SUSAN.
And I run up with a pat of butter, for it’d be a poor thing to have you eating your spuds dry, and you after running a great way since you did destroy your da.
CHRISTY.
Thank you kindly.
HONOR.
And I brought you a little cut of cake, for you should have a thin stomach on you, and you that length walking the world.
NELLY.
And I brought you a little laying pullet—boiled and all she is—was crushed at the fall of night by the curate’s car. Feel the fat of that breast, Mister.
CHRISTY.
It’s bursting, surely. [He feels it with the back of his hand, in which he holds the presents.]
SARA.
Will you pinch it? Is your right hand too sacred for to use at all? (She slips round behind him.) It’s a glass he has. Well, I never seen to this day a man with a looking-glass held to his back. Them that kills their fathers is a vain lot surely. (Girls giggle.)
CHRISTY.
smiling innocently and piling presents on glass.—I’m very thankful to you all to-day....
WIDOW QUIN.
coming in quickly, at door.—Sara Tansey, Susan Brady, Honor Blake! What in glory has you here at this hour of day?
GIRLS.
giggling.—That’s the man killed his father.
WIDOW QUIN.
coming to them.—I know well it’s the man; and I’m after putting him down in the sports below for racing, leaping, pitching, and the Lord knows what.