Class. 
 
IHE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 LENNOX ROBINSON 
 
 
 SE* 
 
 f^l^m^mtmm 
 
 AMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th St., New York 
 
DOROTHY'S NEIGHBORS. 
 
 A brand new comedy in four acts, by Marie Doran, author of "T" 
 New Co-Ed," "Tempest and Sunshine," and many other successful pla„ 
 4 males, 7 females. The scenes are extremely easy to arrange ; two plain 
 interiors and one exterior, a garden, or, if necessary, the two interiors 
 will answer. Costumes modern. Plays W/ 2 hours. 
 
 The story is about vocational training, a subject now widely discussed; also, 
 the distribution of large wealth. 
 
 Back of the comedy situation and snappy dialogue there is good logic and 
 i sound moral in this pretty play, which is worthy the attention of the experi- 
 enced amateur. It is a clean, wholesome play, particularly suited to high school 
 production. Price, 3 P Cents. 
 
 MISS SOMEBODY ELSE. 
 
 A modern play in four acts by Marion Short, author of "The Touch- 
 down," etc. 6 males, 10 females. Two interior scenes. Costumes mod- 
 ern. Plays % X A hours. 
 
 This delightful comedy has gripping dramatic moments, unusual character 
 types, a striking and original plot and is essentially modern in theme and treat* 
 ment. The story concerns the adventures of Constance Darcy, a multi-million- 
 aire's young daughter. Constance embarks on a trip to find a young man who 
 had been in her father's employ and had stolen a large sum of money. She 
 almost succeeds, when suddenly all traces of the young man are lost. At this 
 point she meets some old friends who are living in almost want and, in order to 
 assist them through motives benevolent, she determines to sink her own aristo- 
 cratic personality in that of a refined but humble little Irish waitress with the 
 family that are in want. She not only carries her scheme to success in assisting 
 the family, but finds romance and much tense and lively adventure during the 
 period of her incognito, aside from capturing the young man who had defrauded 
 her father. The story is full of bright comedy lines and dramatic situations and 
 is highly recommended for amateur production. This is one of the best come- 
 dies we have ever offered with a large number of female characters. The dialogue 
 is bright and the play is full of action from start to finish; not a dull moment in 
 it. This is a great comedy for high schools and colleges, and the wholesoms 
 story will please the parents and teachers. We strongly recommend it. 
 
 Price, 30 Cents. 
 
 PURPLE AND FINE LINEN. 
 
 An exceptionally pretty comedy of Puritan New England, in three 
 acts, by Amita B. Fairgrieve and Helena Miller. 9 male, 5 female char- 
 acters. 
 
 This Is the Lend A Hand Smith College prize play. It is an admir ; play 
 for amateurs, is rich in character portrayal of varied types and is not to>. ifficult 
 while thoroughly pleasing. Price, 30 Cents, 
 
 (The Above Are Subject to Royalty When Produced) 
 SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 West 45th Street, New York City 
 
 New and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Free on Request 
 
THE 
 WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 .£11.. 
 
 A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS 
 
 BY 
 
 LENNOX ROBINSON 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 
 
 ERNEST BOYD 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 CAUTION. — Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that 
 "THE WHITEHEADED BOY," being fuHy protected under the 
 copyright laws of the United States of America, the Dominion of 
 Canada, and the British Empire, and the other countries of the 
 Copyright Union, is subject to a royalty, and anyone presenting 
 the play without the consent of the owners or their authorized 
 agents will be liable to the penalties by law provided. Applica- 
 tions for the acting rights must be made to Samuel French, 25 
 West 45th Street, New York, N. Y. 
 
 New York 
 SAMUEL FRENCH 
 
 PUBLISHER 
 
 25 West 45th Street 
 
 London 
 SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 
 26 Southampton Street 
 
 Strand 
 
 

 Copyright, 192 1 
 
 by 
 Lennox Robinson 
 
 3«ritM 
 
 Printed in the United States of America 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 Especial notice should be taken that the possession of 
 this book without a valid contract for production first 
 having been obtained from the publisher, confers no 
 right or license to professionals or amateurs to produce 
 the play publicly or in private for gain or charity. 
 
 In its present form this play is dedicated to the read- 
 ing public only, and no performance, representation, 
 production, recitation, or public reading or radio broad- 
 casting may be given except by special arrangement with 
 Samuel French, 25 West 45th Street, New York. 
 
 Amateur royalty quoted on application. 
 
 Whenever the play is produced the following notice 
 must appear on all programs, printing and advertising 
 for the play: "Produced by special arrangement with 
 Samuel French of New York." 
 
 Attention is called to the penalty provided by law for 
 any infringement of the author's right, as follows: 
 
 "Section 4966: — Any person publicly performing or 
 representing any dramatic or musical composition for 
 which copyright has been obtained, without the consent 
 of the proprietor of said dramatic or musical composi- 
 tion, or his heirs and assigns, shall be liable for damages 
 thereof, such damages, in all cases to be assessed at 
 such sum, not less than one hundred dollars for the first 
 and fifty dollars for every subsequent performance, as 
 to the court shall appear to be just. If the unlawful 
 performance and representation be wilful and for profit, 
 such person or persons shall be guilty of a misdemeanor, 
 and upon conviction shall be imprisoned for a period not 
 exceeding one year."— rU. S. Revised Statutes: Title 60, 
 Chap. 3. 
 
To 
 "AUNT ELLEN " 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 A chapter in the history of the Irish Theatre 
 was closed in 1907, when The Playboy of the 
 Western World was produced, bringing in its 
 train notoriety, fame and a relative degree of 
 popular success. The recognition of the genius 
 of J. M. Synge was the culminating point in 
 the movement for the creation of a national 
 folk-drama which he had initiated in the 
 company of Lady Gregory, Padraic Colum and 
 William Boyle. These were the pioneers of 
 the peasant play and each contributed a definite 
 element to that type of drama, marking the lim- 
 itations within which it was to develop. As a 
 result of the enhanced prestige of the Theatre 
 and of the extension of its influence, a great 
 number of new playwrights came forward, 
 including several whose names were to attain 
 a prominence which has obscured the prior 
 claims of their predecessors, the dramatists, 
 who laid the foundations of the success enjoyed 
 by the Abbey Theatre after the death of Synge 
 in 1909. A convention had been created and 
 it was not long before a host of peasant melo- 
 dramatists arose to fulfil the demand for such 
 vii 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 plays. What was obvious in the verbal exuber- 
 ance of Synge, in the profound realism of 
 Padraic Colum, in the drollery of Lady 
 Gregory, could be imitated, and popular folk- 
 drama came to be manufactured according to 
 a formula. 
 
 One of the young men who at that time 
 was influenced by seeing the performances of 
 the Irish Players was the author of The White- 
 headed Boy. Mr. Lennox Robinson is the son 
 of a clergyman and was born in Cork in 1886. 
 He was one of a group of writers in that city 
 who have in recent years given to Irish litera- 
 ture some of its best work. His own plays 
 and the novels of Mr. Daniel Corkery have 
 already been acclaimed beyond the borders of 
 Ireland. But back in the days of the Synge 
 controversies the theatre was the chief preoc- 
 cupation of that circle to which the Abbey 
 Theatre now owes many of the most successful 
 and some of the best, plays in its repertory; 
 among others, Birthright, by T. C. Murray, 
 and The Yellow Bittern, by Daniel Corkery. 
 They had founded a local organization for the 
 production of their work and one, at least, of 
 Mr. Robinson's 'prentice efforts was staged 
 there, but has never been published or otherwise 
 acknowledged by him. It is called The Lesson 
 of Life and the very title suggests reasons for 
 the author's discretion. Indeed, he himself has 
 been the sharpest critic of his early writings, 
 viii 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 and is not disposed to take very seriously even 
 the first of his plays to be accepted by the 
 Abbey Theatre. In the order of their produc- 
 tion these were The Clancy Name (1908), The 
 Cross Roads (1909) and Harvest (1910). 
 
 It is doubtless unkind to dwell upon the early 
 experiments of a writer who more or less dis- 
 owns them, but apart from the perfectly legiti- 
 mate interest which such things have for the 
 critic, the remarkable development of Lennox 
 Robinson's gift for the theatre is nowhere more 
 effectively shown than in the contrast between 
 those three plays and the maturer work which 
 has been crowned with the great and deserved 
 success of The Whiteheaded Boy. In the little 
 one-act play, The Clancy Name, merits are dis- 
 cernible which are not so apparent in either of 
 the more ambitious pieces which followed it. 
 The conflict arises between a mother, whose 
 pride of race is the passion of her life, and her 
 son, whose sense of duty compels him to con- 
 fess that he is guilty of a crime to the author- 
 ities who do not suspect him. She tries to 
 prevent him from bringing disgrace on the 
 family name, but the young man resists the 
 appeal and goes off to give himself up. By the 
 device of having him killed while trying to 
 rescue a child from being trampled by a run- 
 away horse, the dramatist solves too easily the 
 problem which he had presented with convinc- 
 ing force. 
 
 ix 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 The Cross Roads, however, was such a 
 denial of all coherence and probability that the 
 question of the element of inevitability, 
 essential to tragedy, simply did not arise. 
 Having postulated a loveless marriage between 
 an ambitious, educated country girl and an 
 impossibly brutal farmer, the author asks us 
 to believe that this puts a curse upon the farm. 
 The poultry refuse to lay eggs, the cattle die, 
 even the fertilizer goes on strike, and we are 
 shown a ghastly picture of the physical and 
 moral deterioration of the household, termin- 
 ating with the exit of the husband, who 
 announces that he is "going down the road for 
 a sup of drink" and "God help you when I 
 come back." Not even the fine acting of Miss 
 Sara Allgood could save this from being the 
 reductio ad absurdum of the peasant melo- 
 drama. Almost the same can be said of 
 Harvest, except that the theme itself is in- 
 herently sound, and need not have degenerated 
 into the banalities of Brieux's Blanchette, with 
 its commonplace variant of the girl who took 
 the wrong turning. Mr. Robinson's subject 
 is that of the problems raised by the extension 
 of educational facilities to people whose 
 peculiar needs and opportunities are not con- 
 sidered by those who draw up the syllabus. 
 The application of this theme to Irish condi- 
 tions would have provided excellent material 
 for a dramatist knowing rural Ireland, but 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 here the subject is frittered away into a lurid 
 tale of seduction, in which the heroine dis- 
 courses in the traditional manner of melodrama. 
 Miss Maire O'Neill's art could not conceal the 
 essential unreality of the words she spoke so 
 beautifully. But these three plays of his nonage 
 were merely the experiments of a dramatist 
 who was learning his craft, and who differs, 
 in this respect, from some of his contempor- 
 aries who have had only one play to give to the 
 Irish Theatre, and whose reputations rest on 
 that first play, apparently free from all critical 
 scrutiny. Lennox Robinson's work is a record 
 of progress, whose turning point was in 1912, 
 when his Patriots was produced. 
 
 The subject of that drama is one which, in 
 the retrospect of recent tragic years in Ireland, 
 takes on a peculiar interest, for it was nothing 
 less than a dramatisation of the crisis in Irish 
 political thought whose ultimate expression is 
 the Sinn Fein movement of to-day. The 
 central figure of Patriots is an old rebel who 
 comes back after years of imprisonment to find 
 that other men and other methods are in favor 
 with those who control the nationalist fight. 
 In James Nugent's day physical force was the 
 weapon, but the new generation seems wholly 
 absorbed in parliamentary methods, and re- 
 gards his insurrectionary faith as merely an 
 obsolete relic of the romantic period. Mr. 
 Robinson draws an exceedingly faithful and 
 xi 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 vivid picture of the state of Irish politics at 
 that time, when the ardor of revolution ap- 
 peared to have died, and the constitutional 
 Home Rule Party's authority and prestige were 
 supreme. There is a real tragedy in the defeat 
 and dismay of the revolutionary man of action 
 when he is compelled to make way for leaders 
 who are ignorant of all that was the glory of 
 his youth, and who can prove by logic that his 
 methods are useless. In a poem of poignant 
 eloquence, W. B. Yeats brooded over that same 
 mood in which Patriots was conceived, when 
 he wrote : 
 
 Yet they were of a different kind 
 The names that stilled your childish play, 
 They have gone about the world like wind, 
 But little time they had to pray 
 For whom the hangman's rope was spun, 
 And what, God help us, could they save : 
 Romantic Ireland's dead and gone, 
 It's with O'Leary in the grave. 
 
 The revolt, at that time barely perceptible, 
 against the prevailing apathy of the national 
 spirit, flared up a few years later in the Sinn 
 Fein insurrection of 191 6 and the complete 
 overthrow of the existing political order, whose 
 success was postulated by the dramatist. But 
 political prophecy is not an essential part of a 
 good play. 
 
 arii 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 Just one year before that Easter Rising in 
 Dublin, Mr. Robinson returned to the same 
 theme, in another of its aspects. The Dreamers 
 is an historical play which treats of the last 
 chapter in the life of Robert Emmet, the ill- 
 fated leader of the abortive insurrection which 
 was the aftermath of the Irish Rebellion of 
 1798. The author's purpose is to show this 
 tragic figure as the victim of the shiftlessness 
 and dishonest futility of his followers. He has 
 always been more fortunate than Synge when 
 he has drawn pictures of the Irish character 
 which did not coincide with the illusions of 
 sentimental patriotism. Just as Harvest es- 
 caped even the censure of the hypersensitive 
 "Jvho hooted The Playboy of the Western 
 World, when both were presented by the Irish 
 Players during their visit to America in 191 1, 
 so The Dreamers was well received by aud- 
 iences in which there must have been many 
 who w T ere actually preparing to face the same 
 death as Robert Emmet in 1916. 
 
 It was at the close of that year that The 
 Whiteheaded Boy had its premiere at the Abbey 
 Theatre, where it at once enjoyed the success 
 and appreciation which Were confirmed when 
 it was subsequently produced in London. Miss 
 Maire O'Neill, who, like so many of the orig- 
 inal group of the Irish Players, had left the 
 theatre, returned for this occasion and created 
 the delightful part of Aunt Ellen, one of the 
 xiii 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 finest comedy characters on the modern stage. 
 Subsequently, when she repeated the part in 
 London she was supported by Miss Sara All- 
 good, Mr. Arthur Sinclair and others belong- 
 ing to the group of Players who first made the 
 Irish Theatre famous. The strength of this 
 play undoubtedly lies in the perfect combina- 
 tion of form and content, and the natural, 
 unstrained drollery of speech combined with a 
 subject which develops realistically and logi- 
 cally, yet whose humor is that of cumulative 
 effect. There is not a deliberately manufac- 
 tured phrase in it, not one situation that is 
 forced and stagey, for the whole comedy arises 
 out of the relations which inevitably establish 
 themselves between the characters. An attrac- 
 tive innovation, too, is the narrative form of 
 the stage directions, which in the printed text 
 enable the reader to have the illusion of listen- 
 ing to a living commentary. After the 
 telegraphic jargon of the conventional stage 
 direction, and the garrulous dissertations of 
 Bernard Shaw, Mr. Robinson's method is 
 pleasing and original. "Kate's off to the 
 kitchen now. Aren't I after telling you she's 
 a great help to her mother!" Even between 
 brackets this is preferable to "Exit Kate, L. 
 U. E.," or words to that effect. 
 
 Before writing The Whiteheaded Boy, Len- 
 nox Robinson had been at work upon a novel 
 which was in the publishers' hands in Dublin 
 xiv 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 when the Easter Rising took place, but the 
 manuscript was destroyed in the bombardment 
 of the city. When A Young Man from the 
 South eventually appeared, its singular appro- 
 priateness to the occasion was apparent, for 
 it is a study of the evolution of a young Irish- 
 man from loyal Unionism to passionate nation- 
 alism. The protagonist is drawn from the 
 life of a Southern Irish city like that in which 
 the author's own youth was passed. He comes 
 to Dublin and is gradually converted to a belief 
 in the national identity of his country, so that 
 Mr. Robinson has many opportunities of des- 
 cribing the various social and intellectual 
 groups which go to the making of that fascin- 
 ating city. The publication of this book coin- 
 cided with that of several novels purporting 
 to describe the condition of Ireland during 
 the years of Sinn Fein, but few have the dis- 
 passionate reality of Mr. Robinson's. Although 
 a careful and sympathetic observer, he was not 
 a partisan, and neither indulged a malevolent 
 spleen against the nationalist enthusiasts nor 
 romanticised the facts. His humor plays 
 equally with the naivetes of what is known as 
 "Irish Ireland" and the pretentions of its 
 counterpart "West Britain." Although after 
 the insurrection, he had actually to re-write the 
 story, he scrupulously refrained from making 
 copy out of the living and the dead who par- 
 ticipated in that adventure. The temptation 
 xv 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 to do so was strong, because it had been done by 
 one of his contemporaries in a novel which 
 was published at the same time, and it would 
 have provided a natural denouement to his 
 story. But in a foreword he explained his 
 scruples. "The combining of real events with 
 imaginary persons seemed likely to lead readers 
 to combine real persons with imaginary events 
 in the book, a result which would offend the 
 living and be unjust to the dead." Thus this 
 work, which is an imaginative reconstruction 
 of what others reported photographically, was 
 deprived by the author's delicacy of a powerful 
 extraneous aid to popular success. 
 
 Since The WMteheaded Boy Mr. Robinson 
 has given The Lost Leader to the Irish Theatre 
 and has published another volume of fiction, 
 Eight Short Stories. In the former he makes 
 the daring experiment of writing a play based 
 upon the popular Irish superstition that Parnell 
 is not dead, but living in obscurity, and he 
 actually sets him upon the stage to face the 
 situation of an Ireland whose policy is Sinn 
 Fein. In the latter work he has collected a 
 sheaf of sketches of contemporary life, with 
 some successful ventures into the realm of the 
 supernatural, which indicate that his crafts- 
 manship in fiction is advancing as surely as in 
 the theatre. For the rest, his life is crowded 
 with activities without being eventful, a rare 
 circumstance in Ireland! He is immersed in 
 xvi 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 the work of building up Irish rural libraries, 
 which is being carried out under the auspices 
 of the Carnegie Trust. Nevertheless, he has 
 never lost his active interest in the Irish 
 Theatre. 
 
