HODSON [waking up at once]. Oh, I beg your pardon, sir, I'm sure. I understand, sir.
CORNELIUS [appearing at the house door with Mat]. Patsy'll drive the pig over this evenin, Mat. Goodbye. [He goes back into the house. Mat makes for the gate. Broadbent stops him. Hodson, pained by the derelict basket, picks it up and carries it away behind the house].
BROADBENT [beaming candidatorially]. I must thank you very particularly, Mr Haffigan, for your support this morning. I value it because I know that the real heart of a nation is the class you represent, the yeomanry.
MATTHEW [aghast] The yeomanry!!!
LARRY [looking up from his paper]. Take care, Tom! In Rosscullen a yeoman means a sort of Orange Bashi-Bazouk. In England, Mat, they call a freehold farmer a yeoman.
MATTHEW [huffily]. I don't need to be insthructed be you, Larry Doyle. Some people think no one knows anythin but dhemselves. [To Broadbent, deferentially] Of course I know a gentleman like you would not compare me to the yeomanry. Me own granfather was flogged in the sthreets of Athenmullet be them when they put a gun in the thatch of his house an then went and found it there, bad cess to them!
BROADBENT [with sympathetic interest]. Then you are not the first martyr of your family, Mr Haffigan?
MATTHEW. They turned me out o the farm I made out of the stones o Little Rosscullen hill wid me own hans.
BROADBENT. I have heard about it; and my blood still boils at the thought. [Calling] Hodson—
HODSON [behind the corner of the house] Yes, sir. [He hurries forward].