KATE. They're a lot of mean scrubs, the whole caboosh of them.

DANIEL (to himself). I wonder would twenty pounds be any use at all?

BROWN (nudging KATE slyly). I believe that once Sarah puts a price on a thing, like a pig or a sow, or a hen, the divil himself couldn't beat her down in the price of it. And Andy, they say, can beat the best dealer in the county from here to the Mourne. (DANIEL, who has been listening uneasily, gets up and turns round to look at them.) It's the fine cigar that you were smoking, Mr. Daniel, this morning.

DANIEL. Cigar? Yes. Yes.

BROWN. Aye. A fine cigar, sir. There was a grand smell off it. I seen you coming up by the McMinns, sir, this morning on the road from the station.

DANIEL. Yes. On the road from the station.

BROWN. You didn't see them, but I noticed Andy and Sarah coming out to the gate when you had passed them and looking after you a long time.

DANIEL. Is that so?

BROWN. Aye. A long time, sir. I suppose, like myself, they smelled the cigar. (DANIEL at once throws down the cigar in disgust.) Mr. Andy, they say, is guy fond of a good cigar, and I understand that he'll be for getting a few boxes of them soon, for the sister, they say, is coming into a lot of money.

KATE. Ach, you and your cigars! Will you get out of this and quit tormenting people? Go on. Out you go.

BROWN (as if out of curiosity, picks up the cigar and goes out slowly).

DANIEL. He's a very impertinent man that. Very worrisome.

KATE. Ach, never heed him, Mr. Dan! sure no one in this house does. You'll be tired after travelling, sir. Will I make you a drop of tea?

DANIEL. It's hard to eat anything, Kate, when I'm worried. (Despairingly.) I don't think there's another man living that has the same worries as I have. Something awful! Where's the pen and ink, I wonder?

KATE. There's some here on the dresser, Miss Mary was using it to-day. (She takes it over from the dresser to the table. DANIEL rises and goes over and sits down and begins slowly to write.) Cheer up, Mr. Daniel. Sure you sold the plans of the bellows anyway. Didn't you, sir? They had word up at the McAleenans the other night that you got two thousand for it.

DANIEL (astonished). Eh? They said that.

KATE. Aye. To be sure. McAndless told McArdle, and he told Smith the postman, and the postman told the McAleenans, and said he had seen letters about it. And McAleenan was up in McMinns the other night and told them, and I believe you never saw such an astonished crowd of people in all their lives.

DANIEL. He told the McMinns that?

KATE. Aye, last night I think it was.

DANIEL. Last night? (He looks at the letter.) Yesterday was the 14th, wasn't it? Aye. It was. I wonder did they believe McAleenan?

KATE. I don't think they know right what to make of it. And yon Scotchman was there at the time, and mind you, Mr. Dan, they say he looked quite serious when he heard it, and said such things as that happened many's a time.

DANIEL (incredulously). Mackenzie said that?

KATE. Aye. You know, I think it's maybe because he has a wee notion of Miss Mary, sir.

DANIEL. It's quite possible. Quite possible. A nice wee girl is Mary. Fact, too good for the half of the clodhoppers about these parts. (He takes up the parcel, pen, and ink, and paper, and goes across into the workshop.)

KATE (looking after him). Poor creature. I'm feared he's for the road again if he doesn't worry out some way for himself. And God knows he's the one best fitted for it. (MARY enters.) Well, did you see him off comfortably?

MARY. Who?

KATE. Alick McCready.

MARY. Kate. I with you'd mind your own business.

KATE. It's a sore time I have in this house minding my own and every other bodies' business.

MARY. Kate. He said I couldn't bake a cake to save my life. I'll just show him that I can, and you're not to help me, mind you. I'm going to do it all myself.

MARY. Where's the flour?

KATE. There's none in the house, Miss Mary.

MARY. What?

KATE. You mind it was all used up this morning on account of them cakes that nearly killed your poor ould da.

MARY. Go down to McArdles, Kate, and get a quarter stone on account.

KATE. Your da told me this morning, Miss Mary, that I wasn't to get any more from McArdles or any other place unless he gives me an order for it. Do you not mind?

MARY (dejectedly). So he did. I had forgotten.

KATE. Aye. Quite so, Miss. (She sits down contentedly.)

MARY. I wonder is Uncle Dan about?

KATE. Aye. He's in his workshop, Miss.

MARY (going over and knocking at door of workshop). Uncle Dan!

DANIEL (appearing at door). Well, Mary?

MARY. Uncle Dan, could you give me sixpence?

