MRS. CRILLY
And where will you go?

MUSKERRY
I’ll go before the Board of Guardians and I’ll ask them to
provide for me.

MRS. CRILLY
What do you want me to do for you?

MUSKERRY
Give me fifty pounds, so that I can pay them off now.

MRS. CRILLY
Haven’t I told you the way I’m straitened for money?

MUSKERRY
You have still in the bank what would save my name.

MRS. CRILLY
Don’t be unreasonable.  I have to provide for my children.

MUSKERRY Your children.  Yes, you have to provide for your children.  I provided for them long enough.  And now you would take my place, my honour, and my self-respect, and provide for them over again. (He goes out)

MRS. CRILLY
I’ll have to put up with this, too.

  Anna re-enters.

ANNA
Where has he gone, mother?

MRS. CRILLY
He has gone down to the Workhouse.

ANNA
What is he going to do, mother?

MRS. CRILLY
He says he will ask the Guardians to provide for him.

ANNA
It’s not likely they’ll do that for a man with a pension of
fifty pounds a year.

MRS. CRILLY
I don’t know what will happen to us.

ANNA
He’ll come back, mother.

MRS. CRILLY
He will.  But everything will have been made public, and
the money will have to be paid.

ANNA
(at the window) There he is going down the street, mother.

MRS. CRILLY
Which way?

ANNA
Towards the Workhouse.  And here’s the doctor’s daughter coming
into the shop again, mother.

MRS. CRILLY
I’ll go out and see her myself. (As she goes out she
hands Anna a cheque) That’s the last cheque I’ll be able to make out. 
There’s your eighty pounds, Anna. (She goes into the shop)

ANNA
We can begin to get the furniture now.

  She sits down at the table and makes some calculation with a pencil.

CURTAIN

ACT THIRD

The infirm ward in the Workhouse.  Entrance from corridor, right.  Forward, left, are three beds with bedding folded upon them.  Back, left, is a door leading into Select Ward.  This door is closed, and a large key is in lock.  Fireplace with a grating around it, left.  Back, right, is a window with little leaded panes.

   It is noon on a May day, but the light inside the ward is feeble.

Two paupers are seated at fire.  One of them, Mickie Cripes, is a man of fifty, stooped and hollow-chested, but with quick blue eyes.  The other man, Tom Shanley, is not old, but he looks broken and listless.  Myles Gorman, still in pauper dress, is standing before window, an expectant look on his face.

Thomas Muskerry enters from corridor.  He wears his own clothes, but he has let them get into disorder.  His hair and beard are disordered, and he seems very much broken down.  Nevertheless, he looks as if his mind were composed.

MUSKERRY
It’s dark in here, Michael.