"Come here--come here," he cried between his sobs. "I'm all alone with the dead, and nobody to shed a tear 'cep' meself. Shame on you, shame on you," he cried, raising his voice in bitter grief, "to pass the poor fellows in their graves without sheddin' tear!" He stopped and stared with drunken gravity at the name on the nearest tombstone, trying to read the words which danced before his eyes in the clear light. Jonah saw them plainly. SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF SARAH JAMES, Aged Eighty-five. A fresh burst of grief announced that Dad had deciphered the lettering. "Sam!" he cried bitterly. "Me old fren' Sam! To think of bringing him here without letting me know! The besh fren' I ever had." Here sobs choked his utterance. He stooped and examined the shining marble slab again, lurching from one side to the other with incessant motion. "An' not a flowersh onsh grave!" he cried. "Sam was awf'ly fond flowersh." "Get away 'ome, or the Johns'll pinch yer," said Jonah. Dad stopped and stared at him with a glimmering of reason in his fuddled brain. "I know yoush," he cried, with a cunning leer. "An' I know your fren' there. She isn't yer missis. She never is, y' know. Naughty boy!" he cried, wagging his finger at Jonah; "but I wont split on pal." That reminded him of the deceased Sam, and he turned again to the monument. "Goo'bye, Sam," he cried suddenly, under the impression that he had been to a funeral. "I've paid me respecks to an ol' fren', an' now we'll both sleep in peace." "Come away and leave him," whispered Clara, trembling with disgust and mortification. "No fear!" said Jonah. "The Johns down 'ere don't know 'im, an' they'll lumber 'im. You walk on ahead, an' I'll steer 'im 'ome." He looked round; there was not a cab to be seen. He led Dad out of the stonemason's yard with difficulty, as he wanted to wait for the mourning coaches. Then, opposite the mortuary, he remembered his little present for the Duchess, and insisted on going back. "Wheresh my lil' present for Duchess?" he wailed. "Can't go 'ome without lil' present." Jonah was in despair. At last he rolled his handkerchief into a ball and thrust it into Dad's hand. Then Dad, relieved and happy, cast Jonah off, and stood for a moment like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Jonah watched anxiously, expecting him to fall, but all at once, with a forward lurch Dad broke into a run, safe on his feet as a spinning top. Jonah had forgotten Dad's run, famous throughout all Waterloo, Redfern, and Alexandria. CHAPTER 22 A FATAL ACCIDENT