[Coming back to him and confidentially.]

Perhaps I could yet please your ears with a romanza which I composed myself--

MRS. GRANAHAN.

Away with you out of this. We want none of your music here.

SAMUEL JAMES.

[To tramp.]

Why don't you give up playin' that fiddle of yours and turn your hand to honest work?

TRAMP.

[Proudly.]

Desert my fiddle. The fiddle presented to me at Vienna by my orchestra! A genuine old Cremona 200 years old! Rather would I wander in Hades for ever. Never! Though cruel words stab and wound me.

[Half sobbing.]

Farewell.

[All remain quiet. The strains of a melancholy air like a serenade come from outside. It slowly dies away in the distance. Robbie John moves forward as if to go out.]

MRS. GRANAHAN.

[Sharply.]

Robbie John. Where are you going? Don't dare to leave the house.

My son going out to keep company with the likes of that dirty rapscallion.

ROBBIE JOHN.

Ah mother pity the poor wretch. Every word you said to him cut and wounded me to the quick. Did you not see the tears in his eyes for all his fine talk. I should like to know more about him.

SAMUEL JAMES.

If you went to the sergeant at the barrack, I warrant ye he could tell you more about him.

[He bends down as if to catch the sound of the fiddling which grows very faint.]

Listen!

[Robbie John moves to door and opens it.]

MRS. GRANAHAN.

[Angrily.]

Where are you going?

ROBBIE JOHN.

[Rapt.]

Listen.

[He holds his hand for silence. Then quickly goes out.]

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

[To get into his wife's good graces.]

Well Mary the foal's sould at last.

MRS. GRANAHAN.

I've a crow to pluck wi' you over that same foal, William Granahan. I suppose they did you as usual.

WILLIAM JOHN GRANAHAN.

[Getting angry.]

Nine and thirty year ha'e I gone till market and no man, woman, child, dog or divil ever got the better of me in a bargain yet and right well you know it.

[With pride.]

I soul' the foal for thirty poun' not a ha'penny less.

MRS. GRANAHAN.

[Doubtfully.]

I hope you ha'e it all wi' you.