Jonah | Page 7

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.
CHAPTER 2

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