 In the autumn of 191 8 he made an effort to 
 supplement the scope of the Abbey Theatre 
 by launching, with the cooperation of W. B. 
 Yeats, James Stephens and myself, the Dublin 
 Drama League, which was thus the first institu- 
 tion of the kind in the British Islands. Our 
 desire was to enable plays to be produced of 
 the kind which did not come within the inten- 
 tions of the Abbey Theatre. During the first 
 year, Mr. Robinson was secretary of the 
 League and gave his services as producer, with 
 the result that a successful series of Continental 
 and other plays were given in Dublin for the 
 first time. Then he became, for the second 
 time in his career, manager of the Abbey 
 Theatre and pulled it out of the rut into which 
 it had subsided after the Players began to 
 disperse and their substitutes had not yet found 
 their feet. This excellent process of rehabilita- 
 tion was unfortunately checked during the last 
 year by the restrictions of the military curfew 
 law, which put even the most prosperous 
 commercial theatres to great losses. But since 
 the armistice hope is revived and Mr. Robinson 
 is courageously announcing his determination 
 to begin all over again, for now it will be 
 xvii 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 necessary to form a new company of players 
 and to train them in the traditions of the 
 Theatre. Of the best that has been created in 
 those traditions The Whiteheaded Boy is an 
 example, and Lennox Robinson deserves well 
 of all who have a care for the Irish Theatre. 
 At the outset of that brave undertaking W. 
 B. Yeats's aim was to secure an audience for 
 "the half dozen minds who are likely to be the 
 dramatic imagination of Ireland for this gener- 
 ation." The author of this play has obviously 
 established his claim to be counted amongst that 
 number. 
 
 Ernest Boyd. 
 
 New York, September, 1921. 
 
 xviu 
 
PREFACE 
 
 In its conception, The Whitcheaded Boy was 
 to have been full of symbolic meaning; worse 
 than that, it was to have been full of political 
 meaning. Once, when I was very young, I 
 wrote a violent play called The Cross Roads, 
 the chief characters in which were a wife full 
 of idealism and a brutal husband. A critic 
 professed to read into my play a meaning 
 which I had never dreamed of and accused me 
 of writing a political tract on the eternal sub- 
 ject of Celt and Saxon. I scoffed at the ac- 
 cusation but I did not forget it and, years 
 afterwards, I conceived the idea of displaying 
 the British Empire in the form of a large, over- 
 grown family kept together, more or less 
 against its will, by an illogical, absurd, generous, 
 scheming, lovable mother. I made Ireland her 
 youngest .child, half black sheep, half mother's 
 darling (or, as we say here, "white-headed 
 boy") . He was to be spoiled and petted, bullied 
 and slapped, given too many sweets one day and 
 shut up in the attic on a diet of bread and 
 water the next, praised and blamed and left 
 finally so bewildered and bemused that the only 
 definite idea left to him is that of cutting himself 
 xix 
 
PREFACE 
 
 free from his impossible family and making 
 his own life in his own way. Great Britain 
 itself (to which I gave the obviously appro- 
 priate name of George) was to be the member 
 of the family most deserving of our pity, over- 
 burdened with responsibilities, "pulled this way 
 and that way. Look at the life I've led between 
 you all and no one thinking that maybe I'd 
 want to get married or have a bit of fun or 
 spend a bit of money. . . ." Somehow, that 
 bit of symbolism has remained and in George 
 (at any rate as Mr. Sydney Morgan so beau- 
 tifully plays him) I do still see poor harassed 
 England, full of futile rages and firm de- 
 cisions followed immediately by weak compro- 
 mises, an England which would prefer above 
 all things to be free of responsibilities with 
 leisure and money to enjoy itself. 
 
 But apart from George and a speech in the 
 third act which now rings a little false all the 
 symbolism has disappeared. That the note of 
 this speech is untrue to the key of the play is 
 the clearest proof of how completely it has dis- 
 appeared. It started to disappear the moment 
 I put pen to paper. Like the Mr. Edwards who 
 tried to be a philosopher "cheerfulness was 
 always breaking in." Aunt Ellen, in fact, kept 
 breaking in, and Mr. Duffy. They, in my con- 
 ception, were to play a very small part in the 
 parable. But though it is comparatively easy 
 to beget children, once born they are hard to 
 xx 
 
PREFACE 
 
 control and when I started to write the 
 Geoghegans and the Duffys took the bit between 
 their teeth and for a fortnight drove my pen 
 exactly in the direction they wanted it to go. 
 By that time The Whiteheaded Boy was fin- 
 ished and, reading it over, I had ruefully to 
 admit that it was not the play I had set out to 
 write. But on the whole I was not displeased, 
 for few people are interested in the relations be- 
 tween Ireland and England but the problem of 
 the whiteheaded boy is vital from Ballycolman 
 to the world's end. 
 
 I suppose it is mad of me to make this con- 
 fession. I can never expect to be taken 
 seriously as a dramatist now that I have 
 admitted to such a haphazard, uncontrolled 
 method of work. Professor Baker will hold 
 me up as a warning, not as an example, to his 
 class at Harvard. I can't say that I shall not 
 mind that. I shall. But I shall mind much more 
 if a hasty critic skims this preface, catches sight 
 of the words "symbolism" and "politics," and 
 proceeds to describe The Whiteheaded Boy as 
 a political tract disguised as a play. It isn't, 
 indeed it isn't. I haven't the remotest idea what 
 it means politically. 
 
 Lennox Robinson. 
 
 Ireland, 
 June, 1 92 1 
 
 xxi 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
Produced by Charles Dillingham at Henry 
 Miller's Theatre, New York, October 17, 1921, 
 with the following cast : 
 
 Mrs. Geoghegan Maureen Delany 
 
 George. ,] f . . . .Sydney Morgan 
 
 Peter ... ... Harry Hutchinson 
 
 Kate... , , ., , ....Norah Desmond 
 
 T [her children . a -,, ^ 
 
 Jane. . . . .Suzanne McKernan 
 
 Baby May Fitzgerald 
 
 Denis. . . [ Arthur Shields 
 
 Donough Brosnan (engaged to Jane) 
 
 /. A. O'Rourke 
 
 John Duffy (Chairman, 
 
 Rural District Council) . . . .Arthur Sinclair 
 
 Delia (his daughter, engaged to Denis) 
 
 Gertrude Murphy 
 
 Hannah (a servant) Christine Hay den 
 
 Aunt Ellen Maire O'Neill 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Act I 
 
 [Mrs. Geoghegan's house is at the 
 head of the street, facing the priest's 
 house; the shop is at the other end of the 
 village, between Michael Brosnan's 
 public-house and Duffy's yard. Wil- 
 liam Geoghegan {God rest his soul) was 
 a very genteel man, and when the wife 
 brought him the house and the bit of land 
 instead of getting a tenant for it like a 
 sensible man (and the whole village knew 
 Clancy, the vet., was mad to take it) 
 nothing would do him but live in it him- 
 self and walk down to his business every 
 'day like a millionaire. 'Tis too high 
 notions poor William always had — and 
 his sister, Ellen, worse again than him- 
 self, craning after anything new she'd be 
 like a cow through a fence — but, indeed, 
 William's notions didn't stand too well 
 to him, and when he died he left his fam- 
 3 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 ily — six of them, no less — in a poor 
 enough way. But the eldest boy — George 
 — was always terrible industrious, and he 
 made two of himself after the father 
 died, and they managed to pull along. 
 You can see from the appearance of the 
 room we're looking at they're not wanting 
 for comfort. Mrs. Geoghegan — poor 
 William's widow {that's her behind the 
 table setting out the cups) — is a hearty 
 woman yet, and, after all, I suppose she's 
 not more than sixty- five years of age. A 
 great manager she is, and, indeed, she'd 
 need to be with three unmarried daugh- 
 ters under her feet all day and two big 
 men of sons. You'd not like to deny 
 Mrs. Geoghegan anything she's such a 
 pleasant way with her, yet you know she's 
 not what I'd call a clever woman, I mean 
 to say she hasn't got the book-knowledge, 
 the (f notions" her husband had or her 
 sister Ellen. But maybe she's better 
 without them, sure what good is book- 
 knowledge to the mother of a family? 
 She's a simple, decent woman, and what 
 more do you want? That plain girl be- 
 hind, pulling out the drawer, is the eldest 
 daughter Kate. She was disappointed a 
 few years back on the head of a match 
 was made up for her and broken after- 
 wards with a farmer from the east of the 
 4 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 county. Some dispute it was about the 
 fortune, and he married a publican's 
 daughter in the latter end. 'Tisnt likely 
 Kate will ever marry, she's up to thirty- 
 six by this time, with a grey streak in her 
 hair and two pushing sisters behind her, 
 but she's a quiet poor thing, no harm in 
 her at all, very useful in the house, I'm 
 told. I'm sure the mother'd be hard set 
 to manage without her. 
 
 You're admiring the furniture? 'Twas 
 got five years ago at the Major's auction. 
 A big price they had to pay for it too, 
 George didn't want to buy it but the 
 mother's heart was set on it. They got 
 new horse-hair put on the arm chair, the 
 Major had it wore to the wood sitting all 
 day over the fire, cursing the Government 
 and drinking whiskey; the six plain chairs 
 are as good as new. 
 
 Aren't the pictures lovely? They're all 
 enlarged photographs of William's fam- 
 ily. That's William himself over the 
 chimney-piece, and that's his brother that 
 died in Boston hanging between the win- 
 dow and the door. The priest in the plush 
 frame is Father Maguire, no relation 
 but a lovely man. There's one fancy pic- 
 ture, there on our right, "The Siesta" it's 
 called — two young women asleep in some 
 sort of a fancy dress. 
 5 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 William bought the piano when he 
 got married, I'm told it was old Doctor 
 Purcell's. Anyway it's a real old piano; 
 the youngest girl, Baby, is a great one for 
 music. The table's mahogany, the same 
 as the chairs, only you cant see it by rea- 
 son of the cloth. They're after setting the 
 tea; they got that lamp new this after- 
 noon, isn't it giving great light? Begob, 
 there's a chicken and a shape and apples 
 and a cake — it must be the way they're 
 expecting company. 
 
 Oh, the old one? That's Hannah. 
 There's not a house in the village she 
 hasn't been servant in. She was at a hotel 
 in Cork once. Two days they kept her.] 
 
 Hannah. 
 Will I bring in the ham, ma'am ? 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 Do. Reach me down the silver teapot, Kate. 
 
 ['Tisnt real silver, of course, only one 
 of them white metal ones, but catch Mrs. 
 Geoghegan calling it anything but the 
 purest silver. She's smelling it.] 
 
 There's a sort of musty smell from it. 
 6 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 Kate 
 
 Sure we haven't used it since Denis was here 
 in the summer? 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 I'll make Hannah scald it. . . . God help 
 us, is that the kitchen clock striking six ? 
 
 Kate 
 
 Ah, that clock is always apt to be a bit fast. 
 Anyway the train isn't due till the quarter, and 
 it being market-day, 'twill be a queer thing if 
 it's not ten minutes late, or more. 
 
 [Hannah's in again with the ham.] 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Put it there. Now run across to Mrs. 
 O'Connell's, like a good girl, and ask her to 
 oblige me with a couple of fresh eggs. Tell 
 her it's for Denis they are, and she'll not re- 
 fuse you. 
 
 Hannah. 
 
 There was a duck tgg left over from the 
 dinner. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 A duck tgg\ Isn't it well you know Denis 
 
 7 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 has no stomach at all for coarse food? Be off 
 across the street this minute. 
 
 Hannah. 
 I will, ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Here, carry the teapot before you, and give 
 it a good scalding; 'tis half musty. 
 
 Hannah. 
 I will ma'am. {And off with her) 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 Where's Baby? 
 
 Kate. 
 She's above in the room, writing. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 Musha! writing and writing. Isn't it a 
 wonder she wouldn't come down and be ready- 
 ing the place before her brother ? 
 
 Kate. 
 
 Ah, what harm ? 'Twon't take us two min- 
 utes to finish this. 
 
 8 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 [This tall girl coming in is Jane. She 
 has a year or two less than Kate. A 
 nice, quiet girl. She and Donough 
 Brosnan have been promised to each 
 other these years past. Is it chrysanthe- 
 mums she has in her hand?] 
 
 Jane. 
 
 These are all Peg Turpin had. She stripped 
 two plants to get them. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 They're not much indeed, but Denis always 
 had a liking for flowers. Put them there in 
 the middle of the table. 
 
 Jane. 
 
 That's what Peg was saying. She remem- 
 bered the way when he was a little child he'd 
 come begging to her for a flower for his coat, 
 and never could she refuse him. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Refuse him! And why would she refuse 
 him? . . . Bring me the toasting-fork, Kate. 
 I'll make the bit of toast here; 'twill be hotter. 
 
 [Kate's off to the kitchen now. Amn't 
 I after telling you she's a great help to her 
 mother?] 
 
 9 
 
THE WH1TEHEADED BOY 
 
 Jane. 
 I met Aunt Ellen up the street. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 For goodness' sake! Did she say she was 
 coming here? 
 
 Jane. 
 
 She did. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Oh, then, bad luck to her, what a night she'd 
 choose to come here! Where are we to put 
 her to sleep? 
 
 Jane. 
 
 If we put Denis to sleep in the room with 
 George and Peter 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 You'll do no such thing. I'll not have Denis 
 turned out of his room. The three of you girls 
 must sleep together in the big bed; that's the 
 only way we can manage. . . . What crazy 
 old scheme has Ellen in her head this time, I 
 wonder ? 
 
 Jane. 
 
 She didn't tell me, but by her manner I 
 know she's up to something. 
 10 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Mrs. Gsog. 
 
 God help us ! And Denis will be making 
 game of her, and maybe she won't leave him 
 the bit of money after all . . . There's a 
 man's voice — 'tis Denis. 
 
 [What a hurry she's in to open the 
 door.] 
 Ah, it's only Donough. 
 
 [He's not much to look at, is he? A 
 simple poor fellow, it's a wonder he had 
 the spunk to think of getting married at 
 all. Jane could have done better for her- 
 self, but she thinks the world of the little 
 man. God knows what she sees in him. 
 Aren't women queer, the fancies they 
 take?] 
 
 Donough. 
 
 Good-night, to you. 
 
 [Here's Kate back with the toasting- 
 fork.] 
 
 Jane. 
 
 Good-night, Donough. 
 
 Donough. 
 
 Good-night, Jane. Have you your tea 
 taken ? 
 
 I haven't. 
 
 Jane. 
 11 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 DONOUGH. 
 
 I wanted you to come across to the Tem- 
 perance Hall to the concert. I didn't think I 
 could get off in time, but I can. Swallow 
 your tea and come on. 
 
 Jane. 
 
 Oh, Donough, I'd like to, but, you see, 
 Denis is coming on the six o'clock. 
 
 Donough. 
 
 Yerra, Denis will keep. Get your hat and 
 come on. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 What's that, Donough ? Jane, where are you 
 going? 
 
 Jane. 
 
 Nowhere, mother. Donough wanted me to 
 go to the concert with him. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 She couldn't go out to-night, thank you, 
 Donough. She must be here to look after 
 Denis. 
 
 Jane. 
 
 I'd better stay, Donough. 
 12 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 To-morrow night, now, she'd be delighted. 
 And maybe Denis would go with the two of 
 you. That would be nice, now. 
 
 Donough. 
 
 Oh, faith, that would be grand — grand en- 
 tirely! Only, you see, there's no concert to- 
 morrow night. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Isn't that a pity, and Denis so fond of music. 
 . . . . I left a drop of cream on the kitchen 
 table; fetch it for me, Kate. 
 
 Jane. 
 Stay and have a cup of tea, Donough. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Sure, I suppose the man had his tea an hour 
 ago. 
 
 Donough. 
 
 I had, indeed, Mrs. Geoghegan. I'll say 
 good-night to you. Take care of Denis. 
 {He is going.) 
 
 Jane. 
 
 I'll see you as far the door, Donough. 
 
 [They're gone.] 
 13 
 
THE WH1TEHEADED BOY 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 What at all was Jane thinking of, asking a 
 stranger to stop to tea to-night? 
 
 Kate. 
 What stranger? Is it Donough? Sure he's 
 like one of the family, and will be in real earn- 
 est the day he marries Jane. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 I'm wondering sometimes what sort of a 
 husband will he make her. 
 
 Kate. 
 The best in the world. 
 
 Mrs. Geog., 
 I don't know. He's a queer, selfish man. 
 Wanting Jane to go out with him to-night. 
 (She's going to the door. ) Hannah ! Hannah ! 
 . . . God help us, she'll be all night gossiping 
 at O'Connell's. (She's listening at the door.) 
 Who's that going out? 
 
 A Voice. 
 
 It's me, mother. 
 
 14 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Come in here to me, Baby. 
 
 [Here she comes. Isn't she a great 
 lump of a girl? She's thirty if she's a 
 day, but she doesn't look it — 'tis the way 
 she dresses I suppose. She's a great idea 
 of herself entirely, it's as much as the 
 mother can do to hold her in. A long en- 
 velope she has in her hand.] 
 
 Baby. 
 Can I do anything for you? 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 We're through now, Baby, small thanks to 
 you. Where are you off to? 
 
 Baby. 
 Only to Duffy's to post this. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 Is it love-letters you were writing all day? 
 
 Baby. 
 
 You know well it wasn't. Only my short- 
 hand for Skerry's. 
 
 15 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Shorthand, moyah! I'd sooner they were 
 love-letters. I've heard it said Thomas 
 Naughton married Julia Roche for her lucky 
 hand with butter, but I never heard yet of a 
 man marrying a girl for shorthand. 
 
 Baby. 
 
 I'm not wishing to get married, thank you. 
 It's not my intention to spend my days in Bal- 
 lycolman. Up to Dublin I'm going, and if I 
 marry there, it's a gentleman I'll marry — a 
 gentleman who works in an office. {That's 
 Baby for youl) 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Tell Jane to come in out of that. She's at 
 the door saying good-night to Donough for 
 the last half hour. (Off she goes.) 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Kate, what did I ever do to have such a fool 
 for a daughter ? 
 
 Kate. 
 Ah, she's young; little more than a child. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Faith, it's time she learned sense. . . . 
 16 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Now, if Hannah would bring the eggs we'd 
 be ready. You brought in the drop of cream? 
 
