MAHON -- [gruffly.] Did you see a young lad passing this way in the early morning or the fall of night?
WIDOW QUIN. You're a queer kind to walk in not saluting at all.
MAHON. Did you see the young lad?
WIDOW QUIN -- [stiffly.] What kind was he?
MAHON. An ugly young streeler with a murderous gob on him, and a little switch in his hand. I met a tramper seen him coming this way at the fall of night.
WIDOW QUIN. There's harvest hundreds do be passing these days for the Sligo boat. For what is it you're wanting him, my poor man?
MAHON. I want to destroy him for breaking the head on me with the clout of a loy. (He takes off a big hat, and shows his head in a mass of bandages and plaster, with some pride.) It was he did that, and amn't I a great wonder to think I've traced him ten days with that rent in my crown?
WIDOW QUIN -- [taking his head in both hands and examining it with extreme delight.] -- That was a great blow. And who hit you? A robber maybe?
MAHON. It was my own son hit me, and he the divil a robber, or anything else, but a dirty, stuttering lout.
WIDOW -- [letting go his skull and wiping her hands in her apron.] -- You'd best be wary of a mortified scalp, I think they call it, lepping around with that wound in the splendour of the sun. It was a bad blow surely, and you should have vexed him fearful to make him strike that gash in his da.
MAHON. Is it me?
WIDOW QUIN -- [amusing herself.] -- Aye. And isn't it a great shame when the old and hardened do torment the young?
MAHON -- [raging.] Torment him is it? And I after holding out with the patience of a martyred saint till there's nothing but destruction on, and I'm driven out in my old age with none to aid me.
WIDOW QUIN -- [greatly amused.] -- It's a sacred wonder the way that wickedness will spoil a man.
MAHON. My wickedness, is it? Amn't I after saying it is himself has me destroyed, and he a liar on walls, a talker of folly, a man you'd see stretched the half of the day in the brown ferns with his belly to the sun.
WIDOW QUIN. Not working at all?
MAHON. The divil a work, or if he did itself, you'd see him raising up a haystack like the stalk of a rush, or driving our last cow till he broke her leg at the hip, and when he wasn't at that he'd be fooling over little birds he had -- finches and felts -- or ****** mugs at his own self in the bit of glass we had hung on the wall.
WIDOW QUIN -- [looking at Christy.] -- What way was he so foolish? It was running wild after the girls may be?
MAHON -- [with a shout of derision.] -- Running wild, is it? If he seen a red petticoat coming swinging over the hill, he'd be off to hide in the sticks, and you'd see him shooting out his sheep's eyes between the little twigs and the leaves, and his two ears rising like a hare looking out through a gap.
Girls, indeed!
WIDOW QUIN. It was drink maybe?
MAHON. And he a poor fellow would get drunk on the smell of a pint. He'd a queer rotten stomach, I'm telling you, and when I gave him three pulls from my pipe a while since, he was taken with contortions till I had to send him in the ass cart to the females' nurse.
WIDOW QUIN -- [clasping her hands.] -- Well, I never till this day heard tell of a man the like of that!
MAHON. I'd take a mighty oath you didn't surely, and wasn't he the laughing joke of every female woman where four baronies meet, the way the girls would stop their weeding if they seen him coming the road to let a roar at him, and call him the looney of Mahon's.
WIDOW QUIN. I'd give the world and all to see the like of him. What kind was he?
MAHON. A small low fellow.
WIDOW QUIN. And dark?
MAHON. Dark and dirty.
WIDOW QUIN -- [considering.] I'm thinking I seen him.
MAHON -- [eagerly.] An ugly young blackguard.
WIDOW QUIN. A hideous, fearful villain, and the spit of you.
MAHON. What way is he fled?
WIDOW QUIN. Gone over the hills to catch a coasting steamer to the north or south.
MAHON. Could I pull up on him now?
WIDOW QUIN. If you'll cross the sands below where the tide is out, you'll be in it as soon as himself, for he had to go round ten miles by the top of the bay. (She points to the door). Strike down by the head beyond and then follow on the roadway to the north and east. [Mahon goes abruptly.]
WIDOW QUIN -- [shouting after him.] -- Let you give him a good vengeance when you come up with him, but don't put yourself in the power of the law, for it'd be a poor thing to see a judge in his black cap reading out his sentence on a civil warrior the like of you. [She swings the door to and looks at Christy, who is cowering in terror, for a moment, then she bursts into a laugh.]
WIDOW QUIN. Well, you're the walking Playboy of the Western World, and that's the poor man you had divided to his breeches belt.
CHRISTY -- [looking out: then, to her.] -- What'll Pegeen say when she hears that story? What'll she be saying to me now?