CHRISTY, almost shouting.
Keep off . . . lest I do show a blow unto the lot of you would set the guardian angels winking in the clouds above.
He swings round with a sudden rapid movement and picks up a loy.
CROWD, half frightened, half amused.
He's going mad! Mind yourselves! Run from the idiot!
CHRISTY.
If I am an idiot, I'm after hearing my voice this day saying words would raise the topknot on a poet in a merchant's town. I've won your racing, and your lepping, and . . .
MAHON.
Shut your gullet and come on with me.
CHRISTY.
I'm going, but I'll stretch you first.
He runs at old Mahon with the loy, chases him out of the door, followed by crowd and Widow Quin. There is a great noise outside, then a yell, and dead silence for a moment. Christy comes in, half dazed, and goes to fire.
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