 Kate. 
 It was here all along, mother. 
 
 [Here's Ellen Geoghegan herself 
 along with Jane. You could tell from 
 her appearance the sort she is, a bit 
 cranky and a nasty twist to her tongue if 
 she liked, full of notions and schemes, 
 she's a terrible one for reading; 'tis that 
 has her head turned, there's not a week 
 she hasn't the "Free Press," the <e Eagle," 
 and the Supplement to the "Examiner" 
 read to the bone. Still and all, she's a 
 woman to be respected, she must have a 
 couple of hundred acres back there at Kil- 
 murray, and 'tis she owns them three 
 small houses at the other end of the vil- 
 lage. . . . Yes, indeed, a wonder she 
 never married — too many notions, may 
 be.] 
 
 Jans. 
 Here's Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 How are you, Ellen? I hope you're good? 
 
 [How sweet they are, kissing!] 
 * 17 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 I'm grand, thank you. How are all of you. 
 Will it bother you to put me up for the night ? 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 Not the least bit in the world. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 I've a lot to talk over with you all. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 You have? And you'll see Denis. We're 
 expecting him from Dublin any minute. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Is that a fact? Did he pass his examin- 
 ation ? 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 He did. At least, he told me he'd be sure 
 to pass. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 That's good news. Twice he's failed. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Small blame to him if he did. He got a sort 
 
 of a weakness the first time — too hard he was 
 
 working, Ellen — and the last time there was a 
 
 cross old fellow examining. Denis told me he 
 
 18 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 couldn't come round him at all; nothing he 
 said would please him. Isn't it a wonder, 
 Ellen, they'd have such a cross man to exam- 
 ine them? 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 I'm told Dublin doctors are a fright for 
 crossness. Sure, there was a First Aid class 
 over at my own place, and a doctor from Dub- 
 lin came down to examine them. Well, three 
 girls was all he would pass out of the twenty, 
 and one of them had a brother a medical and 
 a mother who went mad and drowned herself, 
 so she was experienced like. But as to the 
 lads, divil a one would wait to be examined 
 after they heard how the girls had fared; 
 they took to their heels and up to the moun- 
 tains with them. Oh, Dublin doctors ! 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 I tell you then, they're clever men. No one 
 knows that better than myself after all I went 
 through the time Denis was born. And it's up 
 in Dublin Denis will be when he's a doctor. 
 He'll never be one of your common dispen- 
 saries, hat in hand to every guardian in the 
 country. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 You're right, Ann, you're right. He's a 
 19 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 sight too clever for that. . . . But, tell me, 
 are George and Peter inside? 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 George didn't come up from the shop yet, 
 and Peter went down to the station to meet 
 Denis. George will be up for his tea any 
 minute. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 I want to speak to them. I've a great plan 
 in my head. (Look at them all looking at each 
 other. She has them wore out with her plans. ) 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Don't tell me, Ellen, that 'tis goats again. 
 I was thinking the other day it was only by the 
 help of God you got shut of those queer out- 
 landish goats you had. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 I haven't had a goat these two years. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 'Tis well for you. 
 
 Kate. 
 
 Another time you were for making a for- 
 tune out of tobacco. 
 
 20 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Jane. 
 
 Another time it was Muscovy ducks — cross, 
 wild things ; they had me in dread every time I 
 went to see you. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Well, I have spirit in me and independence. 
 I'm not like the common farmer people, plod- 
 ding on in the same old rut from generation 
 to generation. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Don't mind the children, Ellen. It's only 
 joking they are. Tell us what's on your mind 
 now. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Well, I've been reading a deal lately about 
 co-operation. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 What? 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Co-operation. They say it will be the sal- 
 vation of Ireland. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Wisha, don't believe them. They're always 
 blowing about this, that, and the other, and 
 21 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 saying it's to be the salvation of the country. 
 Sure, they must be talking, the creatures. In 
 my young days it was the Land League; then 
 it was Parnell; a couple of years ago 'twas 
 them Sinn Feiners were to save us, or John 
 Redmond — I don't rightly remember which. I 
 wouldn't believe one of them. Pull away and 
 do your work and put money in the Bank; 
 that's the only thing to do. Anyway, George 
 says co-operation will be the ruin of us. 
 {She's a rock of sense, that woman.) 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Well, I'm surprised at him, and he a shop- 
 keeper and a farmer. By all accounts, it 
 should be a great lift to him. Anyway, my 
 co-operatoin is going to be a lift to the family. 
 Listen here to me, Ann . . . 
 
 [Here's George now. The eldest of 
 the family. A steady man, a bit soured, 
 maybe, but who wouldn't be and that 
 string of sisters depending on him. He 
 was forty last summer, but he looks 
 more.] 
 
 George. 
 
 Is the tea ready, mother? 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 We'll have it the very minute Denis comes. 
 
 22 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 George. 
 I didn't see you, Aunt Ellen. How are you. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 I'm good, thanks. You're looking well. 
 
 George. 
 
 I can't wait, mother. Let me have a cup of 
 tea. I have to go back to the shop. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Don't sit there, like a good boy; you'll toss 
 the table. {But he sits all the same.) 
 
 George. 
 Ham, chicken, apples, a cake — is it a party? 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Not at all — only Denis coming, and he'll 
 want a bit after the journey. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 You spoil Denis, Ann. He was always your 
 whiteheaded boy. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Indeed he's nothing of the kind. I don't 
 make a pin's point of difference between one 
 23 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 child and another. . . . Hannah would give 
 you a nice cup of tea in the kitchen, George. 
 There's bread-and-butter there, and a lovely 
 duck tgg was left over from the dinner. Run 
 and tell her, Kate. 
 
 George. 
 I'll go myself. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Stay here a minute. I've been telling your 
 mother of a great plan I have. 
 
 [There's Kate off to give the message. 
 Didn't I tell you that's the sort she was?] 
 
 George. 
 What ails you now. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. , 
 
 Did you ever hear of a co-operative shop, 
 George ? 
 
 George. 
 
 I did. I'd have nothing to do with one of 
 them. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Why? 
 
 24 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 George. 
 
 They're bad. Ruining honest traders, that's 
 what they're doing. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Is that a fact? Well, we're starting one 
 over at Kilmurray. 
 
 George. 
 You are? 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Up there in the mountains you know how 
 hard it is for us to get anything. Sylvester 
 Brannigan is the only one who's by way of 
 being a trader, and God knows I wouldn't have 
 it on my conscience that I called him an honest 
 one. So a lot of us have joined together and 
 we're going to open a store there. It's going 
 to be a great thing for the family. 
 
 George. 
 How so? 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 The papers say that half the success of a 
 co-operative shop depends on the manager. 
 We're going to give a good salary to our 
 manager — up to £150 a year — and there's a 
 small house and an acre of land. 
 25 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY, 
 
 George. 
 And who is he to be? 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 Your own brother, Peter. 
 
 George. 
 Peter! 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 For goodness' sake! 
 
 Aunt Ellen 
 
 Isn't he just the man for the place? He 
 knows all about a shop; he's clever and hard- 
 working, and if he was out of this, Donough 
 could marry Jane and come in and work in 
 his place. 
 
 Jane. 
 
 Oh, Aunt Ellen, aren't you the great woman 
 for plans! 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 A minute ago I was the greatest old fool 
 in the world. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 I hear steps in the street. Run out, Jane, 
 and see if it's the train after coming in. 
 
 [Jane's off.] 
 
 26 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Would it cost a deal of money, Ellen, to get 
 that place ? I suppose there'd be an amount of 
 canvassing to be done? 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Not at all. Isn't Jamesy Walshe, Don- 
 ough's mother's cousin? Won't he want Peter 
 to get it? Isn't Patrick Hogan married to 
 John Duffy's sister, and is he likely to be un- 
 friendly to Denis's brother, to the brother of 
 the man his niece, Delia Duffy, is going to 
 marry? Not at all. And then there's myself, 
 who started the whole thing. I tell you, Peter 
 wouldn't be called on to spend as much as half- 
 a-crown in a public-house. 
 
 George. 
 It might suit Peter all right. 
 
 ■ Mrs. Geog. 
 
 But, George, if them co-operative things are 
 as bad as you say, maybe we oughtn't to let 
 Peter be mixed up in them. 
 
 George. 
 
 Sure, somebody's got to get that £150, and 
 
 we might as well get it as another. God knows 
 
 we want money badly. I'm striving to put 
 
 enough by for Jane's marriage — and now 
 
 27 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 nothing will do Baby but to hyse up to Dublin 
 learning book-keeping or shorthand or some- 
 thing. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 Glory be to God! Is it notions she has? 
 
 George. 
 
 Ay, notions. But they're notions that cost 
 me money, and it costs a lot to make Denis a 
 doctor. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Well, the Creegans made their son a doctor, 
 and I'm sure they're in a very small way. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Is it that little snipeen of a fellow — Joe 
 Creegan? Sure you wouldn't put him along- 
 side my Denis. He's no smartness. 
 
 George. 
 
 Denis is smart enough to run up debits in 
 Dublin- 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 Debts ! 
 
 George. 
 
 Ay, and betting on horses. 
 28 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 From the time he was a little fellow he was 
 always fond of horses, Ellen. I remember 
 well one day, and he little more than a 
 baby 
 
 George. 
 
 Well, he's a bit too 'damned fond of them 
 for me. 
 
 [Here's Kate back.] 
 
 Kate. 
 
 I've a nice cup of tea for you ready in the 
 kitchen 
 
 George. 
 
 Thank you, Kate. We'll speak again about 
 this, Aunt. You're staying the night, I sup- 
 pose? 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 I am. 
 
 [And Baby and Jane in now.] 
 
 Baby. 
 
 How are you, Aunt Ellen. {More kissing.) 
 Mr. Duffy gave me this at the Post Office. I 
 suppose it's for you, George. Tw a tele- 
 gram. ) 
 
 29 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 A telegram! Oh, has something happened 
 to Denis? I knew he should be here before 
 this Oh, George, what is it at all at all? 
 
 Jane. 
 
 Be easy, mother. 
 
 [She's all in a flutter. Wisha, she's 
 cracked about Denis. 'Tisn't so easy to 
 stir George. . . . He's read it now.] 
 
 George. 
 
 It's not from Denis, at all. . . . But I think 
 it's for him. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 What's in it? 
 
 George. 
 
 "Hard luck. Geoghegan's Hope also ran. 
 Sorry. Flanagan." 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 What does that mean? 
 
 George. 
 
 I know no more than yourself. 
 30 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 Show me it. There doesn't seem sense or 
 
 meaning in it. 
 
 Jane. 
 
 You've some idea in your head about it, 
 George ? 
 
 George. 
 
 I have. It's my belief it's about a horse- 
 race. It's my belief Denis has been betting 
 again. {Hell be losing his temper in a 
 minute. ) 
 
 Kate. 
 
 He wouldn't. He gave you his word he 
 wouldn't. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 'Tis a terrible curse. I read on "The Eagle" 
 only last week of a young man who shot him- 
 self on the head of all the money he lost on 
 horses. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 You frighten me, Ellen. 
 
 George. 
 
 You need have no fear of Denis. He'll not 
 be the one to pay; 'tis us will have to do that. 
 31 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Baby. 
 That's a fact 
 
 George. 
 It'll be the last time. I'm damned if 
 
 Kate. 
 Hush, hush, George! 
 
 [Jane's looking at the telegram now.] 
 
 Jane. 
 
 Flanagan. That's the name of the young 
 gentleman came to see Denis on a motor bi- 
 cycle last summer. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 I remember him myself. A lovely young 
 gentleman. Seemingly he had a great liking 
 for Denis — he talked to me about him for a 
 long time, half laughing like. The "hope of 
 the Geoghegans" he called him. 
 
 George. 
 
 What's that? The "hope of the Geoghe- 
 gans" ? Did he call him that ? 
 32 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 He did. Denis told me 'twas a sort of a pet 
 name he put on him in college. 
 
 Jane. 
 What is it, George ? 
 
 George. 
 
 "Geoghegan's Hope also ran." That's 
 either a race horse, or it's Denis himself. 
 
 Jane. 
 I don't understand you. 
 
 George. 
 
 He's either broken his word to me and is 
 betting on horses, or else . . . he's failed 
 again. 
 
 Jane. 
 
 His examination, you mean? 
 
 George. 
 
 iao. 
 
 Jane. 
 God help us ! 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Yerra, he hasn't failed. Don't think it, 
 8 33 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 George. He told me himself last week in a 
 letter he'd be certain to pass. 
 
 Kate. 
 'T would be terrible for him if he failed. 
 
 Baby. 
 'Twould be terrible for us, you mean. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 He'd never break his word to you about the 
 betting. 
 
 George. 
 
 For his own sake I'd almost hope he had. 
 For if this isn't about a horse, if it's about 
 Denis himself, if it means he's failed, I'll — 
 I'll 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 You're speaking very cross, George, about 
 your brother. 
 
 George. 
 
 I have reason to speak cross. If he's failed 
 for the third time, divil another penny will he 
 get from me — except his passage to Canada. 
 
 [They're staring at him; they don't 
 believe him.] 
 
 34 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 I mean it. You're all looking at me as if I 
 was out of my senses. It's out of our senses 
 we've been all these years and years, spending 
 lashings of money on an idle, good-for-nothing 
 young fellow. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 Yerra, George! . . . 
 
 George. 
 
 From the day he was born, hasn't every- 
 thing been given to him? Look at the whips 
 of money laid by for his education. He was 
 too grand and too clever to be sent to the 
 National School like the rest of us — poor Mr. 
 Lacy didn't know enough to teach him ; oh, no ! 
 he had to go into the city every day by train — 
 second-class — to be taught by the Christian 
 Brothers. Look at Kate there, worn and grey 
 before her time, an old maid. Wouldn't she 
 have been married ten years ago to Jer Connor 
 only we hadn't a penny to give with her, it all 
 being kept for the laddo, to send him to col- 
 lege, Trinity College, nothing less would be fit- 
 ting of course. And what's there to show for 
 it all? Nothing at all. He doesn't even pass 
 his examinations. What's keeping Jane from 
 marrying Donough, only Denis? What's 
 keeping Baby at home, and she mad to be 
 learning up in Dublin, only Denis? What's 
 35 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 keeping us straitened and pinching and sav- 
 ing, only Denis, Denis, Denis? But the old 
 horse learns its lesson in the end, and I've 
 learnt mine. Not another red halfpenny will 
 he get from me. You can tell him that when 
 he comes in. 
 
 [And off with him, banging the door 
 after him.] 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Ellen, what's come to him at all to speak 
 like that? 
 
 Baby. 
 
 It's true what he says. Every word of it's 
 true. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Hold your tongue, girl ! 
 
 [That's one for Baby, she's flouncing 
 out of the room.] 
 
 Kate, run after your brother and pacify him. 
 
 [She's gone, but what can she do, the 
 creature ?] 
 
 What's come to him at all at all ? 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 'Tis true, you always made a pet of the boy 
 — but sure we all did. I was reading in the 
 36 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 "Girl's Friend" not long ago how foolish it 
 was for a mother to be making differences be- 
 tween her children. They said that— - 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 And why shouldn't I make differences? Is 
 there anyone living who'd stand up on the floor 
 and say that Denis isn't smarter and cleverer 
 than his two brothers — or his sisters, either — 
 or the whole menagerie of the Geoghegans 
 lumped together? From the day he was born 
 I knew he was different. Oh, Ellen, it will 
 break my heart if George turns against him 
 now ! (Is it crying she is?) 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Quiet yourself, Ann. ... Go out, Jane, 
 and speak to your brother. He always had 
 respect for you. 
 
 Jane. 
 
 I'll see what mood he is in. (She's gone 
 after him — she knows how to humour him.) 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 From the day he was born I knew he was 
 
 different. I was getting an old woman when 
 
 he came . . . you remember, Ellen; it was 
 
 nearly ten years after Baby was born. I 
 
 37 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 thought I'd never have another child; it seemed 
 like a miracle. ... I thought I'd die with it. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 You were nervous, I remember that. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Nervous? I was mad afraid. My sister — 
 poor Bridgie — made me go up to Dublin to see 
 a doctor there. Oh, Ellen, that doctor was a 
 lovely man. He was a sort of a lord, Sir Denis 
 Bellingham Burke, that was his name. He'd 
 have nothing to do with common cases, 
 'twould be no use going to him with a broken 
 leg or a sick stomach or the like — he wouldn't 
 look at you. Women like me, those are all he'd 
 see, and he told me . . . 
 
 [She's whispering. We oughtn't to 
 listen : Tw no place for us.] 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 I remember your telling me that at the time. 
 It was surprising. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Wasn't it now? Well, I did every mortal 
 
 thing he told me to. I went into a sort of 
 
 hospital — I'd be afraid to tell you what they 
 
 made me pay — but I had the best of every- 
 
 38 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 thing, and when Denis was born I called him 
 after the dear doctor. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 And made up your mind to make a doctor 
 of him. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 I did. 'Twas like a miracle, a boy to come 
 after all those three lumps of girls. . . . He 
 was a lovely child . . . and now if George 
 turns against him! Sure he has the money, 
 and can do what he likes. Denis away in 
 Canada! 'Twould break my heart. 
 
 [Kate's back.] 
 
 Kate. 
 
 He's ramping and raging in the kitchen. 
 He says if the telegram is true, if he's missed 
 his examination, he'll ship him off next week. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 I'll go to George myself. I'll talk him over. 
 He can't be in earnest. And what about Delia 
 Duffy? Isn't he promised to her as soon as 
 ever he's a doctor? Is she to be shipped to 
 Canada along with him? Where's George? 
 I'll go to him. 
 
 [God help George when he meets her. 
 39 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Ah! here's Denis in the other door. Isn't 
 he lovely? You'd know he was from 
 Dublin by his clothes and his smartness. 
 He's just turned twenty-two.] 
 
 Denis. 
 Hullo, mother! 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Denis my darling boy! (She's flinging her 
 arms round his neck; she'll have him choked.) 
 
 Denis. 
 
 Hold on, mother — or, rather, don't hold on ! 
 Don't kill me altogether! 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 How are you, my poor boy? 
 
 Denis. 
 