DANIEL (jumbling in his pockets). Sixpence? Sixpence, Mary? Bless your wee heart. Here. Here's a two shilling bit. But Mary, mum's the word. Don't tell John I gave it to you.

MARY. No. Thank you, uncle. (DANIEL goes in again.) There, Kate, quick as you can and don't stop to talk to anybody. Sure you won't? (She hands KATE the money and takes up the recipe book.)

KATE. I'm not dirty looking—am I, Miss Mary?

MARY (absorbed in the book). No. You'll do grand. Flour, currants.

KATE. Ach! You and your currants. Could you not tell a body was her face clean?

MARY. It's lovely. Hurry, Kate. (KATE shrugs her shoulders disgustedly, and goes out by yard door.) Flour, currants——(She goes over to the workshop door and listens)—raisins—(A sound as of a blast blowing can be heard. MARY becomes intensely interested, and, throwing aside the book, kneels down and puts her head to the keyhole.) He's actually got something to work. (She peeps in.) He has, indeed. (She laughs, knocks loudly at the door, and then runs to the other side of the kitchen. DANIEL opens the door and cautiously peeps out.) Uncle Danny! Ha! Ha! Uncle Danny! (Dancing up and down in front of the fireplace.) Uncle Dan's a wonderful man! Uncle Dan's a wonderful man!

DANIEL (amazed). What's all this?

MARY. I'm a cleverer girl than you think, Uncle Dan! I know your great surprise. I've found it out. And you've actually got it to work! That's splendid, uncle, isn't it? Father will be awful proud when he hears about it. And you did it all yourself, uncle?

DANIEL. Well, I took those plans, Mary, to a handy chap, an acquaintance of mine, and he made it out according to my design. I'm not sure—I think it works all right.

MARY. And did you get it sold, uncle?

DANIEL. No, Mary, but I have hopes—great hopes. (He wanders up to the window apparently searching for the screw driver.)

MARY. Do you think you'd get more than one thousand pounds for it?

DANIEL (looking out of window and seeing someone approaching). Don't know, Mary. Don't know. Very hard to know these things. Where could that screw driver be I wonder?

MARY. I think I saw father working with it last at something in the parlour. Will I get it for you, Uncle Dan? (Knocking at door.)

DANIEL. No. Never mind, Mary. I'll get it myself. There's someone at the door. You better open the door, Mary. (He goes off hurriedly to parlour.) (Knocking at yard door.) Come in. (DONAL MACKENZIE opens the door and comes in.)

MACKENZIE. Fine afternoon, Miss Murray.

MARY (coldly). Good day to you.

MACKENZIE. I'm going off to Scotland verra soon, and I thought I would call over to see you before I went off. You're no angry, are you?

MARY. No. (MACKENZIE seats himself at the table.)

MACKENZIE. Did you get a post card?

MARY. I got some silly thing this morning that I tore up.

MACKENZIE. I'm sorry. I'm verra fond of you, Mary.

MARY. Miss Murray, please.

MACKENZIE. A girl like you is lost here, you know. Now, if you were a Scotch lassie you would have a great time enjoying yourself. In a place like Greenock we have a theatre, and we have a music hall and a cinematograph show on Saturdays and trains to Glasgow. You could have a grand time in Scotland.

MARY. Do you really like me, Mr. Mackenzie?

MACKENZIE. Verra much. Indeed I—

MARY. Well. Look here. I would like you very, very much too, if you——

MACKENZIE. If I what, bonnie Mary?

MARY. I'd even let you call me Mary, and write to me if you wanted to, if you would do me a favour.

MACKENZIE. What's the favour?

MARY. Uncle Dan has brought home his fan bellows, and it works.

MACKENZIE (laughs). The fan bellows! I think he'll never make much of a fortune of his fan bellows.

MARY. Do you ever examine new inventions?

MACKENZIE. Aye. I'm a specialist on that, you know. I'm the writer of the inventions column in the Scottish——

MARY. Yes. Yes. That's all right. I know. Are all the inventions you write about good things?

MACKENZIE. Eh? Ninety-nine per cent. rotten, lassie. Ninety-nine per cent. perfectly rotten. People don't invent a reciprocating piston that works every day in the week, or a fan bellows either.

MARY. But if you liked the inventor you could do him a good turn all the same?

MACKENZIE. Aye. I did that often.

MARY. Then could you do a good turn for Uncle Dan?

MACKENZIE. Give the bellows a boost up. No, Mary. I could nae. I don't like to grieve you, but committing perjury—No. I couldn't do it, Mary.

MARY (coming closer). Yes. You would. You'd do it for me. Won't you?

MACKENZIE. Eh?

