13
Mrs. Gale: I hard some sort of hullabalooin’, but I was too freckened to listen. Were they speakin’ bad to us, Hommy?
Hommy: Aw scandalous. English wouldn’ do reachin’ for them, but heavin’ the Gaelic at us as hard as they could.
Mrs. Gale: Wheer’s the chile, Hommy?
Hommy: The chile you’re callin’ him. He’s a thousan’ years is that falla is he’s a day. Wasn’t he leadin’ the whole gang ridin’ his besom as if it was a pony, an’ the whole of them banging poor Hommy most unmarciful. You’ll do all right, but it’s me they’ll be after! ’Deed I’m not feelin’ so well this minute.
Sits down holding his head.
Mrs. Gale: Wheer’s the chile, Hommy Beg. Come urrow that an’ tell me wheer’s the chile!
Hommy: Amn’t I tellin’ you! Ridin’ his besom at the height of this glory and screetchin’ worse nor any of them.
Mrs. Gale: I’ll have the law on you, Hommy, if you don’t fetch the chile back middlin’ quick.
Hommy: Chut, chut, woman; they’re over the Deemster’s chimleys by this time, an’ judge nor jury won’t fetch them back.
Mrs. Gale: I’ll have the law on you, Hommy, an’ not wait for no judge an’ jury. Go on now, an’ don’t stand glommerin’ theer, but fetch him back this minute.
Chases him with the tongs. Hommy makes for door, Mrs. Gale holding on to his jacket and belabouring with the tongs. Hommy stops suddenly.
Hommy: Houl on, woman! Houl on! They’re not done with us yet. I hear somehtin’ breathin’ at the key-hole.
Elfin music heard.
Hommy [in a low voice]: Go an’ sit down again now, an’ turn your back; for if they’re thinkin’ you’re watchin’, they’ll spoil all an’ change him into a passel of cabbage-bons as like as not.