 Top hole. Hullo Aunt Ellen; this is an un- 
 expected pleasure. (I'd say he was codding 
 her from the way he kissed her.) Well, 
 Kate. 
 
 [This young girl coming in is Delia 
 
 Duffy. She's not as simple as she looks. 
 
 She's her father's daughter. The fellow 
 
 with her carrying all the luggage is Peter 
 
 40 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Geoghegan, he's nothing much one way 
 or the other. ,] 
 
 Peter. 
 Where will I leave these? 
 
 Denis. 
 
 Oh, chuck them up into my room, like a 
 good chap. Here I'll give you this coat. 
 
 [Poor Peter.] 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Oh, Delia, I didn't see you. Come in and 
 sit down. You went to the station, I suppose ? 
 
 Delia. 
 
 I did. I can't wait, Mrs. Geoghegan, 
 thanks. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 Yerra, stay and have a cup of tea. 
 
 Delia. 
 
 I must be off home to give my father his 
 supper. Denis will come down and see me 
 later. There's questions I want to ask him. I 
 have it in my mind he's been carrying on with a 
 young lady in Dublin. {She is going.) 
 41 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Denis. 
 Delia, I swear . . . 
 
 Delia. 
 
 Ssh! Don't tell lies on an empty stomach; 
 wait till after tea. 
 
 [She's gone.] 
 
 Denis. 
 
 But, Delia, I . . . 
 
 [He's gone after her, she has him in 
 good order.] 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 He's looking gay enough now. Little he 
 knows what's before him! 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 Oh, Ellen! 
 
 [Here's George, Jane, and Baby.] 
 
 Jane. 
 Has he come? 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 He has. 
 
 42 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 George, you won't be hard on him? He's 
 dead tired and hungry. 
 
 George. 
 Did he say anything about the examination ? 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 He didn't; it's likely he doesn't know. It'll 
 break his heart when he finds out he's failed — 
 if failed he has. Couldn't we keep it from 
 him for a day or two? 
 
 Jane. 
 
 It's better he should know it, mother. 
 George is right. It's time a change was made. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 Jane ! 
 
 Jane. 
 
 You never think, maybe, I'd want my 
 chance as well as Denis. You never think, 
 maybe, Donough will get tired waiting. 
 
 [You wouldn't think Jane could be so 
 bitter.] 
 
 Baby. 
 
 And I'm not going to stay in this hole of a 
 place any longer. 
 
 43 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 You're an unnatural family, that's what you 
 are! 
 
 [Denis is back; he has a box of cigars 
 in his hand.] 
 
 Denis. 
 
 What's the confabulation about? Have you 
 a match, George ? 
 
 Mrs. Geogh. 
 Tell Hannah to bring in the tea. 
 
 [Of coarse it's Kate that goes.] 
 
 Denis. 
 
 Beastly cold, isn't it? 
 
 [Look at them moving aside so that he 
 can have the centre of the fire.] 
 
 Well, Aunt Ellen, what's the latest? Is it 
 true you've been making a fortune turning turf 
 into paper? 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 It isn't 
 
 Denis. 
 
 I'm surprised to hear that. A wide-awake 
 woman like you, with a bog of your own. 
 44 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 You should keep moving, Aunt Ellen, keep 
 moving 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 Thank you for your advice. 
 
 George. 
 
 Aunt Ellen has some regard for the family. 
 She's got a good position in her eye for Peter. 
 
 Denis. 
 What's that? 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 Manager of a shop, a co-operative shop. 
 
 Denis. 
 
 Co-operation? I see. That's the latest 
 Sir What's-his-name, the hairy poet chap and 
 all the rest of the gang — they'll suit you down 
 to the ground, Aunt Ellen. They're just your 
 sort. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 Do you know them? 
 
 Denis. 
 
 Me? No— thank God! 
 45 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 George. 
 It's time some of us made a little money. 
 
 Denis. 
 
 Oh, if there's money in it. I'm sure there's 
 no one knows better than I do how much we 
 want money. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 Poor boy ! 
 
 George. 
 
 No one knows better than you do how to 
 spend it. 
 
 Denis. 
 
 Well, it's made to be spent, isn't it? What 
 are you grousing about, anyway? Look what 
 I brought you. (He's giving him the box of 
 cigars.) They're good ones, too. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Oh, George, isn't it good of Denis? He 
 never forgets you. (She's glad of the chance 
 to soften George.) 
 
 Denis. 
 
 Wait till you see what I have upstairs in my 
 bag for you, mother. 
 
 46 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 George. 
 
 Thank you, but I'd rather you wouldn't 
 spend your money — I mean my money — on 
 me. 
 
 Denis. 
 
 Oh, I've been jolly economical lately. I don't 
 believe I've had more than ten pounds from 
 you since the summer. 
 
 George. 
 Ten! You believe queer things. 
 
 Denis. 
 Well, not more than twenty — or twenty-five. 
 
 George. 
 Tell me this: have you been betting lately? 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 George ! 
 
 Denis. 
 
 No. Honour bright. Never once since you 
 gave me that rowing. Though I don't mind 
 telling you I missed a good thing last week; 
 could have made twenty pounds as easily as 
 lighting a cigarette. 
 
 47 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Jane. 
 You're sure you weren't betting? 
 
 Denis. 
 
 Absolutely. . . . Why you all look disap- 
 pointed ... as if you wished I had been 
 . . . What's the matter? 
 
 George. 
 
 What does this mean so? {He's giving him 
 the telegram.) 
 
 Denis. 
 A wire? Is it for me? 
 
 George. 
 Read it and see. 
 
 Denis. 
 
 Oh, I suppose it's from Flanagan. He 
 said he'd wire the result of the exam. ; it wasn't 
 out when I left Dublin. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Don't mind it, Denis. Have your tea first 
 — 'tis nothing at all. 
 
 Baby. 
 
 Be quiet, mother. Can't you let him read it ? 
 48 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY, 
 
 George. 
 Well? 
 
 Denis. 
 
 Oh, I've lost my exam. Isn't that a beastly 
 nuisance? I'm not surprised; I guessed I 
 hadn't got it. {Faith, it doesn't seem to 
 trouble him. ) 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Never mind, my poor boy. It doesn't 
 matter the least bit in the world. 
 
 [Hannah, Kate and Peter are 
 back.] 
 
 Here's Hannah with the tea. . . . Put this 
 out of your head and have a bit of chicken and 
 a sup of tea. 
 
 [She's coaxing him to the table.] 
 
 Sure, what are those examinations after all ? 
 Only cross questions and botheration. I never 
 could see the use of them. Run off and boil an 
 tgg, Hannah. 
 
 [Hannah's gone.] 
 
 There's a nice hot cup, now. Drink it and 
 
 don't worry your head over this. 
 4 49 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Denis. 
 
 Oh, Fm not worrying, mother. I'll get it 
 next time to a dead cert. {He's eating his tea 
 as if nothing had happened.) 
 
 George. 
 You won't. 
 
 Denis. 
 
 Oh, yes, I will. You'll see. I'll work like a 
 nigger from now till June. Don't worry about 
 it, old chap. Push me over the butter. 
 
 George. 
 
 I've done worrying. I've gone through a 
 deal of that in the last few years. 
 
 Denis. 
 
 That's right. Take life easy. That's what 
 I do. 
 
 George. 
 
 I've been thinking that. It's time you wor- 
 ried round a bit now. 
 
 Denis. 
 I'll worry till I get this exam, anyway. 
 
 George. 
 
 I'm not going to ask you to. 
 
 50 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Denis. 
 What do you mean? You're all looking 
 dashed solemn. What is it? 
 
 [He's beginning to feel there's some- 
 thing up.] 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Don't mind George, Denis. He's a bit put 
 out to-night, but 
 
 George. 
 
 Mother! We've been thinking things over; 
 we think you've been long enough at College; 
 it's time you left. 
 
 Denis. 
 
 Left! Leave Trinity! But I'm only half 
 through. 
 
 George. 
 That's not my fault, is it ? 
 
 Denis. 
 
 But I can't become a doctor. I'm not 
 qualified. 
 
 George. 
 
 I'm not asking you to be a doctor, 
 51 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Denis. 
 
 But . . . what ... I don't understand. 
 
 George. 
 
 Well, here it is in two words. There's been 
 enough and too much money spent on you; I'll 
 spend no more. Yes, I will though — twenty 
 pounds more. That'll pay your passage to 
 Canada and leave a bit in your pocket. 
 
 [That's a slap in the face for him. 
 There's not a word out of him.] 
 
 You're joking. 
 
 I am not. 
 
 Denis. 
 
 George. 
 
 Denis. 
 But . . . but . . . why? 
 
 George. 
 
 Because there's a couple of others here to 
 consider as well as yourself. It's fair they 
 should get their chance. You've had yours. 
 
 Denis. 
 
 And what am I to do in Canada? 
 52 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 George. 
 
 You can find out when you get there. 
 You've a pair of hands, haven't you? When 
 you've an empty belly and a pair of hands, I 
 tell you you won't be long finding something to 
 do. 
 
 Denis. 
 
 I see . . . Are you all agreed on this — or 
 is it only George? 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 Denis, darling, I'll never desert you. 
 
 Denis. 
 Are you all agreed on this? 
 
 Jane. 
 
 I'd be sorry you'd go, but Donough is get- 
 ting tired waiting for me. 
 
 Baby. 
 
 You're not the only one wants education. 
 I'm not going to stick in Ballycolman all my 
 life. 
 
 Kate. 
 
 George is right. 
 
 53 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 You've had your chance, Denis, and you've 
 thrown it away. It's time you turned round 
 and worked for yourself. Let this be a lesson 
 to you 
 
 Peter. 
 It's time I got a look in. 
 
 Denis. 
 Well, I think it's a damned shame. 
 
 [Hell be losing his temper in a minute.] 
 
 George. 
 
 It's your own fault. You brought it on 
 yourself. 
 
 Denis. 
 
 I didn't. I didn't ! I never asked to be sent 
 to College ; I never asked to have all this money 
 spent on me. I'd have been content to live here 
 with the rest of you 
 
 Peter. 
 You were too clever for the like of us. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Different altogether. 
 
 54 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Denis. 
 I wasn't. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 To look at you standing there amongst them, 
 Denis, 'tis easy seen how different you are 
 
 Denis. 
 
 Yes, I'm different now, but whose fault is 
 that ? It's not mine. Who was it made me out 
 to be so clever ; who insisted on making a doc- 
 tor of me, or sending me to Trinity? It was 
 all of you. From the time I was a baby you 
 treated me as if I was something wonderful, 
 and now when you find I'm not what you 
 thought I was you kick me out — across the sea 
 to Canada, where you'll never hear of me 
 again. You give me the education of a gentle- 
 man, lashings of money in my pocket, no wish 
 denied me, and in the end you tell me I'm to 
 be a labourer. 
 
 George. 
 
 There's other work besides farming in 
 Canada. 
 
 Denis. 
 It's unfair. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 I won't let you go, Denis. 
 
 55 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Denis. 
 
 Oh, I'll go fast enough, never fear. We all 
 know what George is when he's made up his 
 mind about a thing. He made up his mind I 
 was to go to College to be a doctor, and I went. 
 Now he's made up his mind I'm to go to 
 Canada, and I'll go. He's got the purse; he 
 can do what he likes. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 If you weren't a fool you wouldn't be saying 
 these things ; he might do great things for you 
 yet if he had a mind to. 
 
 Denis. 
 
 I'm asking no favours from him. I'll not 
 take a shilling from him. I'll get enough 
 some other way to take me out of this; don't 
 be afraid you'll be bothered with me. I'll go 
 back to Dublin to-morrow. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 Denis ! 
 
 Denis. 
 
 I'll be free, anyway, from this to make my 
 own life in my own way. I'm tired of other 
 people managing it for me. 
 56 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 George. 
 
 You're vexed with me now. Some day 
 you'll be very thankful to me. 
 
 Denis. 
 
 I've no doubt I will. You're giving me a 
 great opening. I'm tremendously obliged to 
 you all. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 It breaks my heart to hear you talk so bitter. 
 And Delia — what'll Delia say at all to all this? 
 
 Denis. 
 
 Delia? Oh, you may be sure George has 
 some plan in his head for Delia. She's to go to 
 South Africa, I suppose, or maybe he's ar- 
 ranged to marry her himself. 
 
 George. 
 
 I've no wish to part you. She can marry 
 you and go to Canada if she's willing. I'll pay 
 the passage for the two of you. 
 
 Denis. 
 
 Thank you for nothing. I'm asking no 
 money from you, and I've no intention of ask- 
 ing Delia to come out and rough it in Canada. 
 She wasn't brought up to that sort of thing. 
 
 57 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Peter. 
 
 John Duffy would give you money with her 
 maybe. Enough to set the two of you up in 
 Canada. 
 
 Denis. 
 
 I'm asking no favours from John Duffy or 
 from any of you. I'll tell Delia the truth ; tell 
 her I'm being kicked out by my family because 
 I'm good for nothing. I'll make an end of the 
 whole thing. I'll write to Delia to-night, this 
 very minute — I'll go back to Dublin in the 
 morning; I'll not stay another night here. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 This is hard for you, Denis, but maybe it's 
 the best thing that could happen. 
 
 Denis. 
 
 That's it, Aunt Ellen, the best thing in the 
 world for all of us. Peter will go out to you, 
 Donough will marry Jane, Baby will go to 
 Dublin; there'll be plenty of money for every- 
 thing. Denis will be — well, it doesn't matter 
 a damn where Denis will be. He'll be out of 
 the way, at any rate. Babe, darling, get me a 
 sheet of paper and an envelope. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 My heart's broken between you all. 
 58 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Kate. 
 Don't take on mother. 
 
 [Baby's brought him the paper.] 
 
 Denis. 
 
 Thanks, Babe ; you're a jewel. Look out for 
 yourself when you go to Dublin; all the fellows 
 in Skerry's will be mad after you. There's 
 something really fascinating about you. 
 
 [How bitter he is! Look at the toss of 
 her head. They're watching him writing. 
 Aunt Ellen's got the girls round her; 
 she's speaking in a low voice to them.] 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 I don't think he should write that to Delia 
 about his being turned out. Great laughing 
 the neighbours will be having at us, and all the 
 talk we made of his cleverness for the last 
 twenty years. 
 
 Kate. 
 There's truth in that, Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Baby. 
 
 I'd be ashamed to be seen on the street for 
 the next twelvemonth, and all we've been blow- 
 ing about him. 
 
 59 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Peter. 
 
 There's that little loan I got partly on the 
 good prospects of Mister Denis, 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 If you'll take my advice you'll give out that 
 he's gone out to a good position in Canada. I 
 had a brother there once, twenty-five years ago. 
 He died without a child. No matter. Can't 
 you say Denis has gone out to his cousins — that 
 they're in a big way of business? That will 
 save your face. 
 
 [A great idea, sure enough.] 
 
 Jane. 
 You're a great woman for schemes, Aunt. 
 
 George. 
 
 It's a good idea. We don't want to be dis- 
 graced out and out. 
 
 Baby. 
 
 People to laugh at me — 'twould make me 
 mad. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Do you hear what we're saying, Denis? 
 60 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Denis. 
 
 I do. It's nothing to me what lie I leave be- 
 hind me. I don't care if they know the truth 
 about me. But you can have your own way 
 in this, too. I've told her I'm off to Canada 
 in two days, and we can't get married. I'll put 
 a postscript to say I'm going out to a big 
 position. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 It's a pity you're so hasty. Delia is a good 
 match ; you shouldn't throw her away so smart. 
 
 [He's got the letter done.] 
 
 Denis. 
 
 There ! Send Hannah down to Duffy's with 
 it. 
 
 [Jane goes to the door.] 
 
 Jane. 
 Hannah, come here a minute. 
 
 George. 
 
 Before you send it, Denis, think again over 
 what I've said. I know you're fond of Delia ; 
 I don't want to come between you. Marry her ; 
 I'll send you both to Canada, and I'll put a bit 
 of money in your hand. 
 61 
 
THE IVHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Denis. 
 
 You've washed your hands of me, George. 
 You and Delia have got to take the conse- 
 quences of it as well as I. 
 
 [Here's Hannah with an egg.] 
 
 Take that note down to Duffy's, Hannah. 
 
 Hannah. 
 
 I will. There's your egg. 'Tisn't laid two 
 hours, and Mrs. O'Connell says she'll send you 
 in one every day as long as you're here. 
 
 Denis. 
 
 I'll be putting no strain on her hens, 
 Hannah. I'm off to-morrow. 
 
 Hannah. 
 To-morrow ! Yerra 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 To Canada he's going, Hannah. To a grand 
 position there with his uncle's eldest son. 
 
 Hannah. 
 
 Canada! For godness' sake! And is he 
 not going doctoring ? 
 
 62 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 This is better than doctoring. A great posi- 
 tion he'll have. You can be off now. Tell 
 everyone you meet about Denis. 
 
 Hannah. 
 
 I will, to be sure. I'm delighted, Mister 
 Denis, things have turned out so well for you. 
 Delia Duffy will be burning the house down for 
 pure joy to-night. I'll be off as fast as my 
 legs can carry me. (God knows that's not say- 
 ing much. Still when she's got a bit of gossip 
 she'll lose no time.) 
 
 George. 
 
 You're feeling bitter about this, Denis. I'm 
 sorry for you. Will you believe me saying I 
 think it's for the best? 
 
 Denis. 
 
 You don't care a damn whether I believe you 
 or not. (That's enough for George. He's 
 going out.) 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Your tea's cold. Wait till I get you a hot 
 sup. Will you have a bit of chicken? 
 63 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Denis. 
 
 I couldn't eat anything. I wish you'd all 
 leave me alone. You've got all you wanted 
 from me. I'll be gone for ever in the morning. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 You're beat out. You've a headache, may- 
 be? 
 
 I have. 
 
 Denis. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 The tea will do you good. I'll get them to 
 make you a piece of hot toast. Kate or Baby, 
 or one of you, run into the kitchen and make 
 a piece of toast — quick. 
 
 Baby. 
 
 I think it's time Denis learned to make his 
 own toast. 
 
 Peter. 
 I'm not going to make it for him anyway. 
 
 Jane. 
 
 I've other things to do. 
 
 [Off with them all.] 
 64 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Don't mind them. I'll make the toast for 
 you. It will all come right. 
 
