Matthew.  Your sowl to Morris Kelly! why didn’t you tell me that before?  The divil an ingine he’ll get me on this day. [His ear catches an approaching teuf-teuf] Oh murdher! it’s comin afther me:  I hear the puff puff of it. [He runs away through the gate, much to Hodson’s amusement.  The noise of the motor ceases; and Hodson, anticipating Broadbent’s return, throws off the politician and recomposes himself as a valet.  Broadbent and Larry come through the shrubbery.  Hodson moves aside to the gate].

Broadbent.  Where is Mr Haffigan?  Has he gone for the pig?

Hodson.  Bolted, sir!  Afraid of the motor, sir.

Broadbent [much disappointed].  Oh, that’s very tiresome.  Did he leave any message?

Hodson.  He was in too great a hurry, sir.  Started to run home, sir, and left his pig behind him.

Broadbent [eagerly].  Left the pig!  Then it’s all right.  The pig’s the thing:  the pig will win over every Irish heart to me.  We’ll take the pig home to Haffigan’s farm in the motor:  it will have a tremendous effect.  Hodson!

Hodson.  Yes sir?

Broadbent.  Do you think you could collect a crowd to see the motor?

Hodson.  Well, I’ll try, sir.

Broadbent.  Thank you, Hodson:  do.

Hodson goes out through the gate.

Larry [desperately].  Once more, Tom, will you listen to me?

Broadbent.  Rubbish!  I tell you it will be all right.

Larry.  Only this morning you confessed how surprised you were to find that the people here showed no sense of humor.

Broadbent [suddenly very solemn].  Yes:  their sense of humor is in abeyance:  I noticed it the moment we landed.  Think of that in a country where every man is a born humorist!  Think of what it means! [Impressively] Larry we are in the presence of a great national grief.

Larry.  What’s to grieve them?

Broadbent.  I divined it, Larry:  I saw it in their faces.  Ireland has never smiled since her hopes were buried in the grave of Gladstone.

Larry.  Oh, what’s the use of talking to such a man?  Now look here, Tom.  Be serious for a moment if you can.

Broadbent [stupent] Serious!  I!!!

Larry.  Yes, you.  You say the Irish sense of humor is in abeyance.  Well, if you drive through Rosscullen in a motor car with Haffigan’s pig, it won’t stay in abeyance.  Now I warn you.

Broadbent [breezily].  Why, so much the better!  I shall enjoy the joke myself more than any of them. [Shouting] Hallo, Patsy Farrell, where are you?

Patsy [appearing in the shrubbery].  Here I am, your honor.

Broadbent.  Go and catch the pig and put it into the car—­we’re going to take it to Mr Haffigan’s. [He gives Larry a slap on the shoulders that sends him staggering off through the gate, and follows him buoyantly, exclaiming] Come on, you old croaker!  I’ll show you how to win an Irish seat.