Act I - Page 2

doorless side of the porch.]

O'FLAHERTY. Holiday, is it? I'd give five shillings to be back in
the trenches for the sake of a little rest and quiet. I never
knew what hard work was till I took to recruiting. What with the
standing on my legs all day, and the shaking hands, and the
making speeches, and--what's worse--the listening to them
and the calling for cheers for king and country, and the saluting
the flag till I'm stiff with it, and the listening to them
playing God Save the King and Tipperary, and the trying to make
my eyes look moist like a man in a picture book, I'm that bet
that I hardly get a wink of sleep. I give you my word, Sir
Pearce, that I never heard the tune of Tipperary in my life till
I came back from Flanders; and already it's drove me to that
pitch of tiredness of it that when a poor little innocent slip of
a boy in the street the other night drew himself up and saluted
and began whistling it at me, I clouted his head for him, God
forgive me.

SIR PEARCE [soothingly]. Yes, yes: I know. I know. One does get
fed up with it: I've been dog tired myself on parade many a time.
But still, you know, there's a gratifying side to it, too. After
all, he is our king; and it's our own country, isn't it?

O'FLAHERTY. Well, sir, to you that have an estate in it, it would
feel like your country. But the divil a perch of it ever I owned.
And as to the king: God help him, my mother would have taken the
skin off my back if I'd ever let on to have any other king than
Parnell.

SIR PEARCE [rising, painfully shocked]. Your mother! What are you
dreaming about, O'Flaherty? A most loyal woman. Always most
loyal. Whenever there is an illness in the Royal Family, she asks
me every time we meet about the health of the patient as
anxiously as if it were yourself, her only son.

O'FLAHERTY. Well, she's my mother; and I won't utter a word agen
her. But I'm not saying a word of lie when I tell you that that
old woman is the biggest kanatt from here to the cross of
Monasterboice. Sure she's the wildest Fenian and rebel, and
always has been, that ever taught a poor innocent lad like myself
to pray night and morning to St Patrick to clear the English out
of Ireland the same as he cleared the snakes. You'll be surprised
at my telling you that now, maybe, Sir Pearce?

SIR PEARCE [unable to keep still, walking away from O'Flaherty].
Surprised! I'm more than surprised, O'Flaherty. I'm overwhelmed.
[Turning and facing him.] Are you--are you joking?

O'FLAHERTY. If you'd been brought up by my mother, sir, you'd
know better than to joke about her. What I'm telling you is the
truth; and I wouldn't tell it to you if I could see my way to get
out of the fix I'll be in when my