 Denis. 
 
 It's so unfair — so unfair; that's what I 
 mind. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 It is, it is. (She's kneeling by the fire toast- 
 ing bread.) 
 
 Denis. 
 
 It was your fault first, mother. You made 
 me out to be something great. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 And aren't you? Is there a lad anywhere 
 as clever as you? Sure, hasn't everyone the 
 same story of your smartness, and they can't 
 all be mistaken. 
 
 Denis. 
 They are. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Not at all. You'll get what you want in the 
 end. You'll see. 
 
 5 65 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Denis. 
 
 I want nothing at all now except to be let 
 alone. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 My poor boy. ... I never feel as if the 
 others were my children the way you are. 
 
 Denis. 
 And I've been a bad son to you. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 You haven't, you haven't. You've never 
 given me a cross word. You mustn't go across 
 the sea to Canada. What would I do without 
 you, and what would poor Delia do? 
 
 Denis. 
 Poor Delia! 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Every girl in the place is wild about you. 
 They were mad that you'd never look at one 
 of them only Delia Duffy. I never thought she 
 was half good enough for you; 1 always hoped 
 you'd marry a lady from the city, for all John 
 Duffy has the Post Office and is Chairman of 
 the District Council. . . . But you'd have got 
 money with her. 
 
 66 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Denis. 
 Well, that's all over now. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 The toast is just done. Hold it a minute 
 and 1*11 fetch the cup of tea. You can sit there 
 and be taking it. 
 
 [Here's Kate back. She has a piece of 
 toast on a plate.] 
 
 Kate. 
 
 I made a piece of toast at the fire upstairs. 
 
 [And Jane in the other door with an- 
 other piece of toast.] 
 
 Jane. 
 
 Denis, will you Oh, have you been 
 
 making toast? 
 
 [And Hannah's head in at the door.] 
 
 Hannah. 
 
 Have you the toasting-fork there, ma'am? 
 Peter wants to make a piece of toast for Mister 
 Denis. 
 
 67 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Denis. 
 
 I want none of your toast. You can keep 
 your bally toast. 
 
 [But he's taking the piece his mother 
 holds out to him.] 
 
 Curtain. 
 
 68 
 
Act II 
 
 [The same room again later in the even- 
 ing and George and Peter sitting, 
 talking.] 
 
 Peter. 
 You think I should take it, then? 
 
 George. 
 I do. 
 
 Peter. 
 But supposing it fails? 
 
 George. 
 
 Aunt Ellen will stick to it for a year or two, 
 and by that time it will have failed or succeed- 
 ed. If it's a success, you're game ball; if it 
 fails you're no worse off than you are now, and 
 there will always be foolish, contrary people 
 starting them co-operative things ; that class is 
 as thick as thieves and lavish with their money ; 
 once you get well in with them they'll not 
 69 
 
THE WH1TEHEADED BOY 
 
 desert you. Besides, you knowing all about 
 shopkeeping, you'll be able to make things 
 easier for the locals. Do you understand me ? 
 
 Peter. 
 I do. 
 
 George. 
 
 Them co-operatives have never succeeded 
 yet, but if they ever do — 'twould be bad days 
 for us. I'd like to see you there for life, and 
 yet 'twouldn't be well to be too successful. 
 
 Peter. 
 Ah, there'll be some sort of a middle course. 
 [With a wink.] 
 
 George. 
 That's what's in my mind. 
 
 Peter. 
 
 And Donough will marry Jane and come in 
 here in my place, and Baby will be up in Dub- 
 lin, and Denis will be off our hands. Faith, it 
 all fits together as neat as a puzzle. 
 
 George. 
 
 And you could be giving an eye to Aunt 
 Ellen's bit of land, and not letting her play 
 70 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 puck with it with her contrary schemes, and in 
 the end she'll leave it to you, why wouldn't 
 she? She'll forget Denis when the salt water's 
 between them. 
 
 Peter. 
 
 He's been &. weight on us for years; we're 
 well rid of him. But all the same, I felt sorry 
 for the poor fellow to-night. 
 
 George. 
 
 Ah, he'll do first-class in Canada, Sure, all 
 sorts does well out there. I'm only afraid of 
 the mother having the life wore out of me fret- 
 ting after him. 
 
 Peter. 
 She'll get over that in time. 
 
 George. 
 
 Well, she must. I'm not going back on what 
 I said about Denis. Go he must. 
 
 [Here's their aant.] 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 George, your mother wants you. She's 
 above in her room. 
 
 71 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 George, 
 Is she after going to bed? 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 She is not; she can't get this business of 
 Denis out of her mind, the creature. 
 
 George. 
 
 There's no use in her talking of it to me. 
 My mind is made up; we're all determined. 
 Denis must go. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Even so, a word from you might quiet her. 
 Anyhow, she won't take rest till she sees you. 
 
 George. 
 
 I'll go to her so. 
 
 [He's gone. '1 * isn't likely there's any- 
 thing he can say will quiet her.] 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 You'd have to pity her. Denis was always 
 her whiteheaded boy, and this is a blow to her. 
 Well, we must all go through with it. . . . 
 Tell me, are you coming out to Kilmurray? 
 
 72 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Peter. 
 
 I'm after talking it over with George; he 
 advises me to go. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 He's right. You'll never regret it. I sup- 
 pose you know all about co-operation? 
 
 Peter. 
 Divil a bit. But I can keep a shop. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 That's all we want. 
 
 Peter. 
 
 I'll leave you and the Committee to do the 
 co-operating. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 You'd better come back there with me to- 
 morrow. The sooner you see the Committee 
 the better. Not that there's a fear you won't 
 get it, for I mentioned your name to them and 
 they were agreeable ; but it's best to make sure 
 of them ; you never know when they wouldn't 
 turn round behind your back and put in an 
 ignorant fellow — a fellow who couldn't weigh 
 a pound of sugar — just because he was a re- 
 73 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 lation of one of them. It's one of the curses 
 of the country, giving positions to relations. 
 
 Peter. 
 I agree with you, Aunt. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 They're a jobbing, ignorant crowd out at 
 Kilmurray. . . . There's a knock. Who can 
 it be this hour of night? 
 
 Peter. 
 
 Hannah's snoring this half -hour, I'll see 
 who it is. 
 
 [He's gone and here he is back and 
 John Duffy with him. John is one of 
 the solidest men in Ballycolman, Chair- 
 man of the District Council, Chairman of 
 the Race Committee, and a member of 
 every Committee and every League in the 
 village. He has three public-houses and a 
 grocery business and the Post Office and 
 a branch of the National Bank once a 
 month, and a trade in old hens and eggs 
 and a terrible turn-over in turkeys at 
 Christmas. . . . Oh, a weighty man. 
 .... Yes, he buried the wife long ago; 
 he's no child but Delia. He's not looking 
 in too pleasant a humour.] 
 74 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY ' 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Oh, good evening, Mr. Duffy; you're wel- 
 come. I was wondering who the knock might 
 be. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 "Tis late for visits, but I slipped up to see 
 George for a minute. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 He's in the mother's room. Will you tell 
 him, Peter? 
 
 [Peter's gone to tell George.] 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Will you sit down, Mr. Duffy? . . . 
 'Twon't be long to Christmas now. 
 
 Duffy. 
 That's true. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 You're looking well. How's Delia these 
 times ? 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 She's well enough. She got a great throw- 
 over to-night. 
 
 75 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 Is that a fact? 
 
 Duffy. 
 Is Denis around? 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 He's not. He's gone to bed. 
 
 Duffy. 
 He's going from you, I hear? 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 He is indeed, poor boy. It's hard parting 
 from him, but since it's for his advantage we 
 wouldn't stand in his way. 
 
 [Wouldn't anyone believe her the way 
 she says it?] 
 
 Duffy. 
 To be sure, to be sure. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 I always said he was too clever to be a doc- 
 tor. When you see the ignorant fellows that 
 are turned into doctors, you can't believe, Mr. 
 Duffy, that it takes much wit to cut off a man's 
 leg or to give him a bottle of medicine. 
 76 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Duffy. 
 There's something in that. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Now in Canada he'll find an opening suit- 
 able to his smartness. A brother of my own 
 went out there forty years ago and 'tis wonder- 
 ful the way he got on. 
 
 Duffy. 
 Is it to his people Denis is going ? 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 It is. He left a troop of sons and daughters 
 after him. 
 
 Duffy. 
 And where do they live? 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 They? — Oh, they live in Saint Paul. 
 
 Duffy. 
 I thought that was in the States. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 There's a place of that name in Canada, too. 
 Do you suppose I wouldn't know my own 
 brother's place? 
 
 77 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 I beg your pardon, ma'am; indeed I meant 
 no such thing. He's in business, I suppose? 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 You may say he is, then. By all accounts he 
 owns half the town. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Do you tell me? Denis will have a fine po- 
 sition so. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Oh, the best in the world. Nothing to do 
 but superintending like, strolling about with his 
 hands in his pockets making other people work 
 and putting money in the Bank all the time. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Bedad, that sounds a good life. Tell me, 
 what class of business has your brother? 
 
 [That's a facer!] 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 A mixed business, Mr. Duffy. 
 
 [Good woman!] 
 78 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Duffy. 
 I see. 
 
 [Here's Peter back with George.] 
 
 George. 
 You were wanting me, John? 
 
 Duffy. 
 I was. 
 
 George. 
 
 If it's the fertilizer you're after, I didn't get 
 it in yet. I have it ordered a fortnight or 
 more. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Tisn't that at all. . . . This is great news 
 about Denis. 
 
 George. 
 Ay. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 He's off to Canada? 
 
 George. 
 He is. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Hannah was blowing about a fine place he's 
 going to, and your Aunt was saying the same 
 thing just now. It's a fact, I suppose? 
 79 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 George. 
 That's true. 
 
 Duffy. 
 Lashings of money and nothing to do. 
 
 George. 
 I believe so. 
 
 Duffy. 
 His cousins own the town? 
 
 George. 
 They do. 
 
 Duffy. 
 'Tis very sudden. 
 
 George. 
 
 That's the way things come, John. Only 
 this evening it was settled. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Of course, Denis being so clever, we always 
 looked for something big to turn up for him. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Delia's in a state over it. 
 80 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 George. 
 
 Ah, she needn't be. Indeed, we were all 
 sorry about that, but it couldn't be helped. 
 They were only children, John, and with Denis 
 going off now there was no use going on with 
 it. Delia's a nice little girl ; she's too good for 
 Denis 
 
 Peter. 
 That's a fact. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 She'll take up with someone who'll be a deal 
 more suitable. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 They've been promised to one another for 
 two years; as soon as he'd be a doctor they 
 were to be married, and now in the heel of the 
 hunt he gets a big position in Canada, he 
 spreads his sails and away with him, leaving 
 her behind. Faith, it looks to me as if you 
 thought she wasn't good enough for him. 
 
 [Didn't I know he was near his 
 temper.] 
 
 George. 
 
 Indeed, John, you're making a mistake. 
 That's not the way with it at all. It's the 
 other way about. 
 
 • 81 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 That's the way I look at it, anyway, and 
 that's the way the neighbours will look at it. 
 
 George. 
 Sure, it's not cross about it you are? 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Oh no, not at all. There's nothing in the 
 wide world a man likes better than to have his 
 only child trampled on like dirt, to be left 
 fooled, to be made a mock of by the country- 
 side. Cross ? What would make me cross ? I 
 never felt in a pleasanter temper than I do this 
 minute. 
 
 Peter. 
 You're talking strange. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 The two of you will hear stranger talk than 
 this before you've finished with the Duffy's. 
 
 George. 
 What do you mean ? 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 I mean Denis marries Delia, or else . . . 
 
 82 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 George. 
 He can't marry her. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Put that notion out of your mind, Mr. 
 Duffy. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Then if he won't marry her, I put the matter 
 into the lawyer's hands to-morrow. £1,000 
 damages. 
 
 \_Oh, my God!] 
 
 George. 
 John! 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 Mr. Duffy! 
 
 Peter. 
 You're raving ! 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Ay, you think yourselves great people, don't 
 you? You've a brother who's a gentleman, 
 who is much too high up to get married to a 
 Duffy. It's good enough for Delia to be 
 thrown aside like an old shoe when the fancy 
 takes you. She's not good enough to be 
 brought to Canada, to the fine place there 
 that ... 
 
 83 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 George. 
 John, wait. I . . . 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 But I'll show you you've mistaken your man. 
 As long as Delia has a father by her she'll not 
 be treated that way. I'll show you! The 
 Duffys aren't people to be trampled on 
 so easy. I've power to my back — and money — 
 more money than you have — and, by the same 
 token, I'll see a lump of yours before I'm done 
 with you. I'll have the smartest lawyer in Ire- 
 land on my side. I got all Denis's letters oft" 
 Delia to-night — oh, there's no doubt of my 
 case. I'll beat you to the wall, I'll bleed you, 
 I'll teach you the way to treat a decent, honest, 
 poor girl who never did you a day's harm only 
 demeaned herself mixing with low, sneaking 
 people the like of the Geoghegans. Good night 
 to you. 
 
 George. 
 
 Stop, for God's sake, Mr. Duffy. You 
 don't know what you're talking about. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Faith, I do, only too well. 
 84 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 George. 
 
 Tisn't true. All that about Canada isn't 
 true. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Isn't he going there? 
 
 George. 
 He is, but not to . . . 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 That's enough about it. 
 
 [He's going out, but George is holding 
 him back.] 
 
 George. 
 
 Don't go. Look here, I'm telling you the 
 truth now, the same as if you were a magistrate 
 on the bench. He's going to no situation there ; 
 he's been kicked out of this because we're 
 tired of paying his bills. 
 
 Duffy. 
 Do you expect me to believe that? 
 
 George. 
 
 You must believe it. Aunt Ellen, tell him 
 that what I'm saying is true. 
 85 
 
THE WH1TEHEADED BOY 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 It's true, every word of it. I've no cousins 
 in Canada, my brother died unmarried, Denis 
 will have to work like a labourer in Canada. 
 
 Peter. 
 
 We're turning him out; he's a useless, idle 
 fellow. 
 
 . Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Delia's well rid of him; a burden he'd be 
 to her. 
 
 George. 
 
 She'll get a man twice as good before the 
 year's out. 
 
 Peter. 
 He's a waster. 
 
 George. 
 No sense at all. 
 
 Peter. 
 A gambler, betting all day on horses. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Cards and drink. 
 
 86 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 George. 
 He has mother's heart broken 
 
 Peter. 
 Tis a great escape Delia's having. 
 
 George. 
 
 They'd be in the Union before they'd be a 
 year married. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 He's a disgrace to the family. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Well, what sort of a fool do you take me to 
 be at all? Haven't I two eyes in my head? 
 Don't I know Denis since the day he was born ? 
 Isn't he known to be the cleverest, smart- 
 est .. . 
 
 George. 
 Not at all. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 . . . lad in the countryside. Didn't you tell 
 me yourself the way he swept all before him in 
 the College in Dublin? 
 
 George. 
 
 Tisn't true. Three times he's after failing. 
 87 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Wasn't he going to be set up there in a big 
 house ? 
 
 Peter. 
 
 Not at all. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Wasn't his aunt going to leave him all her 
 money ? 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 He'll never get a penny from me. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 And now you'd like me to turn around and 
 disbelieve it all. Ah, you're clever, but you're 
 not clever enough for me. 
 
 George. 
 
 You're making a mistake. To-night things 
 turned up. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 They did; I know well they did. Canada 
 turned up, a big position turned up, plans and 
 schemes you made to throw us over. I see 
 your game. Tell me George, is Saint Paul the 
 name of the place Denis is going to? 
 88 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 George. 
 
 No. 
 
 [Look at Duffy fuming on the aunt.] 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Didn't I know you were lying, ye old brazen 
 thing the way I wouldn't be able to trace him 
 to bring him back to marry my daughter. But 
 I don't care a damn where he is going to. 
 You're right, Delia's well quit of him; she's 
 well quit of the whole troop of the Geoghegans 
 —but I want that £1,000 and I'll have it too. 
 
 Peter. 
 
 It's the truth we're telling you, Mr. Duffy. 
 The rest was all lies. 
 
 Duffy. 
 I know well it's liars you all are. 
 
 [Here's Donough; he's excited like.] 
 
 DONOUGH. 
 
 I couldn't go home till I'd congratulated you 
 about Denis. All the people at the concert 
 were talking of it. It's over railways he'll be, 
 I'm told; a sort of a railway king. 
 
 George. 
 
 Oh, my God ! 
 
 89 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Duffy. 
 Do you hear that? 
 
 Donough. 
 
 George, my mind's made up; I'm going with 
 him. When he has all that power he'll be able 
 to do something for the man that's going to 
 marry his sister. I'm tired of slaving on here 
 and no nearer marrying Jane than I was five 
 years ago. Now I'll have her out to me be- 
 fore the autumn. What day is he sailing? 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Don't mind what the people are saying Don- 
 ough. There's not a word of truth in it all. 
 
 Donough. 
 Isn't Denis going to Canada? 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 He is, but not . . . 
 
 Donough. 
 
 Well, then, what's to hinder me going along 
 with him ? 'Twill be a queer thing if he doesn't 
 contrive to get me into a good job out there. 
 90 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY, 
 
 George. 
 He'll do nothing of the sort. 
 
 Peter. 
 Put the idea out of your head. 
 
 Donough. 
 Why so? 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Listen here to me, Donough; I'll tell you 
 the way it is. This family's too high up in 
 themselves for the like of you or me. We're 
 not class enough for them, do you see? The 
 Geoghegans are a great people, the Dufrys 
 aren't good enough for them at all. We've 
 been thrown over ; Delia's not a fit match for 
 my brave Denis. You'll be the next to go; it 
 couldn't be expected that Jane Geoghegan 
 would marry Donough Brosnan. They have 
 plans of marrying Jane to a lord. 
 
 Donough. 
 What's that you say? 
 
 George. 
 
 Don't mind him, Donough. 
 91 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 DONOUGH. 
 
 I will mind him. 
 
 George. 
 
 You can marry Jane to-morrow for all I 
 care. Duffy's mad. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Mad? Take care what you're saying, 
 George Geoghegan. There's a law against 
 slander and abuse as well as against breaking 
 a promise of marriage. Here's my final word 
 to you : Denis marries Delia and takes her with 
 him to Canada. 
 
