JIMMY. They’d say it was an old Dane, maybe, was drowned in the flood. (_Old Mahon comes in and sits down near door listening._) Did you never hear tell of the skulls they have in the city of Dublin, ranged out like blue jugs in a cabin of Connaught?
JIMMY. _pugnaciously._—Didn’t a lad see them and he after coming from harvesting in the Liverpool boat? “They have them there,” says he, “making a show of the great people there was one time walking the world. White skulls and black skulls and yellow skulls, and some with full teeth, and some haven’t only but one.”
PHILLY. It was no lie, maybe, for when I was a young lad there was a graveyard beyond the house with the remnants of a man who had thighs as long as your arm. He was a horrid man, I’m telling you, and there was many a fine Sunday I’d put him together for fun, and he with shiny bones, you wouldn’t meet the like of these days in the cities of the world.
MAHON. _getting up._—You wouldn’t is it? Lay your eyes on that skull, and tell me where and when there was another the like of it, is splintered only from the blow of a loy.
PHILLY. Glory be to God! And who hit you at all?
MAHON. _triumphantly._—It was my own son hit me. Would you believe that?
JIMMY. Well, there’s wonders hidden in the heart of man!
PHILLY. _suspiciously._—And what way was it done?
MAHON. _wandering about the room._—I’m after walking hundreds and long scores of miles, winning clean beds and the fill of my belly four times in the day, and I doing nothing but telling stories of that naked truth. (_He comes to them a little aggressively._) Give me a supeen and I’ll tell you now. (_Widow Quin comes in and stands aghast behind him. He is facing Jimmy and Philly, who are on the left._)
JIMMY. Ask herself beyond. She’s the stuff hidden in her shawl.
WIDOW QUIN. _coming to Mahon quickly._—you here, is it? You didn’t go far at all?
MAHON. I seen the coasting steamer passing, and I got a drought upon me and a cramping leg, so I said, “The divil go along with him,” and turned again. (_Looking under her shawl._) And let you give me a supeen, for I’m destroyed travelling since Tuesday was a week.
WIDOW QUIN. _getting a glass, in a cajoling tone._—Sit down then by the fire and take your ease for a space. You’ve a right to be destroyed indeed, with your walking, and fighting, and facing the sun (_giving him poteen from a stone jar she has brought in_). There now is a drink for you, and may it be to your happiness and length of life.