Conan: (Peeping in.) Is Celia gone?
Flannery: She is, Conan.
Conan: It's a queer thing with women. If
you'll turn them from one road it's likely they'll
go into another that is worse again.
Rock: That is so indeed. There is Celia's
mother that is running telling lies, and leaving a
heavy word upon a neighbour.
Mother: I'll give my promise not to tell it out
in Court if he will give to poor Michael Flannery
what is due to him, and that is the whole of what
he has in his bag!
Conan: (Laughing scornfully.) Sure she has no
memory at all. It fails her to remember that two
and two makes four.
Mother: You think that? Well, listen now to
me. Two and two is it? No, nine times two that
is eighteen and nine times three twenty-seven,
nine times four thirty-six, nine times five forty-fi
ve, nine times six fifty-four, nine times seven
sixty-three, nine times eight seventy-two, nine
times nine eighty-one.... Yes, and eleven times,
and any times that you will put before me!
Conan: That's enough, that's enough!
Mother: Ha, ha! You giving out that I can
keep no knowledge in mind and no learning, when
I should sit on the chapel roof to have enough of
slates for all I can cast up of sums! Multiplication,
Addition, subtraction, and the rule of three!
Conan: Whist your tongue!