— By my soul, they are not, indeed …
— As black as the Big Tinker with the lumps on his face? …
— Don’t worry, neighbour. Not that black, either …
— As black as Baba Pháidín’s fur coat after Caitríona’s house? …
— Shut your mouth, you little brat! …
— As black as Big Brian in a hangover sweat? …
— But when Big Brian went before the judge after being in the geyser-room in Dublin, he was as shiny-faced as any of the little saints in the chapel window …
— Big Brian in a hangover sweat. About as black as that, now …
— Oh! If that’s the case, they’re not niggers at all …
— The children are not nearly as black as the mother …
— Did they have to call the priest for the old lady? …
— Sure enough, neighbour, she was in a bad way. She didn’t want to let them into the house at all. The people of the village gathered round, and some of them were more inclined to pelt them with stones and chase them off. But, to make a long story short, neighbour, they were brought to the priest and he sprinkled a dash of water from the font on them, and the old lady was happy then … She’s very proud of them now. She brings them to Mass every Sunday …
— If that’s the case, Billyboy, I don’t mind being dead. I thought she’d lose heart and go to bits …
— Musha, have you any news of that young fellow of mine, Billyboy?
— Seáinín Liam, that young fellow of yours has a firm grip of what’s good for him. He bought a colt the other day …
— That’s great news, Billyboy. If he had a sturdy little girl now …
— Don’t worry, Seáinín. From what I hear, he’ll have that soon. A woman from West Headland who was in England. With plenty of money, I’m told. The Postmistress’s daughter told me the Small Master is getting married one of these days … Yes. That one who’s in Barry’s Betting Office in Brightcity … The priest doesn’t mention her at all now, neighbour. She took the pledge a while ago … Don’t worry, neighbour. They still talk about that feat of yours. Some say you did it, and others say you’d have burst …
— Devil a burst, then, Billyboy! That’s the God’s honest truth. I drank two score pints and two …
— Do you think an Antichrist will come soon, Billyboy? …
— Don’t worry, neighbour. I don’t figure it will. I don’t think it will. To make a long story short, I wouldn’t say it will …
— Faith then I think, Billyboy, it won’t be long now …
— That will all be fine, neighbour. You may be sure it will …
— Do many people need spiritual assistance, Billyboy, or do they say the Family Rosary?
— I’ve told you often enough, Big Colm’s daughter, to leave matters of heresy to me …
— Would you think, Billyboy, the prophecy is coming true? …
— I would indeed, neighbour. That will all be …
— Would Seán Chite in Donagh’s Village think it’s coming true? …
— On my last trip to Donagh’s Village, the village people — those who weren’t in England — were gathered round Seán Chite in the shade of a clump of nettles in the middle of the houses, and him prophesying …
— Did he say that England would disappear into the air in a ball of fire and ashes?
— In a ball of fire and ashes! In a ball of fire and ashes! He said the clergy would be as hungry as the lay people. Hold on now … He said no distinction would be made between woman and man. Hold on now … Hold on now … He said the pint would cost tuppence again …
— To hell with your women! Did he say that England would disappear in a ball of fire? …
— He wasn’t that far into it, neighbour. He had only reached where Knotted Bottom was woken up in the cellar and grabbed his sword to free Ireland. At that stage, I produced income tax notices about their legacies …
— Seán Chite is right. Every single word of it is coming true …
— … You say, Billyboy, that Éamon de Valera is winning …
— That’s a damned lie! Billyboy said Dick Mulcahy8 is winning …
—Éamon de Valera and Dick Mulcahy were at the chapel after Mass, a month ago. A Joint Meeting …
— A Joint Meeting?
— A Joint Meeting?
— By Dad! A Joint Meeting? …
— Crikies! A Joint Meeting? …
— A Joint Meeting about the emergency services …
—Éamon de Valera spoke about the Republic? …
— Dick Mulcahy spoke about the Treaty? …
— They didn’t speak about the Republic or the Treaty … To make a long story short, they both made the same speech: thanking the people …
— Ah! I understand now, Billyboy! That was a trick of de Valera’s to hoodwink the other crowd …
— That’s a damned lie! Of course, every old stopped clock in this graveyard knows it was a plan of Dick Mulcahy’s to make de Valera take the wrong turn. Wouldn’t you agree with me, Billyboy? …
— Be careful, Billyboy! You’ve reached the age of sense and reason, and remember that it was our crowd gave you the pay rise and promotion. Remember you were only an “Assistant Rural Postman” …
— My Fellow-Irish People! I’m here today! …
— If you’d been here at the time of the Election …
— No more than myself, Billyboy has nothing to do with politics …
— You coward! Get back under the bed….
— You spineless yoke!
— … Where are you, Pól? Your old friend was around here again this year …
— The Irish Language Enthusiast! You’re not serious! …
— … He didn’t go near Peadar the Pub’s at all … He won’t be hoodwinked there again, neighbour. Peadar the Pub’s daughter isn’t likely to hoodwink anybody any more, neighbour! Oh! There are plenty of reasons, neighbour! The Red-haired Policeman caught her one Sunday recently during second Mass. There wasn’t one of that Woody Hillside, Sive’s Rocks and Donagh’s Village lot home from England who wasn’t in there drinking. People say it was the Irish Language Enthusiast told the police to go in. Your man has a very high-ranking job in the Government …
— She won’t play the parlour trick any more …
— She robbed me …
— And me, too …
— Faith then, I wasn’t thankful to her. I was not, dear. After the second half-glass of whiskey she charged me four fourpenny bits, and from the sixth one eighteen pence. By the docks, it was true for the doctor from Brightcity: it only suited the small intestine, while porter suited the large intestine. Too much whiskey caused the small intestine to burst and the large one shrivelled up with spleen. I had no pain …
— … She’s lucky, neighbour, if the Sunday opening is all that’ll be against her, but people say she watered the whiskey bottles …
— She’ll lose the pub? …
— She might, neighbour, she might. But I wouldn’t say so …
— What’s the bloody use, so?
— Siúán the Shop’s daughter will lose her trading licence for certain. She’ll be tried in the Military Court … Black market tea. It was the sergeant caught her …
— The sergeant, then, even though she used to give him tea and cigarettes for nothing! …
— You were the cause of my death, my ugly Siúán! …
— … The One-Ear Breed, is it, neighbour? That youngest one of the tailor’s was arrested in England …
— Well done, Billyboy! Well done! …
— He stabbed the Redman’s son from Donagh’s Village …
— Oh! The same ancestral kidney trick another One-Ear played on myself! He’ll be hanged …