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

so. He goes over to the fire, sighing and moaning. Then he sits down, putting his glass beside him and begins gnawing a turnip, too miserable to feel the others staring at him with curiosity. Michael Going after him. Is it yourself fearing the polis? You’re wanting, maybe? Christy There’s many wanting. Michael Many surely, with the broken harvest and the ended wars. He picks up some stockings, etc., that are near the fire, and carries them away furtively. It should be larceny, I’m thinking? Christy Dolefully. I had it in my mind it was a different word and a bigger. Pegeen There’s a queer lad. Were you never slapped in school, young fellow, that you don’t know the name of your deed? Christy Bashfully. I’m slow at learning, a middling scholar only. Michael If you’re a dunce itself, you’d have a right to know that larceny’s robbing and stealing. Is it for the like of that you’re wanting? Christy With a flash of family pride. And I the son of a strong farmer, With a sudden qualm. God rest his soul, could have bought up the whole of your old house a while since, from the butt of his tailpocket, and not have missed the weight of it gone. Michael Impressed. If it’s not stealing, it’s maybe something big. Christy Flattered. Aye; it’s maybe something big. Jimmy He’s a wicked-looking young fellow. Maybe he followed after a young woman on a lonesome night. Christy Shocked. Oh, the saints forbid, mister; I was all times a decent lad. Philly Turning on Jimmy. You’re a silly man, Jimmy Farrell. He said his father was a farmer a while since, and there’s himself now in a poor state. Maybe the land was grabbed from him, and he did what any decent man would do. Michael To Christy, mysteriously. Was it bailiffs? Christy The divil a one. Michael Agents? Christy The divil a one. Michael Landlords? Christy Peevishly. Ah, not at all, I’m saying. You’d see the like of them stories on any little paper of a Munster town. But I’m not calling to mind any person, gentle, simple, judge or jury, did the like of me. They all draw nearer with delighted curiosity. Philly Well, that lad’s a puzzle⁠—the world. Jimmy He’d beat Dan Davies’ circus, or the holy missioners making sermons on the villainy of man. Try him again, Philly. Philly Did you strike golden guineas out of solder, young fellow, or shilling coins itself? Christy I did not, mister, not sixpence nor a farthing coin. Jimmy Did you marry three wives maybe? I’m told there’s a sprinkling have done that among the holy Luthers of the preaching north. Christy Shyly. I never married with one, let alone with a couple or three. Philly Maybe he went fighting for the Boers, the like of the man beyond, was judged to be hanged, quartered and drawn. Were you off east, young fellow, fighting bloody wars for Kruger and the freedom of the Boers? Christy I never left my own parish till Tuesday was a week. Pegeen Coming from counter. He’s done nothing, so. To Christy. If you didn’t commit murder or a bad, nasty thing, or false coining, or robbery, or butchery, or the like of them, there isn’t anything that would be worth your troubling for to run from now. You did nothing at all. Christy His feelings hurt. That’s an unkindly thing to be saying to a poor orphaned traveller, has a prison behind him, and hanging before, and hell’s gap gaping below. Pegeen With a sign to the men to be quiet. You’re only saying it. You did nothing at all. A soft lad the like of you wouldn’t slit the windpipe of a screeching sow. Christy Offended. You’re not speaking the truth. Pegeen In mock rage. Not speaking the truth, is it? Would you have me knock the head of you with the butt of the broom? Christy Twisting round on her with a sharp cry of horror. Don’t strike me. I killed my poor father, Tuesday was a week, for doing the like of that. Pegeen With blank amazement. Is it killed your father? Christy Subsiding. With the help of God I did surely, and that the Holy Immaculate Mother may intercede for his soul. Philly Retreating with Jimmy. There’s a daring fellow. Jimmy Oh, glory be to God! Michael With great respect. That was a hanging crime, mister honey. You should have had good reason for doing the like of that. Christy In a very reasonable tone. He was a dirty man, God forgive him, and he getting old and crusty, the way I couldn’t put up with him at all. Pegeen And you shot him dead? Christy Shaking his head. I never used weapons. I’ve no license, and I’m a law-fearing man. Michael It was with a hilted knife maybe? I’m told, in the big world it’s bloody knives they use. Christy Loudly, scandalized. Do you take me for a slaughter-boy? Pegeen You never hanged him, the way Jimmy Farrell hanged his dog from the license, and had it screeching and wriggling three hours at the butt of a string, and himself swearing it was a dead dog, and the peelers swearing it had life? Christy I did not then. I just riz the loy and let fall the edge of it on the ridge of his skull, and he went down at my feet like an empty sack, and never let a grunt or groan from him at all. Michael Making a sign to Pegeen to fill Christy’s glass. And what way weren’t you hanged, mister? Did you bury him then? Christy Considering. Aye. I buried him then. Wasn’t I digging spuds in the field? Michael And the peelers never followed after you the eleven days that you’re out? Christy Shaking his head. Never a one of them, and I walking forward facing hog, dog, or divil on the highway of the road. Philly Nodding wisely. It’s only with a common weekday kind of a murderer