 George. 
 He can't. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Or he finishes his course in Dublin and 
 marries her when he's a doctor, the very 
 minute he's qualified. 
 
 George. 
 He can't. 
 
 Duffy. 
 Then I bring an action. £1,000 damages. 
 You can take your choice. I'll give you ten 
 92 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 minutes to yourselves to talk it over. I've got 
 to go and see Magner for a minute. I'll be 
 back for an answer. Mind, I mean every word 
 I say. The marriage or an action. That's my 
 final word to you, you pack of schemers! 
 
 [He's off — what a slam he gave the 
 door.] 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 He's a terrible man. 
 
 George. 
 That's a nice fix we're in. 
 
 Peter. 
 What the divil can we do now ? 
 
 Donough. 
 I don't understand what it's all about. 
 
 George. 
 
 We're kicking Denis out to Canada because 
 he's a useless, idle, extravagant fellow, and 
 Duffy has an idea that he's going out to some 
 big place there, and is mad he won't marry 
 Delia. 
 
 9k 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 DONOUGH. 
 
 Is that the way it is ? I never had much be- 
 lief in Denis. 
 
 George. 
 
 I wish to God you could get Duffy and the 
 rest to be of the same mind. There's no one 
 in the village will believe the truth. 
 
 Donough. 
 
 Sure, there's nothing harder to believe than 
 the truth. 
 
 Peter. 
 But what are we going to do? 
 
 George. 
 
 Let me think. My head's bursting. What 
 was it Duffy said ? Either marry her and take 
 her to Canada or go through with College, or 
 else the breach of promise. ... I won't send 
 him back to College; I'd rather have the breach 
 — 'twouldn't cost me more in the end. Maybe 
 Denis might be ten years in Dublin or twenty 
 years missing his examinations and spending 
 money. Oh, where would it all come from? 
 . . . But £1,000 to go to Duffy, or £500 itself 
 — we'd be ruined ; we'd never get it back from 
 the shop. 
 
 94 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 DONOUGH. 
 
 Yerra, let Duffy bring the case against Denis 
 and bankrupt him. What matter ? 
 
 George. 
 
 Bankrupt him! Do you think I'm the one 
 to stand by and see a Geoghegan broken by a 
 Duffy or anyone else? I'd sooner die in the 
 Union, There's but the one thing for it. 
 Denis must marry her; he must take her with 
 him to Canada. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 He'll do that all right; sure he's mad to 
 marry her. 
 
 George. 
 
 Call him down here, Peter. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 He's gone to bed I think. 
 
 George. 
 
 Pull him out of bed, then. This must be 
 settled before Duffy comes back. He'll put the 
 case into the lawyer's hands to-morrow if we 
 don't. 
 
 Peter. 
 
 I'll call him. (He's gone.) 
 95 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 It's a terrible upset we're in. 
 
 George. 
 
 It was all your fault with your schemes for 
 saving the family's good name. If we'd told 
 the truth from the first, this wouldn't be on us 
 now. {He's turning on her.) 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 That's a queer thing to say to me, George. 
 Small respect you're showing me. 
 
 George. 
 I don't know what I'm saying. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 It looks like it indeed. Anyway, the truth's 
 a dangerous thing to be saying in a little place 
 like Ballycolman. 
 
 Donough. 
 
 It will be all right. Denis will marry Delia, 
 and there'll be no more about it. 
 
 George. 
 
 I won't have an easy minute till the pair of 
 them are married and gone. Oh Donough, it's 
 96 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 an awful thing to be head of a family. Since 
 the father died I've not had a minute's rest, 
 pulled this way and that way, this one wanting 
 to get married, another going into business, 
 Baby flying up to Dublin, Denis doctoring — 
 many a time I wished I was born an orphan. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 God forgive you. 
 
 George. 
 
 It's true, Aunt Ellen. Look at the life I've 
 led between you all, and no one ever thinking 
 maybe I'd want to get married, or have a bit 
 of fun, or spend a bit of money. For two pins 
 I'd throw the lot of ye over to-morrow and sail 
 away out of this for ever. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Yerra, talk sense, George; that's no way to 
 be behaving. 
 
 George. 
 
 There's no escape for me. I'm caught like 
 an old cow with her head in a stall. 
 
 [Here's Peter back with Denis. It 
 was no lie saying he was in bed, look at 
 his striped pyjamas and his elegant dress- 
 ing gown. ] 
 i 97 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Denis. 
 
 What do you want me for? Haven't you 
 bothered me enough this evening without haul- 
 ing me out of bed? 
 
 George. 
 
 Denis, old Duffy has been here raging mad. 
 He threatens a breach of promise unless you 
 marry Delia. You'll have to do it. You'll 
 have to marry her at once. 
 
 Denis. 
 What? Marry Delia? 
 
 George. 
 Yes, and take her to Canada along with you. 
 
 Denis. 
 Oh! 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 I knew you'd be delighted. 'Twas breaking 
 your heart parting from her. 
 
 Denis. 
 And what are we to live on in Canada? 
 
 George. 
 You'll find plenty to live on. 
 

THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 A man's lost without a woman out there, 
 they say. You'd read on the papers the great 
 scarcity of women there is in Canada. 
 
 Peter. 
 That's so; she'll be a great addition to you. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Father Murphy would marry you to-morrow 
 when he knows the hurry you're in. 
 
 Denis. 
 
 I see. . . . Listen here to me. Haven't I 
 agreed to everything you've planned for me all 
 my life through. To-night I agreed to go to 
 Canada because it's your wish; I agreed to 
 break with Delia. Now you want me to take 
 Delia off to Canada, without a position, with- 
 out a place to go to, with a few pounds in my 
 pocket that wouldn't keep us for a month. Put 
 the idea out of your head; I'll not do it. 
 There's things I'll submit to myself, but I 
 won't ask Delia to share them. 
 
 George. 
 
 Do you mean to tell me you don't want to 
 marry Delia? You don't care about her? 
 99 
 
THE WH1TEHEADED BOY 
 
 Denis. 
 
 I do care for her. That's why I won't marry 
 her. 
 
 George. 
 
 That's crazy talk. You'll do all right in 
 Canada. 
 
 Peter. 
 
 You won't be there a week hefore you'll have 
 a big position. 
 
 Dqnough. 
 You're sure to do fine. 
 
 George. 
 A clever lad like you will get on fast. 
 
 Denis. 
 
 You hadn't much opinion of my cleverness 
 an hour ago. I'll have to rough it and take my 
 chance with all the others, and as soon as I've 
 made a place for myself I'll marry Delia; but 
 I'll not ask her to share the roughness and pov- 
 erty you're sending me out to. 
 
 George. 
 
 Denis, don't turn on us like this. 
 100 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Denis. 
 
 You turned on me bitterly to-night, George. 
 You've kicked me out, you've wrecked my life, 
 you've made me give up Delia. 
 
 George. 
 But I want you to marry her now. 
 
 Denis. 
 And I won't. You know why. 
 
 George. 
 I'd give you a few pounds going to Canada. 
 
 Denis. 
 I won't take them. 
 
 George. 
 If you went back to College 
 
 Denis. 
 I won't go back to College. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 In. the name of God, what do you want? 
 101 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Denis. 
 
 I want to be let make my own life in my own 
 way. I want to be let alone and not bothered. 
 {He's going towards the door.) 
 
 George. 
 Where are you off to ? 
 
 Denis. 
 To bed, of course — and to Canada. 
 
 George. 
 Will you marry Delia? 
 
 Denis. 
 No. {And he's gone.) 
 
 Donough. 
 
 Wait — Denis {He's gone after him.) 
 
 [Poor George. You'd have to pity 
 him. ] 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 And Duffy will be here in a minute for his 
 answer. 
 
 Peter. 
 
 Well, it's the breach of promise now, and no 
 mistake. 
 
 102 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 George 
 We're ruined, we're ruined! 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Yerra, not at all. Maybe when the fit of 
 anger passes John Duffy will think better of 
 what he said to-night. But we must stand up 
 to him boldly; don't let on we're afraid of 
 him. 
 
 Peter. 
 Maybe he'd come to terms. 
 
 George. 
 
 I wouldn't demean myself making terms 
 with him. Let him bring us into the Courts. 
 I'll face him; I'll not have it said I was afraid 
 of him. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 That's right. 
 
 George. 
 A Geoghegan's as good as a Duffy any day. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 And better. 
 
 [There's a knock.] 
 
 Glory be to God! there he is. 
 103 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Peter. 
 
 I suppose I'll have to let him in. 'T wouldn't 
 do to pretend we're all gone to bed. 
 
 George. 
 
 I'm afraid of no man. Open the door. 
 Tis terrible, oh, 'tis terrible ! Why did I ever 
 open my lips to-night about Denis? ... I'm 
 wondering . . . I'm wondering, Aunt, if you 
 spoke to Duffy yourself to-night? You used 
 to be good friends long ago, I've heard it said. 
 I ... I . ... 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 To be sure I'll speak to him; a woman can 
 often come around a man. Ye only heat him. 
 
 George. 
 
 I'll have nothing to do with compromises 
 and settlements, and it's no surrender, as they 
 say in Derry, but — but — do your best for me. 
 Whisht ! He's coming. I'll be up to speak to 
 the mother. 
 
 [And he slips out one door as Peter 
 and Duffy come in the other. ] 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Well, ma'am, I'm back. Where has George 
 gone to? 
 
 1,04, 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 He slipped up to speak to his mother. Peter, 
 go and look for him. 
 
 [Isn't she cute the way she got rid of 
 Peter?] 
 
 Won't you sit down? 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 I'd sooner stand. Two minutes will give me 
 my answer, I suppose. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Take it easy while you have a chance. . . . 
 John Duffy, you're a clever man; I don't know 
 a cleverer. 
 
 Duffy. 
 I'm obliged for your good opinion, ma'am. 
 [How stiff he is.] 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 That story of Denis being good for nothing 
 is true, but it suits you not to believe it, and 
 you're right. I'd do the same in your case. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 You would? 
 
 105 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 I would so. Oh, I always gave in you were 
 one of the smartest men in the country. . . . 
 You're looking to getting a deal of money out 
 of this action? 
 
 Duffy. 
 I am. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 I wonder will you. They're queer, chancey, 
 uncertain things, breach of promise cases. 
 Great expense, a troop of lawyers, terrible 
 harrying in the witness-box and maybe twenty 
 pounds at the end of it all, or the case dis- 
 missed. And Delia such a nervous little girl, 
 I wonder you'd like to drag her through the 
 Courts. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Don't be afraid for Delia ma'am. A thou- 
 sand pounds will cover a deal of blushes. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 A thousand pounds! You'll never see the 
 quarter of it, no, nor a hundred pounds. It's the 
 foolish people who go looking for money in a 
 breach of promise case. The wise ones settle 
 it up between themselves — and you were never 
 a foolish man, Mr. Duffy. 
 106 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 I'm foolish enough, anyway, not to let my 
 name be trampled in the dirt. It doesn't suit 
 me to have Delia treated as if she wasn't good 
 enough for a Geoghegan. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Tis a pity. She'll hardly get married so. 
 The lads are shy of having anything to say 
 to a girl was in a breach of promise case 
 — afraid they'd be the next to be hauled up. 
 . . . What good will that do either of you? 
 A little bit of money now slipped into your 
 hand without bother or lawyers would be more 
 value to you. A clever man would settle the 
 whole thing for fifty pounds. 
 
 Duffy. 
 Would he indeed? 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 You know well the Geoghegans are a weak 
 family. If you got a couple of hundred pounds 
 damages itself, who knows would you ever be 
 paid ? But it doesn't reflect well on me to have 
 my nephews dragged into Court. Come, Mr. 
 Duffy, if I gave you fifty pounds would you 
 withdraw the case? 
 
 107 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 I've got my senses still, thank God Fifty 
 pounds? Keep it. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 That's not a civil way to be answering me — 
 and yet we were good friends once — John. 
 
 Duffy. 
 We were. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 I often think of those old days — ah, 1 
 suppose you've forgotten them long ago. But 
 we were good friends. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 'Twasn't my fault we weren't closer than 
 friends. 
 
 [After all, he's sitting down and near 
 her too.] 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 I remember. Those days are gone long ago. 
 . . . You'd have given me anything I asked, 
 then. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 I would. 
 
 108 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Do you remember the day you walked twelve 
 miles to get a red ribbon I'd set my mind on 
 having for the races? 
 
 Duffy. 
 I do. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 And now I'm offering you fifty pounds, and 
 you throw it back in my face as if I was an 
 old hen-woman at a fair. 
 
 Duffy. 
 Fifty pounds is no money at all. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Sixty, then . . . seventy . . . Ah, John, 
 you couldn't refuse me. . . . for the sake of 
 old times . . 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 A lot your talking of old times. Look here, 
 Ellen, are you in earnest? Do you want the 
 case stopped? 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 I do so. 
 
 109 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Duffy. 
 Then there's a way you can d<* it. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 Tell it to me. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 You can do what I asked you to do when 
 we were boy and girl together. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 Mr. Duffy! 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Why not ? Give me a hundred pounds down, 
 and promise me you'll marry me before Shrove, 
 and I'll let Denis and the Geoghegans go to the 
 divil. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 I could never do it. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 You were near doing it fifteen years ago, 
 after I buried the wife. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 I've lived my own life always, I'm too old 
 to change. I wanted freedom. I wanted to 
 110 
 
THE WH1TEHEADED BOY 
 
 live like the birds, I wanted to do what I pleased 
 with my own money. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 You've had your freedom, and what have 
 you made out of it? Nothing at all. You've 
 run after crazy schemes, goats and the like; 
 your farm is gone to waste; you're getting on 
 in years, soon you'll be an old woman, Ellen, 
 with no one to look after you, only relations 
 craving for your money. You'd better have 
 me; I'll take care of you, I'll look after you, 
 you'll have all the freedom you want. When 
 you were a girl, Ellen, you were too proud to 
 look at me, and I married Honora Reilly to 
 spite you. After she died on me I asked you 
 again, but you wouldn't have me. You're the 
 only woman I ever wanted. You made me mad 
 to-night with your talk of old times. You must 
 marry me, you must! Never will you regret 
 it . . . 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 I couldn't, John. I'm old. I'd like to be 
 frt«. 
 
 Duffy. 
 Good-night, so. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Why are you going ? 
 Ill 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Duffy. 
 What use is there in me staying? 
 
 Aunt Ellen 
 But what about the case? 
 
 Duffy. 
 I'll see the lawyer in the morning. 
 
 Aunt Ellen, 
 
 You're a hard man. You always get what 
 you want. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 I didn't get the one thing I wanted in all the 
 world. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 If I gave you a hundred pounds without the 
 promise ? 
 
 Duffy. 
 'Twouldn't do me 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 Why do you want to marry me? 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Contrariness, I suppose. 
 
 [He's kissed her, glory be to God!] 
 112 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Stop, John! You should be ashamed of 
 yourself. 
 
 Duffy. 
 You'll have me. I see you will. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 You're taking a lot for granted. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 I'm taking you, anyway. (He's kissed her 
 again!) 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 You're a terrible man. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Why the divil didn't you let me do that thirty 
 years ago, when we were boy and girl together ? 
 I made an offer at it one time, and you slapped 
 me across the face. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 It's what I'd like to do to you this minute. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 You may then. (Look at him sticking his 
 face out to her.) 
 
 8 113 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 Get along with you! 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Cripes ! I'd like to get drunk, I'd like to pull 
 the house down, I'd like to go bawling singing 
 through the streets of Ballycolman! 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 I hope you'll do nothing of the kind, a re- 
 spectable man like you, with a grown daughter 
 and a wife interred. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Don't remind me of her. I'm twenty years 
 old — not a minute more. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 If you keep shouting like that you'll have 
 
 George down. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Faith, that reminds me . . . I'll draw up a 
 paper and you can sign it. {He's always an 
 eye to business.) 
 
 114 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 What are you asking me to sign? 
 
 Duffy 
 
 A promise to pay me a hundred pounds 
 down, and that you'll marry me before Shrove 
 provided I drop the case against Denis . . . 
 Have you your cheque-book handy? 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 It's here in my bag. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Make out a cheque so for me for a hundred 
 pounds. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 It's a whip of money. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Sure, it's not going to pass out of the family. 
 I'll spend it on stocking the farm. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 You're a terrible man ... I suppose you 
 must have your way. (She's writing him a 
 cheque, it must be a fact that she's in love with 
 him. ) 
 
 115 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Sign there, now. 
 
 [She's doing that too. He's got the 
 cheque and the paper signed and into his 
 breast pocket they go.] 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 For the love of goodness don't breathe a 
 word of this to the Geoghegans. They'd have 
 my life for making terms with you. I'll find 
 my own way later of telling them about the 
 marriage. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 I'll not open my lips. And it would suit me 
 better if they thought I withdrew the case of 
 my own free will. Isn't it like a story on the 
 pictures, Ellen, the way you and I have come 
 together at the end of all. (More love-making. 
 Look at his arm around her waist.) 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Leave go of me; there's someone coming. 
 
 [It's George, and his Aunt's slipped 
 out. She's all in a flutter and no wonder.] 
 
 George. 
 
 I'm sorry for leaving you so long, Mr. 
 Duffy. I was speaking to my mother and that 
 116 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 young rascal of a brother of mine. It's no use 
 trying to make him see reason; you might as 
 well be talking to a deaf man. 
 
 Duffy. 
 Is that so? 
 
 George. 
 My aunt was speaking to you ? 
 
 Duffy. 
 She was. 
 
 George. 
 
 I hope you're feeling in a more reasonable 
 way? 
 
 Duffy. 
 Oh, I've reason on my side. 
 
 George. 
 
 There's no use expecting Denis to marry 
 Delia; he'll not do it. What we've got to do, 
 Mr. Duffy, is to settle our little difference the 
 best way we can. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 That's a fact. 
 
 117 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 George. 
 
 I'm glad to see you taking that view. What 
 use is there going into Court? Five minutes 
 friendly talk is better than all the lawyers in 
 the Four Courts . . . Come, John, we were 
 always good friends — what will you take to 
 drop the case? 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 To . . . ? Five hundred pounds. {Teh I 
 Teh!) 
 
