Page:Plays in Prose and Verse (1922).djvu/48

32

. Why would they call me Paistin?

. And why wouldn’t they? Would you wish them to put your right name in a song, and your man ready to knock the brains of any man will as much as look your side of the road?

. Well, maybe so.

. I was standing by the man that made the song, and he writing it with an old bit of a carpenter’s pencil, and the tears running down—

[ takes a fork and rises to take out the chicken. puts his hand to stop her and goes on:

[ half rises again. puts his hand upon her hand. . Wait now till you hear the end [sings]: