_Rock_: Thief yourself. Leave your hand off it!

_Flannery_: Give it up here for the man that owns it!

_Rock_: You may set your coffin making for I'll beat you to the ground.

_Flannery: (As he clutches.)_ Ah, you have given it a shove. It has blown a blast on yourself!

_Rock_: Yourself that blew it on me! Bad cess to you! But I'll do the same bad turn upon you!

_(Blows.)_

_Flannery_: There is some footstep without.

Heave it in under the ashes.

_Rock_: Whist your tongue! _(Flings bellows behind hearth.)_

_(Conan comes in.)_

_Conan_: With all the chattering of women I have the train near lost. The car is coming for me and I'll make no delay now but to set out.

_(Sings.)_

"Oh the French are on the sea, Says the Sean Van Vocht, Oh the French are on the sea, Says the Sean Van Vocht,

Oh the French are in the bay, They'll be here without delay, And the Orange will decay, Says the Sean Van Vocht!"

Here now is my little pack. You were saying, Thomas Flannery, you would be lending me the loan of your umbrella.

_Flannery_: Ah, what umbrella? There's no fear of rain.

_Conan: (Taking it.)_ You to have proffered it I would not refuse it.

_Flannery: (Seizing it.)_ I don't know. I have to mind my own property. It might not serve it to be loaning it to this one and that. It might leave the ribs of it bare.

_Conan_: That's the way with the whole of ye. I to give you my heart's blood you'd turn me upside down for a pint of porter!

_Flannery_: I see no sense or charity in lending to another anything that might be of profit to myself.

_Conan_: Let you keep it so! That your ribs may be as bare as its own ribs that are bursting out through the cloth!

_Rock_: Do not give heed to him, Conan. There is in this bag _(takes it out)_ what will bring you every whole thing you might be wanting in the town.

_(Takes out notes and gold and gives them.)_

_Conan_: It is only a small share I'll ask the lend of.

_Rock_: The lend of! No, but a free gift!

_Conan_: Well now, aren't you turned to be very kind? _(Takes notes.)_

_Rock_: Put that back in the bag. Here it is, the whole of it. Five and fifty pounds. Take it and welcome! It is yourself will make a good use of it laying it out upon the needy and the poor.

Changing all for their benefit and their good! Oh, since St. Bridget spread her cloak upon the Curragh this is the most day and the happiest day ever came to Ireland.

_Conan: (Giving bag to Flannery.)_ Take it you, as is your due by what the mother said a while ago about the robbery he did on you in the time past.

_Flannery_: Give it here to me. I'll engage I'll keep a good grip on it from this out. It's long before any other one will get a one look at it!

_Conan_: There would seem to be a great change--and a sudden change come upon the two of ye.

..._(With a roar.)_ Where now is the bellows?

_Flannery: (Sulkily.)_ What way would I know?

_Conan: (Shaking him.)_ I know well what happened! It is _ye_ have stolen two of my blasts!

Putting changes on yourselves ye would--much good may it do ye--. Thieving with your covetousness the last two nearly I had left!

_Rock: (Sulkily.)_ Leave your hand off me! I never stole no blast!

_Conan_: There's a bad cla.s.s going through the world. The most people you will give to will be the first to cry you down. This was a wrong out of measure! Thieves ye are and pickpockets!

Ye that were not worth changing from one to another, no more than you'd change a pinch of dust off the road into a puff of ashes. Stealing away my lovely blasts, bad luck to ye, the same as Prometheus stole the makings of a fire from the ancient G.o.ds!

_Flannery_: That is enough of keening and lamenting after a few blasts of barren wind--I'll be going where I have my own business to attend.

_Conan_: Where, so, is the bellows?

_Flannery_: How would I know?

_Conan_: The two of ye won't quit this till I'll find it! There is another two blasts in it that will bring sense and knowledge into Ireland yet!

_Rock_: Indeed they might bring comfort yet to many a sore heart!

_Conan: (Searching.)_ Where now is it? I couldn't find it if the earth rose up and swallowed it. Where now did I lay it down?

_Rock_: There's too much changes in this place for me to know where anything is gone.

_Conan: (At door.)_ Where are you, Maryanne!

Celia! Timothy! Let ye come hither and search out my little bellows!

_(Timothy comes in, followed by Mother.)_

_Conan_: Hearken now, Timothy!

_Timothy: (Stopping his ears.)_ Speak easy, speak easy!

_Conan_: Take down now your fingers from your ears the way you will hear my voice!

_Timothy_: Have a care now with your screeching would you split the drum of my ear?

_Conan_: Is it that you have got your hearing?

_Timothy_: My hearing is it? As good as that I can hear a lie, and it forming in the mind.