JOHN. Aw, feyther! DAVID. Dinna look sae troubled, John. I'm no' afraid to dee when my time comes. It's these hints that I'm done wi' before I'm dead that I dinna like. JOHN. What'n hints? DAVID. Well - Lizzie an' her richt's richt and wrang's wrang when I think o' tellin' wee Alexander a bit story before he gangs tae his bed. JOHN (gently). Ye are a wee thing persistent, feyther. DAVID. No, I'm no' persistent, John. I've gied in. I'm a philosopher, John, an' a philosopher kens when he's done wi'. JOHN. Aw, feyther! DAVID (getting lower and lower). It's gey interesting, philosophy, John, an' the only philosophy worth thinkin' about is the philosophy of growing old- because that's what we're a' doing, a' living things. There's nae philosophy in a stane, John; he's juist a stane, an' in a hundred years he'll be juist a stane still unless he's broken up, an' then he'll be juist not a stane, but he'll no' ken what's happened to him, because he didna break up gradual and first lose his boat an' then his hoose, an' then hae his wee grandson taken away when he was for tellin' him a bit story before he gangs tae his bed. - It's yon losing yer grip bit by bit and kennin' that yer losin' it that makes a philosopher, John. JOHN. If I kennt what ye meant by philosophy, feyther, I'd be better able to follow ye. (LIZZIE enters quietly and closes door after her.) JOHN. Is he asleep? LIZZIE. No, he's no' asleep, but I've shut both doors, and the neighbors canna hear him. JOHN. Aw, Lizzie LIZZIE (sharply). John — DAVID. Whit was I tellin' ye, John, about weans gettin' their ain way if the neighbors had ears an' they lived close? Was I no' richt? LIZZIE (answering for JOHN with some acerbity). Aye, ye were richt, feyther, nae doot; but we dinna live that close here, an' the neighbors canna hear him at the back o' the hoose. DAVID. Mebbe that's why ye changed Alexander into the parlor an' gied me the bed in here when it began to get cold LIZZIE (hurt). Aw, no, feyther; I brought ye in here to be warmer DAVID (placably). I believe ye, wumman (with a faint twinkle) - but it's turned oot luckily, has it no'? (DAVID waits for a reply but gets none. LIZZIE fetches needlework from the dresser drawer and sits above table. DAVID's face and voice take on a more thoughtful tone.) DAVID (musing). Puir wee man! If he was in here you'd no' be letting him greet his heart oot where onybody could hear him. Wud ye? LIZZIE (calmly). Mebbe I'd no'. JOHN. Ye ken fine ye'd no', wumman. LIZZIE. John, thread my needle an' dinna take feyther's part against me. JOHN (surprised). I'm no'. LIZZIE. No, I ken ye're no meanin' to, but you men are that thrang (She is interrupted by a loud squall from DAVID, which he maintains, eyes shut, chair-arms gripped, and mouth open, for nearly half a minute, before he cuts it off abruptly and looks at the startled couple at the table.) LIZZIE. Mercy, feyther, whit's wrang wi' ye? DAVID (collectedly). There's naethin' wrang wi' me, Lizzie, except that I'm wantin' to tell wee Alexander a bit story LIZZIE (firmly but very kindly). But ye're no' goin' to (She breaks off in alarm as her father opens his mouth preparatory to another yell, which however he postpones to speak to JOHN.) DAVID. Ye mind whit I was saying aboot the dispensation o' Providence to help weans till they could try for theirselves, John? JOHN. Aye. DAVID. Did it no' occur to ye then that there ought to be some sort of dispensation to look after the auld yins who were past it? JOHN. NO. DAVID. Aweel it didna occur to me at the time (and he lets off another prolonged wail). LIZZIE (going to him). Shsh! Feyther! The neighbors will hear ye!!! DAVID (desisting as before). I ken fine; I'm no' at the back of the hoose. (Shorter wail.) LIZZIE (almost in tears). They'll be coming to ask. LIZZIE (helplessly). Naething—feyther, stop it. They'll think ye're clean daft. DAVID (ceasing to howl and speaking with gravity). I ken it fine, Lizzie; an' it's no easy for a man who has been respeckit an' lookit up to a' his life to be thought daft at eighty-three; but the most important thing in life is to get yer ain way. (Resumes wailing.) LIZZIE (puzzled, to JOHN). Whit's that? JOHN. It's his philosophy that he was talking aboot. DAVID (firmly). An' I'm gaein' to tell wee Alexander yon bit story, tho' they think me daft for it. LIZZIE. But it's no' for his ain guid, feyther. I've telt ye so, but ye wudna listen. DAVID. I wudna listen, wumman! It was you wudna listen to me when I axed ye whit harm-(Chuckles.— Checking himself) No! I'm no gaein' to hae that ower again. I've gied up arguing wi' women. I'm juist gaein' tae greet loud an' sair till wee Alexander's brought in here to hae his bit story; an' if the neighbors (Loud squall.) LIZZIE (aside to JOHN). He's fair daft! JOHN (aghast). Ye'd no send him to LIZZIE (reproachfully). John! (A louder squall from the old man.) LIZZIE (beating her hands together distractedly). He'll be - We'll-He'll-Och!!! (Resigned and beaten) John, go and bring wee Alexander in here. (JOHN is off like a shot. The opening of the door of the other room can be told by the burst of ALEXANDER'S voice. The old man's wails have stopped the second his daughter capitulated. JOHN returns with ALEXANDER and bears him to his grandfather's waiting knee. The boy's tears and howls have ceased and he is smiling triumphantly. He is of course in his night-shirt and a blanket, which Grandpa wraps round him, turning toward the fire.) LIZZIE (looking on with many nods of the head and smacks of the lips). There you are! That's the kind o' boy he is. Greet his heart oot for a thing an' stop the moment he gets it. DAVID. Dae ye expect him to gae on after he's got it? Ah, but, Alexander, ye didna get it yer lane this time; it took the twa o' us. An' hard work it was for the Auld Yin! Man! (Playing hoarse) I doot I've enough voice left for a -(Bursting out very loud and making the boy laugh.) Aweel! Whit's it gaein' to be - eh? [CURTAIN] SCENE: The outskirts of a Fair. An Apple Stall. MRS. TARPEY sitting at it. MAGISTRATE and POLICEMAN enter. MAGISTRATE. So that is the Fair Green. Cattle and sheep and mud. No system. What a repulsive sight! POLICEMAN. That is so, indeed. MAGISTRATE. I suppose there is a good deal of disorder in this place? POLICEMAN. There is. MAGISTRATE. Common assault? POLICEMAN. It's common enough. MAGISTRATE. Agrarian crime, no doubt? POLICEMAN. That is so. MAGISTRATE. Boycotting? Maiming of cattle? Firing into houses? 1 Included by special permission of Lady Gregory and of Messrs. G. P. Putnam's Sons, the publishers of Seven Short Plays (1909), and other volumes of Lady Gregory's works. Application for acting rights must be made to Samuel French, 28 West 38th Street, New York City. |