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Seven Short Plays.
by Lady Gregory.
SPREADING THE NEWS
PERSONS
_Bartley Fallon._ _Mrs. Fallon._ _Jack Smith._ _Shawn Early._ _Tim Casey._ _James Ryan._ _Mrs. Tarpey._ _Mrs. Tully._ _A Policeman_ (JO MULDOON).
_A Removable Magistrate._
SPREADING THE NEWS
_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 a.s.sault?
_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 honour.
_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. Tarpey:_ (_Turns and sees them._) Good morrow, Bartley Fallon; good morrow, Mrs. Fallon. Well, Bartley, you'll find no cause for complaining to-day; they are all saying it was a good fair.
_Bartley:_ (_Raising his voice._) It was not a good fair, Mrs. Tarpey.
It was a scattered sort of a fair. If we didn't expect more, we got less. That's the way with me always; whatever I have to sell goes down and whatever I have to buy goes up. If there's ever any misfortune coming to this world, it's on myself it pitches, like a flock of crows on seed potatoes.
_Mrs. Fallon:_ Leave off talking of misfortunes, and listen to Jack Smith that is coming the way, and he singing.