 George. 
 I mean in earnest. 
 
 Duffy. 
 Fm speaking in earnest. 
 
 George. 
 I'll give you two hundred. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Put your hand there. There's one condition 
 I make : not one word of this to your family, 
 or anyone. I'd rather have it thought that I 
 withdrew the case myself. 
 
 George. 
 
 It will suit me, too, to be quiet about this. 
 The family would be mad with me for going 
 118 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 behind their backs. My aunt was all for fight- 
 ing you to the bitter end. 
 
 Duffy. 
 Was she indeed? 
 
 George. 
 
 Don't mind a word she was saying; she's a 
 cranky old schemer. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Would you believe me telling you she came 
 near striking me to-night? 
 
 George. 
 
 She did? Don't mind her, John; she didn't 
 mean a word she said. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Faith, there's things she said to-night I'll 
 hold her accountable for . . . Tell me, when 
 will you let me have the money? 
 
 George. 
 
 I'll write a letter to you to-night promising 
 to pay it in six months' time, provided you 
 don't bring up the case. I'll have to look about 
 for the money. 
 
 119 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 That'll do me. But if I haven't the letter in 
 the morning I'll start with the case. 
 
 George. 
 Oh, you'll have it, never fear. 
 
 [Here's poor Mrs. Geoghegan.] 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 Is that Mr. Duffy's voice ? 
 
 Duffy. 
 Good-night to you ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Is it true what I hear that you're making a 
 set against my poor Denis, that you're going to 
 bring him into the Courts ? 
 
 Duffy. 
 That's so. 
 
 George. 
 
 Don't go into it now, mother. I've been 
 talking it over with Mr. Duffy. By to-morrow 
 morning he's likely to see matters in a more 
 reasonable way. 
 
 120 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Duffy. 
 I'm a generous man, ma'am. (You are!) 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 I know you are. I'll say no more, only 
 leave it to God and yourself . . . Would you 
 oblige me by taking a note down to Delia ? 
 
 Duffy. 
 Certainly, ma'am. 
 
 George. 
 What's that, mother? 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Only a letter of good-bye from my poor 
 Denis. There's a note for yourself, too, Mr. 
 Duffy. 
 
 [She's half -whispering, she doesn't 
 want George to hear, but he's writing the 
 note to Duffy in the corner of the room.] 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Thank you, ma'am. (It's a thick letter; he 
 can't help himself from opening it.) 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Are you going to bed, George? 
 121 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 George. 
 I have to write one letter first. 
 
 [Look zvhat Duffy's pulling out of the 
 envelope. Notes! Bank notes /] 
 
 Duffy. 
 . . . May the divil . . . 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 What's the matter, Mr. Duffy? (She's 
 afraid George will notice and her finger's on 
 her lips. ) 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Oh, nothing at all, ma'am, nothing at all. 
 I'll be going. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 I hope business is good by you these times? 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Business? Oh, business, ma'am is good; 
 never better, never better. Well, be the . . . 
 Good-night to you both. 
 
 [He's gone. Well, well, such strategy 
 and manoeuvring — such lying as you 
 might call it.] 
 
 Curtain. 
 122 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Denis. 
 
 Oh, let them say what they like. Mother, 
 give me a bit of bread and a drink of milk. I 
 must be off, or I'll lose my job. And you might 
 put some tea in a can. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 I'll not. You to be working, Denis! It's 
 a disgrace we'd never get over. 
 
 Duffy. 
 Delia, speak to him; make him hear reason. 
 
 Delia. 
 
 Why should I? You told me straight a 
 minute ago we needn't look to you for help. 
 We've got to live. Do you think Nolan's have 
 a room. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Delia, Delia, do you want to break my heart ? 
 A Duffy to be in one of Nolan's little houses ! 
 Look at here — let the two of you come and 
 live with me. 
 
 [He's almost crying.] 
 
 George. 
 
 Come and live here. 
 
 155 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 Come and live out at my place. 
 
 Denis. 
 
 No, thanks. I want to be independent. I 
 want to be working. 
 
 George. 
 We'd get you something decent to do. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 A job will turn up for you. Amn't I Chair- 
 man of the District Council? I'm sure you 
 know enough doctoring to be a tuberculosis 
 officer . . . or . . . 
 
 Denis. 
 No, I don't. 
 
 George. 
 
 Think of something, Aunt Ellen. You were 
 always a woman for schemes. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Denis, I always favoured you; you were 
 always my pet. Come out to Kilmurray; 
 manage the shop there. It's a hundred and fifty 
 a year in your pocket, and I'll leave you the 
 farm when I die. 
 
 156 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Duffy. 
 Do, Denis! 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 Do, like a good boy. 
 
 George. 
 For the mother's sake. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Don't be pussy with us, Denis. 
 
 [Look at him smiling and shaking his 
 head.] 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Look at here : I'll give you this if you will. 
 There's twenty pounds. 
 
 Denis. 
 Keep it, Mr. Duffy. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Here's your aunt's cheque for £100 — 'tis 
 endorsed and all. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Take it, Denis, take it. 
 157 
 
THE WH1TEHEADED BOY 
 
 Duffy. 
 George, will you give him that £200? 
 
 George. 
 I will. Anything to save us from this. 
 
 Denis. 
 I don't want it. 
 
 Duffy. 
 Then what in the earthly world will tempt 
 
 you? 
 
 Denis. 
 
 I only want to be able to do what I like with 
 my own life — to be free. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Free? . . . Bedad, isn't he like old Ireland 
 asking for freedom, and we're like the fools 
 of Englishmen offering him every bloody thing 
 except the one thing ? . . . Do Denis, do like 
 a darling boy, go out to Kilmurray and manage 
 the shop. 
 
 Denis. 
 
 I don't know that much about shop-keeping. 
 
 158 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 George. 
 
 Yerra, that's the best reason you could have 
 for going. Sure, 'tisn't a real shop, only one 
 of them co-operatives. The sooner it bursts 
 the better. 
 
 Denis. 
 
 You'd like to force me to do this just the 
 way you forced me to do everything else — to go 
 to Dublin, to go to Canada, to give up Delia. 
 Will I never be free from you? ... If I go 
 — but mind you, I don't say I will — Delia will 
 have to look after the shop. I won't. 
 
 Duffy. 
 Now, Delia, be a good girl ; say you will. 
 
 Delia. 
 
 Denis, we're beaten; we'll have to go, we'll 
 have to give in to them. But don't fret your- 
 self; I'll look after the shop; you'll never be 
 asked to do a hand's turn in it. 
 
 George. 
 God bless you, Delia. 
 
 Delia. 
 
 Listen here, George. Don't flatter yourself 
 that shop's going to fail. It's not. It's going 
 159 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 to best you all — you can make up your mind 
 to that. 
 
 George. 
 
 Begob, I wouldn't wonder if it would, with 
 you at the head of it. 
 
 Duffy. 
 Isn't shea Duffy? 
 
 Delia. 
 
 There's not one of you here have ever under- 
 stood Denis. He's been straitened and denied 
 all his life through, but I'm going to give him 
 what he wants now. 
 
 Denis 
 Do you think Kilmurray is what I want ? 
 
 Delia. 
 
 An easy life, no responsibility, money in your 
 pocket, something to grumble at — What 
 more do you want? 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Maybe we'll get you something better later 
 on, Denis. And anyway you'll have the farm 
 when I die. 
 
 160 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Ellen Geoghegan, what sort is the farm 
 likely to be the day you die, and you treating it 
 the way you do? Listen here: isn't it your 
 sacred and solemn duty to those two helpless 
 young creatures to take care you leave it to 
 them in good condition? 
 [That's right,] 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 Maybe so. 
 
 Duffy. 
 To do that you've got to marry me. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 I'm free of my promise; I'd rather keep 
 free. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 You daren't. Not with the responsibility 
 that's on you now. Suppose you squandered 
 the farm? 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 You frighten me! I suppose, for Denis's 
 sake, I'll have to have you so. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 That's the woman! And maybe in the end 
 of all you won't get the farm, Denis, my boy. 
 11 ' 161 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 What are you saying? 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 What's to hinder us having a son of our 
 own? 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Mr. Duffy, I'm surprised at you. I didn't 
 think you could be so coarse. 
 
 [ . . . Yes, she have a very delicate 
 mind. ] 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 I'm sorry, Ellen; I'm sorry. Still you never 
 know what mightn't happen. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Ellen, if that day ever comes to you, — and 
 I pray that it will, — take my advice, go up to 
 Dublin and see Sir Denis. He's an old man, 
 but he's hearty yet, I'm told, and . . . 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 No, no, ma'am. One whiteheaded boy is as 
 much as this family can support We're not 
 going to rear another. 
 
 162 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Well, thank God, everything's well settled. 
 I'm dying to tell the others ; they'll be delighted. 
 
 George. 
 Begob, I clean forgot them! 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 Peter will have to stay on here. 
 
 George. 
 Jane can't get married. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 Baby can't go to Dublin. 
 
 George. 
 How is it we all forgot them? 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 Thinking all the time of Denis we were. 
 
 George. 
 
 What in hell are we to do? . . . There's 
 a noise in the street . . . It's them coming. 
 . . . What are we to say to them? They'll 
 have my life. 
 
 163 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Quiet yourself, George. They'll be all de- 
 lighted when they hear the way Denis is settled 
 for life. I'll talk to them. Leave it to me. 
 
 George. 
 
 Faith, I'll do that with a heart and a half. 
 I'll see you later, John. 
 
 [He's glad to go.] 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Don't take it hardly Denis. There are worse 
 things than a shop and a farm and £320 in your 
 hand, and when all's said and done it's better 
 than working on the roads. 
 
 Denis. 
 
 I'm not going to grumble, mother, where's 
 the use? I've always had to do what you all 
 made me do, and I suppose I may as well go 
 on with it. I can't fight you all . . . 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 That's my brave darling boy. ( There's kiss- 
 ing!) Oh, Delia, take care of him; he's not 
 strong at all. 
 
 Delia. 
 I'll look after him. Give me the money, 
 Denis, I'm going to put it in the bank. George 
 164 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 must make me out a promissory note. While 
 I'm at the bank, Denis, change your clothes. 
 This afternoon we'll drive out to Kilmurray. 
 I want to look at the shop. 
 
 [That's the girl will manage him, 
 George is sticking his head in the door.] 
 
 George. 
 They're coming! 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 I'm ready for them. 
 
 [Here's Kate, Jane, Baby, Donough 
 and Peter, all in together in great excite- 
 ment; they all talking together.] 
 
 All. 
 
 What's this we're after hearing — that Denis 
 and Delia have got married ? 
 
 Baby. 
 Is this a fact ? 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 It's quite true, thanks be to God. Denis is 
 married, he's going out to Kilmurray to man- 
 age the shop, we're after giving him £300 and 
 more. 
 
 165 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 All. 
 What? What's that you say? 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 I knew you'd all be delighted. 
 
 All. 
 Delighted ! 
 
 Baby. 
 I suppose this means I can't go to Dublin? 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 Not at all, you'll go — some day — never fear. 
 
 Baby. 
 Some day! 
 
 Jane. 
 
 Do*s this mean I can't marry Donough? 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 Not at all. You'll marry him— some day. 
 
 Peter. 
 
 And what about me? 
 166 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 You'll be all right — some day. 
 
 All. 
 Well, I think it's a shame. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Shame ? Think shame to yourselves ! What 
 sort of unnatural children have I got at all? 
 Would you grudge your brother the one little 
 bit of luck he's had in all his life? Look at 
 him sitting there with the girl he loves and he 
 after marrying her and not one of you would 
 as much as wish him joy. 
 
 Jane. 
 
 I'm sure, Denis, I have nothing against you. 
 I hope you'll be happy only — ~ 
 
 Baby. 
 May you be happy — s o m e d a j \ 
 
 Peter. 
 Good luck to you. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Girls, look here. I've a plan in my mind for 
 
 you all. After I'm married 
 
 167 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY. 
 
 All. 
 After you're what? 
 
 [They think she's mad.] 
 
 Duffy. 
 After we're married. 
 
 Baby. 
 
 That's the boldest plan she ever made. After 
 you're married? Wisha, God help you, John 
 Duffy. 
 
 [And she's right.] 
 
 Curtain. 
 
 168 
 
The Whiteheaded Boy was first produced at 
 the Abbey Theatre, Dublin, on December 13th, 
 1 9 1 6, with the following cast: — 
 
 Mrs. Geoghegan 
 
 Eileen O'Doherty 
 
 George 
 
 Breffni O'Rourke 
 
 Peter 
 
 Arthur Shields 
 
 Kate 
 
 Dorothy Lynd 
 
 Baby 
 
 Maureen Delany 
 
 Jane 
 
 May Craig 
 
 Denis 
 
 Fred O' Donovan 
 
 Donough Brosnan 
 
 Peter Nolan 
 
 John Duffy 
 
 Chas. C. O'Reilly 
 
 Delia 
 
 Irene Kelly 
 
 Aunt Ellen 
 
 Maire O'Neill 
 
 Hannah 
 
 Sheila O'Sullivan 
 
 The play was produced by J. Augustus Keogh. 
 
 169 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 friend of mine, and for his sake, and because 
 it's Delia's wish, and because I'm a peaceable 
 Christian man, I'm going to withdraw the case. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 The blessing of God on you for that word! 
 
 George. 
 Thank you, John. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Mind you, it's a great loss to me. I'm letting 
 a deal of money go from me, and I suppose 
 there'll be people who'll say behind my back — 
 aye, and up to my puss, maybe — that the 
 Geoghegans bested the Duffys. But I don't 
 care. I'll bear all that for the sake of the good- 
 will I have to the family. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 You won't be without your reward. 
 
 George. 
 
 Shake hands, John. You've spoken like a 
 man. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 If ever I wronged you in my thoughts, Mr. 
 Duffy, may God forgive me and reward you 
 as you deserve, 
 
 139 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 I'm looking for nothing ma'am. I'm glad 
 I was able to do this for you. And now I 
 must be going back to the Post Office. The 
 Inspector might be here this morning. 
 
 George. 
 
 Wouldn't you have something before you 
 go? 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 No, thank you, George. Seldom I touch 
 anything. 
 
 George. 
 Ah, a small drop . . . Come, John? 
 
 Duffy. 
 Well, just a mouthful. 
 
 George. 
 A drop for you, Aunt? 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 No, thank you, George. 
 
 George. 
 
 You're like myself; you touch nothing. 
 You'll have some, mother? 
 140 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 A small drop — for Mr. Duffy's sake. Here's 
 long life to you, Mr. Duffy. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Well, here's luck to . . . 
 
 [It zvould make you thirsty to watch 
 them. Would we have time to slip out 
 
 for a Whisht! Here's Denis and 
 
 Delia.] 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Denis! Where were you? I thought you 
 were gone from us. 
 
 Denis. 
 
 Not at all. You don't get rid of me quite 
 as easily as that. Good-morning, Mr. Duffy. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Morning. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Sit down, Delia. Would you take a glass 
 of wine? 
 
 Delia. 
 
 No, thank you, Mrs. Geoghegan. 
 141 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Denis. 
 
 You might as well. Drink success to me in 
 Canada, and all that sort of thing. 
 
 Delia. 
 Oh, I'll do that. 
 
 [They're all trying to make up to her.] 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Don't fret over this, alanna. It will all come 
 right in the end, I'm sure. Maybe in a year 
 or two Denis will be able to come back and 
 marry you. 
 
 Duffy. 
 I thought you were sick. 
 
 Delia. 
 I'm better. 
 
 Duffy. 
 You look it. 
 
 Delia. 
 You seem sorry. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 You'd better come along home now. The 
 Inspector's likely to come this morning, and 'tis 
 142 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 you know about them postal orders that went 
 astray on us. 
 
 Delia. 
 I'll come in a minute. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 She wants to see a little of Denis before he 
 goes, small blame to her. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Ay, he'll have other things to do in future 
 besides love-making. 
 
 Delia. 
 
 Indeed, yes. I suppose, Denis, our love- 
 making has come to an end ? 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 That's a sensible girl. I thought maybe 
 you'd be for not giving him up. 
 
 George. 
 
 I'm sorry, Delia, we had to come between 
 the two of you, but there was nothing else for 
 it. 
 
 Delia. 
 
 I'm sure you only did what was right, 
 George. 
 
 143 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Denis. 
 
 As a matter of fact, I haven't given Delia 
 up. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 But you must. 
 
 George. 
 You can't get married, you know. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 You're off to Canada to-morrow. 
 
 Denis. 
 
 Yes, yes, I know all that. George, I've been 
 thinking things over. What you said last night 
 was true. I've been a bad brother to you, it's 
 right for you to turn me out. The only thing 
 that makes me unhappy is the case that Mr, 
 Duffy threatens against us. 
 
 George. 
 That needn't bother you. 
 
 Denis. 
 
 It does. It's likely to draw a lot of money 
 out of you. 
 
 George. 
 
 Hush! Listen here . . . 
 144 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Denis. 
 
 All my life through I've sacrificed myself to 
 you; I've done all you wished me to; I'll go 
 through with it to the end. Forgive me for 
 what I said last night. I've seen I was wrong. 
 I wrote another letter to Delia last night; I 
 saw her early this morning, and we talked the 
 matter over. Don't let the weight of the 
 breach of promise be on your mind a minute 
 longer. Mr. Duffy will never bring it. 
 
 Duffy. 
 How do you know I won't, young man? 
 
 Denis. 
 
 Because, Mr. Duffy, Delia and I were 
 married half an hour ago. 
 
 [Well, glory be to God!] 
 
 Duffy. 
 Ye ... ? It's a lie. 
 
 Denis. 
 
 I beg your pardon; it's true. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 You couldn't be married so smart. 
 10 145 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Denis. 
 
 Father Murphy had heard the story of my 
 going to Canada, and he was quite ready to 
 marry me. I'm so glad, George, I've done 
 what you wished me to do . . . Excuse me 
 for a few minutes. 
 
 [He's gone out. Where's he gone tof] 
 
 Duffy. 
 How dare you — how dare you! 
 
 [He's in a temper. No wonder. ] 
 
 Delia. 
 Father ! 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Ruining me — ruining me, that's what you'd 
 like to be doing. Hadn't I my fortune made? 
 Wasn't I settled for life? Look at here! A 
 letter from George giving me two hundred 
 pounds provided I don't go on with the case. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 George ! 
 
