第3章

Jonah rejoined his mate in gloomy silence.The Push had scattered--some to the two-up school,some to the dance-room.The butcher's flare of lights shone with a desolate air on piles of bones and scraps of meat--the debris of battle.The greengrocer's was stripped bare to the shelves,as if an army of locusts had marched through with ravenous tooth.

"Comin'down the street?"asked Chook,feeling absently in his pockets.

"No,"said Jonah.

"W'y,wot's up now?"inquired Chook in surprise.

"Oh,nuthin';but I'm goin'ter sleep at Ada's tonight,"replied Jonah,staring at the shops.

"'Strewth!"cried Chook,looking at him in wonder."Wot's the game now?""Oh!the old woman wants me ter put in the night there.Says some blokes 'ave bin after 'er fowls,"replied Jonah,hesitating like a boy inventing an excuse.

"Fowls!"cried Chook,with infinite scorn."Wants yer to nuss the bloomin'kid.""My oath,she don't,"replied Jonah,with great heartiness.

"Well,gimme a smoke,"said Chook,feeling again in his pockets.

Jonah took out a packet of cigarettes,counted how many were left,and gave him one.

"Kin yer spare it?"asked Chook,derisively."Lucky I've only got one mouth.""Mouth?More like a hole in a wall,"grinned Jonah.

"Well,so long.See yer to-morrer,"said Chook,moving off."Ere,gimme a match,"he added.

"Better tell yer old woman I'm sleepin'out,"said Jonah He was boarding with Chook's family,paying what he could spare out of fifteen shillings or a pound a week.

"Oh,I don't suppose you'll be missed,"replied Chook graciously.

"Rye buck!"cried Jonah.

JONAH EATS GREEN PEAS

Eighteen months past,Jonah had met Ada,who worked at Packard's boot factory,at a dance.Struck by her skill in dancing,he courted her in the larrikin fashion.At night he stood in front of the house,and whistled till she came out.Then they went to the park,where they sprawled on the grass in obscure corners.

At intervals the quick spurt of a match lit up their faces,followed by the red glow of Jonah's everlasting cigarette.Their talk ran incessantly on their acquaintances,whose sayings and doings they discussed with monotonous detail.If it rained,they stood under a veranda in the conventional attitude--Jonah leaning against the wall,Ada standing in front of him.The etiquette of Cardigan Street considered any other position scandalous.

On Saturday night they went to Bob Fenner's dance-room,or strolled down to Paddy's Market.When Jonah was flush,he took her to the "Tiv.",where they sat in the gallery,packed like sardines.If it were hot,Jonah sat in his shirtsleeves,and went out for a drink at the intermission.When they reached home,they stood in the lane bordering the cottage where Ada lived,and talked for an hour in the dim light of the lamp opposite,before she went in.

Sometimes,in a gay humour,she knocked off Jonah's hat,and he retaliated with a punch in the ribs.Then a scuffle followed,with slaps,blows and stifled yells,till Ada's mother,awakened by the noise,knocked on the wall with her slipper.And this was their romance of love.

Mrs Yabsley was a widow;for Ada's father,scorning old age,had preferred to die of drink in his prime.The publicans lost a good customer,but his widow found life easier.

"Talk about payin'ter see men swaller knives an'swords!"she exclaimed.

"My old man could swaller tables an'chairs faster than I could buy 'em."So she opened a laundry,and washed and ironed for the neighbourhood.

Cardigan Street was proud of her.Her eyes twinkled in a big,humorous face;her arm was like a leg of mutton;the floors creaked beneath her as she walked.She laughed as a bull roars;her face turned purple;she fought for air;the veins rose like cords on her forehead.She was pointed out to strangers like a public building as she sat on her veranda,gossiping with the neighbours in a voice that shook the windows.There was no tongue like hers within a mile.Her sayings were quoted like the newspaper.Draymen laughed at her jokes.

Yet the women took their secret troubles to her.For this unwieldy jester,with the jolly red face and rough tongue,could touch the heart with a word,when she was in the humour.Then she spoke so wisely and kindly that the tears gathered in stubborn eyes,and the poor fools went home comforted.

Ever since her daughter was a child she had speculated on her marriage.

There was to be no nonsense about love.That was all very well in novelettes,but in Cardigan Street love-matches were a failure.Generally the first few months saw the divine spark drowned in beer.She would pick a steady man with his two pounds a week;he would jump at the chance,and the whole street would turn out to the wedding.But,as is common,her far-seeing eyes had neglected the things that lay under her nose.

Ada,in open revolt,had chosen Jonah the larrikin,a hunchback,crafty as the devil and monstrous to the sight.In six months the inevitable had happened.

She was dismayed,but unshaken,and set to work to repair the damage with the craft and strategy of an old general.She made no fuss when the child was born,and Jonah,who meditated flight,in fear of maintenance,was assured he had nothing to worry about.Mrs Yabsley had a brief interview with him at the street corner.

"As fer puttin'yous inter court,I'll wait till y'earn enough ter keep yerself,an'Gawd knows w'en that'll 'appen,"she remarked pleasantly.

As she spoke she earnestly considered the large head,wedged between the shoulders as if a giant's hand had pressed it down,the masterful nose,the keen grey eyes,and the cynical lips;and in that moment determined to make him Ada's husband.Yet he was the last man she would have chosen for a son-in-law.A loafer and a vagabond,he spoke of marriage with a grin.Half his time was spent under the veranda at the corner with the Push.He worked at his trade by fits and starts,earning enough to keep himself in cigarettes.