MARY. Look. Uncle Dan has his new fan bellows in that workshop. Go in and look at it, and if you do like me really, you could tell the McMinns that it was good—even if it wasn't quite perfect.

MACKENZIE (hesitatingly). Um. I'll consider the question.

(DANIEL re-enters. He stops short on seeing MACKENZIE, and seems to become very uncomfortable.)

MARY. Uncle Dan! Mr. Mackenzie's going to examine your bellows.

DANIEL. I don't allow everybody to go and look at it. No. I refuse. It's my property and no one else's.

MARY. Uncle Dan. (She looks at him meaningly.) Mr. Mackenzie has promised to give his opinion on it.

DANIEL. It's not protected yet by patent.

MACKENZIE. Andy McMinn is coming over, Mr. Murray. He has got orders from his sister to settle the case for her. Are you going to pay the money?

DANIEL. That is a matter of my own deciding. (MARY goes over to her uncle and whispers to him.)

MACKENZIE. Verra well. I may go. (To MARY.) I would have done you that good turn, Miss Murray; but there's no enmity between us. And (lowering his voice)—I hope you get the best of the McMinns in the bargain. Don't give in, Mr. Murray, easy. Take my tip. I'm from the stables, you know. (He laughs knowingly.)

MARY. Here's Andy now (she looks out through the window), and Alick's with him. (She opens the door, ANDY MCMINN and MCCREADY enter. MCCREADY glances at MARY and MACKENZIE, and goes over sulkily to the fireplace. ANDY advances awkwardly towards DANIEL.)

DANIEL (genially). Good afternoon, Andy.

ANDY. Good afternoon. (He looks at MACKENZIE, who nods curtly.) I suppose you know I've power to settle the case.

DANIEL. Well, you wrote the letter, and so, in point of law, I think it is you who should look after all this unfortunate business. Believe me, Andy, I sympathise with you. I do indeed. (MARY and MACKENZIE become absorbed in conversation near the table. ALICK MCCREADY stands at the fireplace looking at them and unable to conceal his jealousy, makes sundry odd noises to distract MARY'S attention. She pretends not to hear him.) I have your letter here. (He searches in his pocket and produces it.) Yes. One thousand pounds. Do you not think that a trifle high?

ANDY. Well. You know we could have as easily claimed two thousand, but we didn't like to break you altogether; so we just said that a thousand would come pretty near it.

MACKENZIE. Mr. Daniel, may I look at the bellows?

MARY. Uncle Dan, I'm sure you won't object. (She makes a gesture as if asking him to assent.)

DANIEL (looking hard at her, and then seeming to understand what she is about). Yes. Yes. I'll thrash out the matter here with Andy. (MACKENZIE goes across into the workshop, followed by MARY. MCCREADY sits down disconsolately at the fireplace and begins to smoke his pipe moodily.) A thousand pounds is impossible. Absolutely out of the question.

MCCREADY (to himself). Ach. She only torments me.

DANIEL (looking over wonderingly). Eh? People behave strangely sometimes, Andy. Very strangely. (MCCREADY makes no response, but sits with his back to the two of them.) Just a moment, Andy. What about a wee drink. Eh, Andy?

ANDY. Aye. Well, I wouldn't mind at all, Daniel.

DANIEL. Just to show there's no ill-feeling over this unfortunate business. (He goes to the clock, opens the panel door and takes out a bottle of whiskey, gets glasses from the dresser and pours out a small portion of whiskey into each.) Good health, Andy.

ANDY. Good health, Daniel. (They drink.)

DANIEL. Now to go on with our business. I don't think, in the first case, that this was an affaire de coeur, as the Frenchmen say.

ANDY. Eh?

DANIEL. You don't understand French? Of course not. No. It wasn't a love affair, I mean. I don't think Sarah was in love with John, was she?

ANDY (hesitatingly). Well—indeed, now, I don't know that she was.

DANIEL. No. We're all aware of that. He was just what we'd call a likely man. That's all.

ANDY. Aye. He would have been a good match for her.

DANIEL. Yes. Quite so, Andy. He would have been a good match for her. (He makes notes in a pocket book.) Nothing like notes, Andy. Now, so much for the love part of the business. They never exchanged letters?

ANDY. No. No letters.

DANIEL (writing). No letters. Of course in a breach of promise letters are a great help. A great help. I'm very glad, however, just for your sister's sake, that she never wrote any to John. Imagine them reading out the love letters in the open court, and all the servant boys gaping and laughing.

ANDY. It's not nice, right enough. It's one thing I wouldn't like.

DANIEL. No. It's one thing we would not like. Well. No love. No letters. Next thing. He never courted her?

ANDY. Well, he came over and sat in the house a few nights.