 Aunt Ellen 
 George, how could you! 
 
 George. 
 
 I didn't, I didn't! 
 
 146 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Look at here again — twenty pounds in notes 
 from Mrs. Geoghegan to let the case drop, to 
 put nothing in the way of the two of you. 
 
 George. 
 
 That's the twenty pounds I missed this 
 morning. Give them here; they're mine. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 Ann, I'm surprised at you! 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 And look at this. A hundred pounds from 
 Aunt Ellen and a promise to marry me before 
 Shrove. And now I suppose it's no better than 
 waste paper. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Ellen, I'm amazed at you, thinking of getting 
 married at your age! 
 
 George. 
 Aunt Ellen, after what you said! 
 
 Delia. 
 
 Quiet yourself, father. 
 147 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 'Tis easy to say, "Quiet yourself !" I never 
 thought you'd turn on me like that, Delia — the 
 only child I ever had ! 
 
 Delia. 
 
 Sure, it's pleasing you I thought we'd be. 
 Last night you were fit to be tied at the notion 
 of my not getting married. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 I thought I had spirit enough to throw you 
 over. But the Geoghegans are a mean-spirited 
 lot; they haven't even the courage to jilt a 
 girl. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Well, thank God, I'm free of my promise 
 and have courage enough to jilt you, Mr. 
 Duffy. 
 
 [There's a stab!] 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Do you hear what she says, Delia? That's 
 your doing ... I've your hundred pounds, 
 anyway, and I'll not give it up, not if you 
 bring me into a court of law. And I've your 
 twenty pounds in notes, ma'am; I'll not part 
 with them. 
 
 148 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY^ 
 
 George. 
 They're not hers ; they're mine. 
 
 Duffy. 
 Faith, they're mine now. 
 
 George. 
 
 For Baby they were meant. Do you know, 
 mother, I could have you put in jail for a thief ? 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 And what about the two hundred pounds you 
 squandered unknown to any of us ? 
 
 George. 
 
 And you, Aunt Ellen, after all you said about 
 putting a bold face on it, no surrender, and 
 the like . . . 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Yes, indeed, you were very brazen, engaging 
 yourself to be married like that! 
 
 George. 
 
 Look here, Mr. Duffy, give me back that 
 letter I wrote to you. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 I will not. 
 
 149 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 Give me back my cheque. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 I'd be thankful for that twenty pounds. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 There's been trickery and underhand dealing 
 here. Fm not inclined to part with these in a 
 hurry. 
 
 George. 
 
 Trickery? Underhand dealing? You're a 
 nice one to talk of trickery when you had us 
 all tricked up to the eyes last night, and making 
 me promise not to say a word of it to anyone ! 
 And I suppose you had Aunt Ellen bound the 
 same way. And mother robbing me, and Aunt 
 Ellen betraying me behind my back — Is it 
 thieves and traitors I'm dealing with? 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 And what about yourself, George? 
 
 Delia. 
 
 Look here, all of you, what's the use going 
 on like this, scolding and attacking each other ? 
 Too smart you've all been trying to be, and 
 Denis and I have shown you up. Can't you 
 make peace now? Can't you . . . 
 150 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Will you hold your tongue., girl ! Enough 
 trouble you've made already. One certain 
 thing is — after this morning's work I'm done 
 with you — done with you. You can leave the 
 house to-day; not a shilling will you ever get 
 from me. 
 
 George. 
 
 And I say the same about Denis. We're 
 quit of him now for ever. I tell you it's very 
 soon, Delia, you'll repent of the deceitful way 
 you acted to-day. 
 
 Delia. 
 
 You can spare your words, George, and you, 
 too, father. Denis and I aren't asking help 
 from any of you. We can get on very well 
 without you. Denis has got work ; he can sup- 
 port his wife, and no thanks to any of you. 
 
 Duffy. 
 Is he after getting an appointment? 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 I knew something good would turn up for 
 him. 
 
 George. 
 
 What is it, Delia? 
 
 151 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Delia. 
 
 Here he is himself; he'll tell you. 
 
 [In the name of goodness will you look 
 at him! 'Tis overalls he has on him and 
 his trousers tied with string and a muffler 
 round his neck and an old greasy cap. 
 What at all can have happened ?] 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 For goodness sake! Denis! 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Where in God's name did you get the 
 clothes ? 
 
 Denis. 
 Larry Hogan lent me them. 
 
 Delia. 
 
 I've been telling them, Denis, that you've got 
 work. Tell them what it is. 
 
 Denis. 
 
 I haven't much time. I want a bite of some- 
 thing before I go. (He's looking at his wrist 
 watch.) I'm due in ten minutes. By the way, 
 you might keep this watch, Delia; it's hardly 
 suitable to my employment. 
 
 [He gives it to her.] 
 152 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 George. 
 Where are you going? 
 
 Denis. 
 
 Oh, not far; don't fret, George; not as far 
 as Canada ; not farther, in fact, than a hundred 
 yards from the shop door. 
 
 George. 
 What do you mean? 
 
 Denis. 
 
 Well, as we came up the street from the 
 chapel after being married one of the men 
 working on the road where the steam-roller is 
 was taken ill. I saw he was pretty bad and 
 ordered him off to hospital. The foreman was 
 cursing at being left short-handed; I offered 
 myself in the sick man's place. I'm to go down 
 there after dinner hour at one o'clock . . . 
 
 [What the /] 
 
 Delia is going to see if we can get two rooms 
 in one of Nolan's cottages. I'll send up for my 
 clothes this evening. You'll be glad to see me 
 starting to work at last, George. 
 
 George. 
 
 You're — you're mad. 
 153 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Duffy. 
 You'll be working on the street? 
 
 Denis. 
 
 Yes, on the street. I hope in a day or two 
 we'll have worked up as far as the Post Office, 
 Mr. Duffy. 
 
 Duffy. 
 Oh, my God ! 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Denis, Denis, you mustn't do it! George, 
 speak to him, speak to him! 
 
 George. 
 
 Denis, boy, don't do it. Hard as we were 
 on you, we wouldn't like to drive you to that. 
 
 Denis. 
 
 My dear old chap, don't worry about me. 
 I assure you, I don't mind. Ballycolman or 
 Canada, it's all the same to me. In fact, I pre- 
 fer Ballycolman. I like being amongst friends. 
 
 George. 
 
 Friends! Think what everyone will say of 
 you, and what sort of a name will they put on 
 us to say we drove you out on the road ! 
 154 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Denis. 
 
 Oh, let them say what they like. Mother, 
 give me a bit of bread and a drink of milk. I 
 must be off, or I'll lose my job. And you might 
 put some tea in a can. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 I'll not. You to be working, Denis! It's 
 a disgrace we'd never get over. 
 
 Duffy. 
 Delia, speak to him; make him hear reason. 
 
 Delia. 
 
 Why should I? You told me straight a 
 minute ago we needn't look to you for help. 
 We've got to live. Do you think Nolan's have 
 a room. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Delia, Delia, do you want to break my heart ? 
 A Duffy to be in one of Nolan's little houses ! 
 Look at here — let the two of you come and 
 live with me. 
 
 [He's almost crying.] 
 
 George. 
 
 Come and live here. 
 
 155 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 Come and live out at my place. 
 
 Denis. 
 
 No, thanks. I want to be independent. I 
 want to be working. 
 
 George. 
 We'd get you something decent to do. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 A job will turn up for you. Amn't I Chair- 
 man of the District Council? I'm sure you 
 know enough doctoring to be a tuberculosis 
 officer . . . or . . . 
 
 Denis. 
 No, I don't. 
 
 George. 
 
 Think of something, Aunt Ellen. You were 
 always a woman for schemes. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Denis, I always favoured you; you were 
 always my pet. Come out to Kilmurray; 
 manage the shop there. It's a hundred and fifty 
 a year in your pocket, and I'll leave you the 
 farm when I die. 
 
 156 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Duffy. 
 Do, Denis! 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 Do, like a good boy. 
 
 George. 
 For the mother's sake. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Don't be pussy with us, Denis. 
 
 [Look at him smiling and shaking his 
 head.] 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Look at here.: I'll give you this if you will. 
 There's twenty pounds. 
 
 Denis. 
 Keep it, Mr. Duffy. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Here's your aunt's cheque for £100— 'tis 
 endorsed and all. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Take it, Denis, take it. 
 
 157 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Duffy. 
 George, will you give him that £200? 
 
 George. 
 I will. Anything to save us from this. 
 
 Denis. 
 I don't want it. 
 
 Duffy. 
 Then what in the earthly world will tempt 
 
 you? 
 
 Denis. 
 
 I only want to be able to do what I like with 
 my own life — to be free. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Free ? . . . Bedad, isn't he like old Ireland 
 asking for freedom, and we're like the fools 
 of Englishmen offering him every bloody thing 
 except the one thing ? . . . Do Denis, do like 
 a darling boy, go out to Kilmurray and manage 
 the shop. 
 
 Denis. 
 
 I don't know that much about shop-keeping, 
 158 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 George. 
 
 Yerra, that's the best reason you could have 
 for going. Sure, 'tisn't a real shop, only one 
 of them co-operatives. The sooner it bursts 
 the better. 
 
 Denis. 
 
 You'd like to force me to do this just the 
 way you forced me to do everything else — to go 
 to Dublin, to go to Canada, to give up Delia. 
 Will I never be free from you? ... If I go 
 — but mind you, I don't say I will — Delia will 
 have to look after the shop. I won't. 
 
 Duffy. 
 Now, Delia, be a good girl ; say you will. 
 
 Delia. 
 
 Denis, we're beaten; we'll have to go, we'll 
 have to give in to them. But don't fret your- 
 self; I'll look after the shop; you'll never be 
 asked to do a hand's turn in it. 
 
 George. 
 God bless you, Delia. 
 
 Delia. 
 
 Listen here, George. Don't flatter yourself 
 that shop's going to fail. It's not. It's going 
 159 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 to best you all — you can make up your mind 
 to that. 
 
 George. 
 
 Begob, I wouldn't wonder if it would, with 
 you at the head of it. 
 
 Duffy. 
 Isn't she a Duffy? 
 
 Delia. 
 
 There's not one of you here have ever under- 
 stood Denis. He's been straitened and denied 
 all his life through, but I'm going to give him 
 what he wants now. 
 
 Denis 
 Do you think Kilmurray is what I want ? 
 
 Delia. 
 
 An easy life, no responsibility, money in your 
 pocket, something to grumble at — What 
 more do you want? 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Maybe we'll get you something better later 
 on, Denis. And anyway you'll have the farm 
 when I die. 
 
 160 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 Ellen Geoghegan, what sort is the farm 
 likely to be the day you die, and you treating it 
 the way you do? Listen here: isn't it your 
 sacred and solemn duty to those two helpless 
 young creatures to take care you leave it to 
 them in good condition? 
 [That's right.] 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 Maybe so. 
 
 Duffy. 
 To do that you've got to marry me. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 I'm free of my promise; I'd rather keep 
 free. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 You daren't. Not with the responsibility 
 that's on you now. Suppose you squandered 
 the farm? 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 You frighten me! I suppose, for Denis's 
 sake, I'll have to have you so. 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 That's the woman! And maybe in the end 
 of all you won't get the farm, Denis, my boy. 
 11 ' 161 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 What are you saying? 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 What's to hinder us having a son of our 
 own? 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Mr. Duffy, I'm surprised at you. I didn't 
 think you could be so coarse. 
 
 [ . . . Yes, she have a very delicate 
 mind. ] 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 I'm sorry, Ellen ; I'm sorry. Still you never 
 know what mightn't happen. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Ellen, if that day ever comes to you, — and 
 I pray that it will, — take my advice, go up to 
 Dublin and see Sir Denis. He's an old man, 
 but he's hearty yet, I'm told, and . . . 
 
 Duffy. 
 
 No, no, ma'am. One whiteheaded boy is as 
 much as this family can support We're not 
 going to rear another. 
 
 162 
 
THE IVHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 Well, thank God, everything's well settled. 
 I'm dying to tell the others ; they'll be delighted. 
 
 George. 
 Begob, I clean forgot them! 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 Peter will have to stay on here. 
 
 George. 
 Jane can't get married. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 Baby can't go to Dublin. 
 
 George. 
 How is it we all forgot them? 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 Thinking all the time of Denis we were. 
 
 George. 
 What in hell are we to do? . . . There's 
 a noise in the street . . . It's them coming 
 What are we to say to them? They 11 
 
 have my life. 
 
 163 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Quiet yourself, George. They'll be all de- 
 lighted when they hear the way Denis is settled 
 for life. I'll talk to them. Leave it to me. 
 
 George. 
 
 Faith, I'll do that with a heart and a half. 
 I'll see you later, John. 
 
 [He's glad to go.] 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Don't take it hardly Denis. There are worse 
 things than a shop and a farm and £320 in your 
 hand, and when all's said and done it's better 
 than working on the roads. 
 
 Denis. 
 
 I'm not going to grumble, mother, where's 
 the use? I've always had to do what you all 
 made me do, and I suppose I may as well go 
 on with it. I can't fight you all . . . 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 That's my brave darling boy. ( There's kiss- 
 ing!) Oh, Delia, take care of him; he's not 
 strong at all. 
 
 Delia. 
 I'll look after him. Give me the money, 
 Denis, I'm going to put it in the bank. George 
 164 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 must make me out a promissory note. While 
 I'm at the bank, Denis, change your clothes. 
 This afternoon we'll drive out to Kilmurray. 
 I want to look at the shop. 
 
 [That's the girl will manage him. 
 George is sticking his head in the door.] 
 
 George. 
 They're coming! 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 I'm ready for them. 
 
 [Here's Kate, Jane, Baby, Donough 
 and Peter, all in together in great excite- 
 ment; they all talking together.] 
 
 All. 
 
 What's this we're after hearing — that Denis 
 and Delia have got married? 
 
 Baby. 
 Is this a fact ? 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 It's quite true, thanks be to God. Denis is 
 married, he's going out to Kilmurray to man- 
 age the shop, we're after giving him £300 and 
 more. 
 
 165 
 
THE WH1TEHEADED BOY 
 
 All. 
 What? What's that you say? 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 I knew you'd all be delighted. 
 
 All. 
 Delighted ! 
 
 Baby. 
 I suppose this means I can't go to Dublin? 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 Not at all, you'll go — some day — never fear. 
 
 Baby. 
 Some day! 
 
 Jane. 
 Does this mean I can't marry Donough? 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 Not at all. You'll marry him — some day. 
 
 Peter. 
 
 And what about me? 
 166 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 You'll be all right — some day. 
 
 All. 
 Well, I think it's a shame. 
 
 Mrs. Geog. 
 
 Shame ? Think shame to yourselves ! What 
 sort of unnatural children have I got at all? 
 Would you grudge your brother the one little 
 bit of luck he's had in all his life? Look at 
 him sitting there with the girl he loves and he 
 after marrying her and not one of you would 
 as much as wish him joy. 
 
 Jane. 
 
 I'm sure, Denis, I have nothing against you. 
 I hope you'll be happy only 
 
 Baby. 
 May you be happy — s o m e d a y ! 
 
 Peter. 
 Good luck to you. 
 
 Aunt Ellen. 
 
 Girls, look here. I've a plan in my mind for 
 
 you all. After I'm married 
 
 167 
 
THE WHITEHEADED BOY, 
 
 All. 
 After you're what? 
 
 [They think she's mad.] 
 
 Duffy. 
 After we're married. 
 
 Baby. 
 
 That's the boldest plan she ever made. After 
 you're married? Wisha, God help you, John 
 Duffy. 
 
 [And she's right.] 
 
 Curtain. 
 
 168 
 
The IVhiteheaded Boy was first produced at 
 the Abbey Theatre, Dublin, on December 13th, 
 1916, with the following cast: — 
 
 Mrs. Geoghegan 
 
 Eileen O'Doherty 
 
 George 
 
 Breffni O'Rourke 
 
 Peter 
 
 Arthur Shields 
 
 Kate 
 
 Dorothy Lynd 
 
 Baby 
 
 Maureen Delany 
 
 Jane 
 
 May Craig 
 
 Denis 
 
 Fred O'Donovan 
 
 Donough Brosnan 
 
 Peter Nolan 
 
 John Duffy 
 
 Chas. C. O'Reilly 
 
 Delia 
 
 Irene Kelly 
 
 Aunt Ellen 
 
 Maire O'Neill 
 
 Hannah 
 
 Sheila O' Sullivan 
 
 The play was produced by J. Augustus Keogh. 
 
 169 
 
.BAo*26 
 
BILLETED. 
 
 n ^ medy n n 3 aCtS '. by ? Tenni son Jesse and H. Harwood 4 mates 
 
 te&etr" Wi " ^ tWS «»* ^ toVo^eTn^pS 
 
 Price, 60 Cents. 
 
 NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH. 
 
 *£■£&: 3 c ifc^^^fi 6 Wes - Cos - 
 
 with his partners, his Tfatomdh&££5'":J nd ' th l trouble he got into- 
 Collier's tremendous comedy hit "Nothin* But ^ t ^ S K bje ? ^ WiIHam 
 recommended as one of the most Si ,J '• Truth" can be whole-heartedly 
 this country can boast sprightly, amusing and popular comedies that 
 
 Price, 60 Cents. 
 
 IN WALKED JIMMY. 
 
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 of sukide d ' 3nd Whe " the Pr0priet0r was in se "°«* contemplation 
 
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 • humanness. He put the shoe bus „A, ™ ",„ V .' S sm,le an ? his everlasting 
 clerk, saved hererring brother from ialf £™~,?' ,£"? l , he heart of the Sir! 
 boarding house himself, Ld foiled The' villafn P """ plaCe aS a P««> a nent 
 
 ,.«Sme n At W and , To™%S\ d .i t Ti th bif of t^eTmiolnT 8 ? .•** • ** °< 
 one of the most delightful of nlavs Tim™,? • . P , y r ma £ e *?. Wa »«d Jimmy" 
 
 MARTHA BY-THE-DAY. 
 
 fash^ S d, a hom e e t l h ; r sentfme„t e *to&?'&^' , LJt* •J" 1 ° f 1 Uaint humor.old. 
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