Wasn't he glad to write that card, the
impudent rascal, with his tongue in his cheek? I'll consider it again.
I won't leave this place till it fits myself to leave it.
_Christy Clarice enters by corridor door with papers_.
MUSKERRY
They want me to resign from this place, Christy.
CHRISTY
You're thirty years here! Aren't you, Mister Muskerry?
MUSKERRY
Thirty years, thirty years. Ay, Christy, thirty years; it's
a long time. And I'm at my failing time. Perhaps I'm not able to do
any more. Day after day there would be troubles here, and I wouldn't
be able to face them. And in the end I might lose my position. I'm
going to write out my resignation. _(He goes to the desk and writes.
Christy is at table. Muskerry turns round after writing)_
MUSKERRY
No one that comes here can have the same heart for the poor
that I had. I was earning in the year of the famine. I saw able men
struggling to get the work that would bring them a handful of Indian
meal. And I saw the little children waiting on the roads for relief.
_(He turns back and goes on with letter. Suddenly a bell in the
House begins to toll)_ What's that for, Christy?
CHRISTY
Malachi O'Rourk, the Prince, as they called him, is dead.
MUSKERRY
Aye, I gave orders to toll him when he died. He was an
estated gentleman, and songs were made about his family. People used
to annoy him, but he's gone from them now.
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