMMY. _entirely convinced._—It’s a fright, surely. I knew a party was kicked in the head by a red mare, and he went killing horses a great while, till he eat the insides of a clock and died after. PHILLY. _with suspicion._—Did he see Christy? WIDOW QUIN. He didn’t. (_With a warning gesture._) Let you not be putting him in mind of him, or you’ll be likely summoned if there’s murder done. (_Looking round at Mahon._) Whisht! He’s listening. Wait now till you hear me taking him easy and unravelling all. (_She goes to Mahon._) And what way are you feeling, mister? Are you in contentment now? MAHON. _slightly emotional from his drink._—I’m poorly only, for it’s a hard story the way I’m left to-day, when it was I did tend him from his hour of birth, and he a dunce never reached his second book, the way he’d come from school, many’s the day, with his legs lamed under him, and he blackened with his beatings like a tinker’s ass. It’s a hard story, I’m saying, the way some do have their next and nighest raising up a hand of murder on them, and some is lonesome getting their death with lamentation in the dead of night. WIDOW QUIN. _not knowing what to say._—To hear you talking so quiet, who’d know you were the same fellow we seen pass to-day?