The Playboy of the Western World by J. M. Synge (electric book reader .TXT) 📕

and have you no shame, Michael James, to be quitting off for the whole night, and leaving myself lonesome in the shop? Michael Good-humouredly. Isn’t it the same whether I go for the whole night or a part only? and I’m thinking it’s a queer daughter you are if you’d have me crossing backward through the Stooks of the Dead Women, with a drop taken. Pegeen If I am a queer daughter, it’s a queer father’d be leaving me lonesome these twelve hours of dark, and I piling the turf with the dogs barking, and the calves mooing, and my own teeth rattling with the fear. Jimmy Flatteringly. What is there to hurt you, and you a fine, hardy girl would knock the head of any two men in the place? Pegeen Working herself up. Isn’t there the harvest boys with their tongues red for drink, and the ten tinkers is camped in the east glen, and the thousand militia⁠—bad cess to them!⁠—walking idle through the land. There’s lots surely to hurt me, and I won’t stop alone in it, let himself do what he will. Michael If you’re that afeard, let Shawn Keogh stop along with you. It’s the will of God, I’m thinking, himself should be seeing to you now. They all turn on Shawn. Shawn In horrified confusion. I would and welcome, Michael James, but I’m afeard of Father Reilly; and what at all would the Holy Father and the Cardinals of Rome be saying if they heard I did the like of that? Michael With contempt. God help you! Can’t you sit in by the hearth with the light lit and herself beyond in the room? You’ll do that surely, for I’ve heard tell there’s a queer fellow above, going mad or getting his death, maybe, in the grip of the ditch, so she’d be safer this night with a person here. Shawn With plaintive despair. I’m afeard of Father Reilly, I’m saying. Let you not be tempting me, and we near married itself. Philly With cold contempt. Lock him in the west room. He’ll stay then and have no sin to be telling to the priest. Michael To Shawn, getting between him and the door. Go up now. Shawn At the top of his voice. Don’t stop me, Michael James. Let me out of the door, I’m saying, for the love of the Almighty God. Let me out Trying to dodge past him.. Let me out of it, and may God grant you His indulgence in the hour of need. Michael Loudly. Stop your noising, and sit down by the hearth. Gives him a push and goes to counter laughing. Shawn Turning back, wringing his hands. Oh, Father Reilly and the saints of God, where will I hide myself today? Oh, St. Joseph and St. Patrick and St. Brigid, and St. James, have mercy on me now! Shawn turns round, sees door clear, and makes a rush for it. Michael Catching him by the coattail. You’d be going, is it? Shawn Screaming. Leave me go, Michael James, leave me go, you old Pagan, leave me go, or I’ll get the curse of the priests on you, and of the scarlet-coated bishops of the courts of Rome. With a sudden movement he pulls himself out of his coat, and disappears out of the door, leaving his coat in Michael’s hands. Michael Turning round, and holding up coat. Well, there’s the coat of a Christian man. Oh, there’s sainted glory this day in the lonesome west; and by the will of God I’ve got you a decent man, Pegeen, you’ll have no call to be spying after if you’ve a score of young girls, maybe, weeding in your fields. Pegeen Taking up the defence of her property. What right have you to be making game of a poor fellow for minding the priest, when it’s your own the fault is, not paying a penny potboy to stand along with me and give me courage in the doing of my work? She snaps the coat away from him, and goes behind counter with it. Michael Taken aback. Where would I get a potboy? Would you have me send the bellman screaming in the streets of Castlebar? Shawn Opening the door a chink and putting in his head, in a small voice. Michael James! Michael Imitating him. What ails you? Shawn The queer dying fellow’s beyond looking over the ditch. He’s come up, I’m thinking, stealing your hens. Looks over his shoulder. God help me, he’s following me now, He runs into room. and if he’s heard what I said, he’ll be having my life, and I going home lonesome in the darkness of the night. For a perceptible moment they watch the door with curiosity. Someone coughs outside. Then Christy Mahon, a slight young man, comes in very tired and frightened and dirty. Christy In a small voice. God save all here! Men God save you kindly. Christy Going to the counter. I’d trouble you for a glass of porter, woman of the house. He puts down coin. Pegeen Serving him. You’re one of the tinkers, young fellow, is beyond camped in the glen? Christy I am not; but I’m destroyed walking. Michael Patronizingly. Let you come up then to the fire. You’re looking famished with the cold. Christy God reward you. He takes up his glass and goes a little way across to the left, then stops and looks about him. Is it often the police do be coming into this place, master of the house? Michael If you’d come in better hours, you’d have seen “Licensed for the sale of Beer and Spirits, to be consumed on the premises,” written in white letters above the door, and what would the polis want spying on me, and not a decent house within four miles, the way every living Christian is a bona fide, saving one widow alone? Christy With relief. It’s a safe house,