The Atlantic Book of Modern Plays | Page 8

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]

SPREADING THE NEWS[1]
Lady Gregory
[Footnote 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.]
CHARACTERS
BARTLEY FALLON MRS. FALLON JACK SMIT SHAWN EARLY
TIM CASEY JAMES RYAN MRS. TARPEY MRS. TULLY JOE
MULDOON, a policeman A REMOVABLE MAGISTRATE
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?
POLICEMAN. There was one time, and there might be again.
MAGISTRATE. That is bad. Does it go any farther than that?
POLICEMAN. Far enough, indeed.
MAGISTRATE. Homicide, then! This district has been shamefully
neglected! I will change all that. When I was in the Andaman Islands,
my system never failed. Yes, yes, I will change all that. What has that
woman on her stall?
POLICEMAN. Apples mostly--and sweets.
MAGISTRATE. Just see if there are any unlicensed goods
underneath--spirits or the like. We had evasions of the salt tax in the
Andaman Islands.
POLICEMAN (_sniffing cautiously and upsetting a heap of apples_). I
see no spirits here--or salt.
MAGISTRATE (to MRS. TARPEY). Do you know this town well, my
good woman?
MRS. TARPEY (_holding out some apples_). A penny the half-dozen,
your honor.
POLICEMAN (_shouting_). The gentleman is asking do you know the
town! He's the new magistrate!

MRS. TARPEY (_rising and ducking_). Do I know the town? I do, to
be sure.
MAGISTRATE (_shouting_). What is its chief business?
MRS, TARPEY. Business, is it? What business would the people here
have but to be minding one another's business?
MAGISTRATE. I mean what trade have they?
MRS. TARPEY. Not a trade. No trade at all but to be talking.
MAGISTRATE. I shall learn nothing here.
(JAMES RYAN _comes in, pipe in mouth. Seeing MAGISTRATE, he
retreats quickly, taking pipe from mouth._)
MAGISTRATE. The smoke from that man's pipe had a greenish look;
he may be growing unlicensed tobacco at home. I wish I had brought
my telescope to this district. Come to the post-office; I will telegraph
for it. I found it very useful in the Andaman Islands.
(MAGISTRATE and POLICEMAN _go out left._)
MRS. TARPEY. Bad luck to Jo Muldoon, knocking my apples this
way and that way. (_Begins arranging them._) Showing off he was to
the new magistrate.
(Enter BARTLEY FALLON and MRS. FALLON.)
BARTLEY. Indeed it's a poor country and a scarce country to be living
in. But I'm thinking if I went to America it's long ago the day I'd be
dead!
MRS. FALLON. So you might, indeed.
(_She puts her basket on a barrel and begins putting parcels in it, taking
them from under her cloak._)

BARTLEY. And it's a great expense for a poor man to be buried in
America.
MRS. FALLON. Never fear, Bartley Fallon, but I'll give you a good
burying the day you'll die.
BARTLEY. Maybe it's yourself will be buried in the graveyard of
Cloonmara before me, Mary Fallon, and I myself that will be dying
unbeknownst some night, and no one a-near me. And the cat itself may
be gone straying through the country, and the mice squealing over the
quilt.
MRS. FALLON. Leave off talking of dying. It might be twenty years
you'll be living yet.
BARTLEY (_with a deep sigh_). I'm thinking if I'll be living at the end
of twenty years, it's a very old man I'll be then!
MRS.