"'Ere, look out!" yelled Jonah the next minute, as, with a push from Chook, he collided violently with one of the soldiers and fell into the centre of the ring. "'E shoved me," cried Jonah as he got up, pointing with an injured air to the grinning Chook. "I'll gi' yer a kick in the neck, if yer git me lumbered," he added, scowling with counterfeit anger at his mate. "If yer was my son," said the Captain severely--"If yer was my son..." he repeated, halting for words. "I should 'ave trotters as big as yer own," cried Jonah, pointing to the man's feet, cased in enormous bluchers. The Push yelled with derision as Jonah edged out of the circle ready for flight. The Captain flushed angrily, and then his face cleared. "Well, friends," he cried, "God gave me big feet to tramp the streets and preach the Gospel to my fellow men." And the interrupted service went on. Jonah, who carried the brains of the Push, devised a fresh attack, involving Chook, a broken bottle, and the big drum. "It'll cut it like butter," he was explaining, when suddenly there was a cry of "Nit! 'Ere's a cop!" and the Push bolted like rabbits. Jonah and Chook alone stood their ground, with reluctant valour, for the policeman was already beside them. Chook shoved the broken bottle into his pocket, and listened with unusual interest to the last hymn of the Army. Jonah, with one eye on the policeman, looked worried, as if he were struggling with a desire to join the Army and lead a pure life. The policeman looked hard at them and turned away. The pair were making a strategic movement to the rear, when the two girls who had exchanged shots with Chook at the corner passed them. The fat girl tapped Jonah on the back. He turned with a start. "Nit yer larks!" he cried. "I thought it was the cop." "Cum 'ere, Joe; I want yer," said the girl. "Wot's up now?" he cried, following her along the street. They stood in earnest talk for some minutes, while Chook complimented the red-headed girl on her wit. "Yer knocked me sky-'igh," he confessed, with a leer. "Did I?" "Yer did. Gi' me one straight on the point," he admitted. "Yous keep a civil tongue in yer head," she cried, and the curious pink flush spread over her white skin. "Orl right, wot are yer narked about?" inquired Chook. He noticed, with surprise, that she was pretty, with small regular features; her eyes quick and bright, like a bird's. Under the gaslight her hair was the colour of a new penny. "W'y, I don't believe yer 'air is red," said Chook, coming nearer. "Now then, keep yer 'ands to yerself," cried the girl, giving him a vigorous push. Before he could repeat his attack, she walked away to join Ada, who hailed her shrilly.