DANIEL. Yes. No doubt. But hadn't he always some message on business to transact with you? Loan of a plough or a horse, or something like that?

ANDY (uneasily). That's so, of course.

DANIEL. Ah, yes. That's so, of course.

ANDY. But I seen him with his arm round her the night of the social at the school house.

DANIEL. Andy. That's a wee failing of John's. I often warned him about doing that sort of thing indiscriminately. A bit of a ladies' man, John, in his way. I saw him do the same nonsense four or five times that night with other girls. John likes to think himself a bit of a gay dog, you know. It's not right—I don't think myself it's a bit proper to put your arm round a girl's waist on every occasion, but sometimes it's quite allowable. A night like a social, for instance.

ANDY. Aye. Of course a social's different.

DANIEL. Aye, Andy, a social's different. Well, now. No love, no letters, no courting, no photographs exchanged? (He looks at ANDY inquiringly). No photographs exchanged? (He notes it down.) No ring? In fact, Andy, no nothing.

ANDY. But he proposed to her right enough.

DANIEL. Who said so?

ANDY (astonished). What? Do you mean to deny he didn't?

DANIEL. My dear Andy, I don't know. There was no one there but the two, I suppose, when he asked her—if he did ask her. There's only her word for it.

ANDY. He wouldn't deny it himself?

DANIEL. Well. That depends on whether he really asked her to marry him of course. And it's likely enough that John would be inclined to deny it if his memory was at all bad—it is a bad memory he has, you know. He forgets often to return your ploughs and that sort of thing.

ANDY (blankly). Aye. He has a bad memory.

DANIEL. Yes. Just so. And the fact that a verdict of one thousand pounds would hang on it would hardly make it any better. Would it? You've a bad case against us, Andy. A rotten case! In fact, looking over the whole thing carefully, do you really believe you'd make even a ten pound note out of us?

ANDY (despairingly). I wish Sarah had come and settled the case herself.

DANIEL. Ah, no. You've a better head, Andy, for seeing the sensible side of a thing, far better. (MARY comes out of the workshop smiling gaily.) Well?

MARY. Uncle Dan, he's delighted with it.

ANDY. What with? The bellows?

MARY. Yes. Go in, Andy, till you see it.

ANDY. Is it true, Daniel, you were offered two thousand for it?

DANIEL. We'll just go in and have a look at it. (ANDY and he go into workshop.)

MARY (looking across at ALICK). What's the matter?

ALICK. Nothing. I'm going home. (He goes across to the yard door.)

MARY. Alick!

MCCREADY. Goodbye.

MARY. And I was going to go to all the trouble of baking a big plum cake for you, you big ungrateful thing.

MCCREADY (stopping at the door). I know what your plum cakes would be like. (He opens the door and stops again before going out.)

MARY. Well, get that big, ugly Maggie Murphy to bake them for you then.

MCCREADY (looking out through door and then coming inside again). I say, here's Kate and your father coming and a load of flour.

MARY (in a frightened voice). Kate and father?

MCCREADY. He seems to be in a bit of a temper.

MARY (in a frightened voice). He's caught her with the flour!

MCCREADY (laughing). Flour? Aye—she's carrying about three stone of it! Boys, but that would make a powerful pudding!

MARY. It was to have been the nicest one I could have baked.

MCCREADY (coming in and going over to her). Mary.

MARY. What?

MCCREADY. You wouldn't come to my house where there would be no stint of flour or raisins or anything else, and I'd eat all you cooked for me no matter if I was dying after it.

MARY. Go to your house!

ALICK. Aye. Look here, wee girl. I got this——(He fumbles and produces a ring.) Let me put that on your wee finger, won't you?

MARY. Oh, Alick, what a lovely wee ring. (She allows him to put it on her finger, and is shyly kissing him when JOHN enters, followed by KATE, who is trying vainly to stop a leak in the bag of flour which she is carrying. KATE goes to the dresser and places the bag on it.)

JOHN (severely to MARY). Mary. Did you send her for more flour?

MARY (meekly). Yes, father.

JOHN. And didn't I leave word there was no more to be got without my orders? (MARY hangs her head.) It's lamentable the waste in this house! I was just looking at the pass book last night, and you'd think this house was a bakery to see the amount of flour comes into it.

MARY (submissively). I'm sorry, father.

JOHN. When I was out on the road, I seen a trail of flour leading up our loaning, and says I to myself, Jeminy' father, are they getting some more! So I followed up the mark and just caught up on her coming through the gate.

MARY (a little defiantly). It's paid for, Kate, anyway. Isn't it?

KATE. It is, Miss. (She busies herself putting the flour into a box, and then slips out during the next speech.)

