CHRISTY. _in low and intense voice._—Shut your yelling, for if you’re after making a mighty man of me this day by the power of a lie, you’re setting me now to think if it’s a poor thing to be lonesome, it’s worse maybe to go mixing with the fools of earth. [_Mahon makes a movement towards him._] CHRISTY. _almost shouting._—Keep off ... lest I do show a blow unto the lot of you would set the guardian angels winking in the clouds above. [_He swings round with a sudden rapid movement and picks up a loy._] CROWD. _half frightened, half amused._—He’s going mad! Mind yourselves! Run from the idiot! CHRISTY. If I am an idiot, I’m after hearing my voice this day saying words would raise the topknot on a poet in a merchant’s town. I’ve won your racing, and your lepping, and.... MAHON. Shut your gullet and come on with me. CHRISTY. I’m going, but I’ll stretch you first. [_He runs at old Mahon with the loy, chases him out of the door, followed by crowd and Widow Quin. There is a great noise outside, then a yell, and dead silence for a moment. Christy comes in, half dazed, and goes to fire._] WIDOW QUIN. _coming in, hurriedly, and going to him._—They’re turning again you. Come on, or you’ll be hanged, indeed. CHRISTY. I’m thinking, from this out, Pegeen’ll be giving me praises the same as in the hours gone by. WIDOW QUIN. _impatiently._—Come by the back-door. I’d think bad to have you stifled on the gallows tree. CHRISTY. _indignantly._—I will not, then. What good’d be my life-time, if I left Pegeen? WIDOW QUIN. Come on, and you’ll be no worse than you were last night; and you with a double murder this time to be telling to the girls. CHRISTY. I’ll not leave Pegeen Mike. WIDOW QUIN. _impatiently._—Isn’t there the match of her in every parish public, from Binghamstown unto the plain of Meath? Come on, I tell you, and I’ll find you finer sweethearts at each waning moon. CHRISTY. It’s Pegeen I’m seeking only, and what’d I care if you brought me a drift of chosen females, standing in their shifts itself, maybe, from this place to the Eastern World? SARA. _runs in, pulling off one of her petticoats._—They’re going to hang him. (_Holding out petticoat and shawl._) Fit these upon him, and let him run off to the east. WIDOW QUIN. He’s raving now; but we’ll fit them on him, and I’ll take him, in the ferry, to the Achill boat. CHRISTY. _struggling feebly._—Leave me go, will you? when I’m thinking of my luck to-day, for she will wed me surely, and I a proven hero in the end of all. [_They try to fasten petticoat round him._] WIDOW QUIN. Take his left hand, and we’ll pull him now. Come on, young fellow. CHRISTY. _suddenly starting up._—You’ll be taking me from her? You’re jealous, is it, of her wedding me? Go on from this. [_He snatches up a stool, and threatens them with it._]