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. 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.