JOHN. Eh? Who give you the money?

MARY (going over to her father and whispering). Uncle Dan is in there, father, with Andy McMinn and Mr. Mackenzie, the Scotch engineer, looking at his bellows.

JOHN (amazed). Eh? Andy McMinn? Is Dan settling the case?

MARY. I believe he'll do it yet.

JOHN (admiringly). He has a great head on him, Daniel.

MACKENZIE (coming out of workshop and going over to MARY). Mary, I'm sorry. That bellows is such an absolutely rotten thing—so useless and so absolutely rotten that I can't—(He sees JOHN.) How are you, Mr. Murray?

JOHN. Fine day.

MARY (appealingly). Mr. Mackenzie, what did you say to Andy about it?

MACKENZIE. What did I say? Oh, ma perjured conscience—I said it was a grand thing. (DANIEL and ANDY MCMINN come in from workshop.)

ANDY (nervously). Brave day, John.

JOHN. Aye. It is.

ANDY. Sarah gave me power to settle the case.

JOHN. I'm glad to hear it.

MACKENZIE. I tell you what it is, Mr. Daniel Murray. It's a good thing that—a right good thing, and I'll make you an offer for it.

ANDY (eagerly). What's it worth?

MACKENZIE (with a look at MARY). It's worth—it's worth more than all the damages your sister will get from Mr. Murray.

DANIEL (suddenly). I tell you what it is, Andy, and believe me when I tell you, I'm sacrificing a great deal. I'll make a deal with you. Instead of a lump sum cash down, I'll hand over all the rights and royalties of that same bellows to you to settle the case.

ANDY (dubiously). I—I don't know.

DANIEL. You will have all the expense of the law, the bad name that your sister will be having over the head of being in a breach of promise, and all the expenses of solicitors and lawyers. Then, after that, trying to get the money out of us, and, mind you, we will fight you to the last ditch. Won't we, John?

JOHN. Aye.

DANIEL. There now. What do you say, Mr. Mackenzie?

MACKENZIE. I tell you what it is, Mr. Murray. I'll make you an offer for——

ANDY (hastily). I'll take your offer, Daniel.

DANIEL. One second. I drew up a wee agreement for you to sign, and I'll fetch the bellows. (He goes into the workshop.)

ANDY. I don't like signing my name to agreements or things like that unless I'm quite certain they're all right, Mr. Mackenzie.

MACKENZIE (with a sly look at MARY). Well, if you have any compunction about signing, I'll do it myself.

MARY. I think Uncle Dan's a fool to throw away the thing that way. I do indeed. (DANIEL comes out with the parcel and the pen, ink and paper.)

DANIEL. Just sign your name to that, Andy. It's a sort of agreement to settle the case—you can read it for yourself. (He hands a sheet of paper to ANDY with the pen.) It's to show that the whole thing is fixed up to the satisfaction of everybody. (ANDY looks at it and then signs.) Ah. Good! Now, Alick, and you, Mr. Mackenzie, just witness it and the date. (They both sign.) And now, Andy, there's your bellows. (ANDY looks at it, and then takes it under his arm.) And may you have the best of luck with it. (ANDY looks wonderingly at the parcel in his arms and moves slowly towards the door.)

MACKENZIE. Noo, my reward, Miss Murray—Mary rather. (He goes forward and she stretches out her hand for him to shake, when he notices the ring, and stops short.)

JOHN. I hope you're satisfied, Andy.

ANDY. I'm just wondering, Mr. Mackenzie, do you think——

MACKENZIE. I think nothing for a year. I'll—I'll—I'm for Scotland in the morning. (He goes out morosely through the door.)

DANIEL. There, Andy. There's company home for you, and good luck to you. It's a sad heart I'll have this night.

ANDY. I'm wondering what Sarah would say—(He goes to the door.) Ach! She couldn't do better herself. No courting.

DANIEL. No. No courting.

ANDY. And no love and no letters.

DANIEL. No. No love and no letters.

ANDY. And no ring nor nothing, and a thousand pound bellows.

DANIEL. Yes, Andy. And a thousand pound bellows. (He wanders out abstractedly. DANIEL follows him to the door and shouts after him)—Goodbye, Andy. And may you have the best of luck with it.

ANDY (without). Thank ye, Daniel. Goodbye. (DANIEL closes the door after him and looks sadly but triumphantly across at JOHN. ALICK and MARY go to the window together and look out after ANDY.)

DANIEL. Well, John?

JOHN (with a sigh of intense relief and gratitude). Dan, I've said it before, and I'll say it again, you've a great head on you, Daniel.

(CURTAIN.)

THE END