mule race will be run upon the sands. That's the playboy on the winkered mule.
MAHON, puzzled.
That lad, is it? If you said it was a fool he was, I'd have laid a mighty oath he was the likeness of my wandering son. (Uneasily, putting his hand to his head.) Faith, I'm thinking I'll go walking for to view the race.
WIDOW QUIN, stopping him, sharply.
You will not. You'd best take the road to Belmullet, and not be dilly-dallying in this place where there isn't a spot you could sleep.
PHILLY, coming forward.
Don't mind her. Mount there on the bench and you'll have a view of the whole. They're hurrying before the tide will rise, and it'd be near over if you went down the pathway through the crags below.
MAHON, mounts on bench, Widow Quin beside him.
That's a right view again the edge of the sea. They're coming now from the point. He's leading. Who is he at all?
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