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 to-day? 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 pot-boy 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 pot-boy? Would you have me send the bell-man screaming in the streets of Castlebar?
SHAWN.
opening the door a chink and putting in his head, in a small voice.—Michael James!