DAN.
(With a hoarse voice.) Don’t be afeard, stranger; a man that’s dead can do no hurt.
TRAMP.
(Trembling.) I meant no harm, your honour; and won’t you leave me easy to be saying a little prayer for your soul?
(A long whistle is heard outside.)
DAN.
(Sitting up in his bed and speaking fiercely.) Ah, the devil mend her.... Do you hear that, stranger? Did ever you hear another woman could whistle the like of that with two fingers in her mouth? (He looks at the table hurriedly.) I’m destroyed with the drouth, and let you bring me a drop quickly before herself will come back.
TRAMP.
(Doubtfully.) Is it not dead you are?
DAN.
How would I be dead, and I as dry as a baked bone, stranger?
TRAMP.
(Pouring out the whisky.) What will herself say if she smells the stuff on you, for I’m thinking it’s not for nothing you’re letting on to be dead?
DAN.
It is not, stranger, but she won’t be coming near me at all, and it’s not long now I’ll be letting on, for I’ve a cramp in my back, and my hip’s asleep on me, and there’s been the devil’s own fly itching my nose. It’s near dead I was wanting to sneeze, and you blathering about the rain, and Darcy (bitterly)—the devil choke him—and the towering church. (Crying out impatiently.) Give me that whisky. Would you have herself come back before I taste a drop at all?
(Tramp gives him the glass.)
DAN.
(After drinking.) Go over now to that cupboard, and bring me a black stick you’ll see in the west corner by the wall.