et 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 amusement.] -- Cod 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?

WIDOW QUIN -- [taking his head in both hands and examining it with
extreme delight.] -- That was a great blow. And who hit you? A robber
maybe?

MAHON. It was my own son hit me, and he the divil a robber, or anything
else, but a dirty, stuttering lout.

WIDOW -- [letting go his skull and wiping her hands in her apron.] --
You'd best be wary of a mortified scalp, I think they call it, lepping
around with that wound in the splendour of the sun. It was a bad blow
surely, and you should have vexed him fearful to make him strike that
gash in his da.

MAHON. Is it me?

WIDOW QUIN -- [amusing herself.] -- Aye. And isn't it a great shame when
the old and hardened do torment the young?

MAHON -- [raging.] Torment him is it? And I after holding out with the
patience of a martyred saint till there's nothing but destruction on,
and I'm driven out in my old age with none to aid me.

WIDOW QUIN -- [greatly amused.] -- It's a sacred wonder the way that
wickedness will spoil a man.

MAHON. My wickedness, is it? Amn't I after saying it is him