Philly Maybe he went fighting for the Boers, the like of the man beyond, was judged to be hanged, quartered and drawn. Were you off east, young fellow, fighting bloody wars for Kruger and the freedom of the Boers?

Christy I never left my own parish till Tuesday was a week.

Pegeen (coming from counter). He’s done nothing, so. (To Christy.) If you didn’t commit murder or a bad, nasty thing, or false coining, or robbery, or butchery, or the like of them, there isn’t anything that would be worth your troubling for to run from now. You did nothing at all.

Christy (his feelings hurt). That’s an unkindly thing to be saying to a poor orphaned traveller, has a prison behind him, and hanging before, and hell’s gap gaping below.

Pegeen (with a sign to the men to be quiet). You’re only saying it. You did nothing at all. A soft lad the like of you wouldn’t slit the windpipe of a screeching sow.

Christy (offended). You’re not speaking the truth.

Pegeen (in mock rage). Not speaking the truth, is it? Would you have me knock the head of you with the butt of the broom?

Christy (twisting round on her with a sharp cry of horror). Don’t strike me. I killed my poor father, Tuesday was a week, for doing the like of that.

Pegeen (with blank amazement). Is it killed your father?

Christy (subsiding). With the help of God I did surely, and that the Holy Immaculate Mother may intercede for his soul.

Philly (retreating with Jimmy). There’s a daring fellow.

Jimmy Oh, glory be to God!

Michael (with great respect). That was a hanging crime, mister honey. You should have had good reason for doing the like of that.

Christy (in a very reasonable tone). He was a dirty man, God forgive him, and he getting old and crusty, the way I couldn’t put up with him at all.

Pegeen And you shot him dead?

Christy (shaking his head). I never used weapons. I’ve no license, and I’m a law-fearing man.

Michael It was with a hilted knife maybe? I’m told, in the big world it’s bloody knives they use.

Christy (loudly, scandalized). Do you take me for a slaughter-boy?

Pegeen You never hanged him, the way Jimmy Farrell hanged his dog from the license, and had it screeching and wriggling three hours at the butt of a string, and himself swearing it was a dead dog, and the peelers swearing it had life?

Christy I did not then. I just riz the loy and let fall the edge of it on the ridge of his skull, and he went down at my feet like an empty sack, and never let a grunt or groan from him at all.

Michael (making a sign to Pegeen to fill Christy’s glass). And what way weren’t you hanged, mister? Did you bury him then?