imme 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.

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