Jonah the hunchback had found his vocation.

And in the still night, when he stopped to light a cigarette, Jonah
could hear the mournful wail of a violin in Paasch's bedroom across the
street. In his distress the old man had turned to his beloved
instrument as one turns to an old friend. But now the tunes were never
merry, only scraps and fragments of songs of love and despair, the
melancholy folk-songs of his native land, long since forgotten, and now
returning to his memory as its hold on the present grew feebler.

CHAPTER 11

THE COURTING OF PINKEY

It was Monday morning, and, according to their habit, the Partridges
were moving. Every stick of their furniture was piled on the van, and
Pinkey, who was carrying the kerosene lamp for fear of breakage,
watched the load anxiously as the cart lurched over a rut. A cracked
mirror, swinging loosely in its frame, followed every movement of the
cart, one minute reflecting Pinkey's red hair and dingy skirt, the next
swinging vacantly to the sky.

The cart stopped outside a small weatherboard cottage, and the vanman
backed the wheels against the kerbstone, cracking his whip and swearing
at the horse, which remained calm and obstinate, refusing to move
except of its own accord. The noise brought the neighbours to their
doors. And they stood with prying eyes, ready to judge the social
standing of the newcomers from their furniture.

It was the old battered furniture of a poor family, dragged from the
friendly shelter of dark corners into the naked light of day, the back,
white and rough as a packing-case, betraying the front, varnished and
stained to imitate walnut and cedar. Every scratch and stain showed
plainly on the tables and chairs fastened to their companions in
misery, odd, nameless contrivances made of boxes and cretonne, that
took the place of the sofas, wardrobes, and toilet-tables of the rich.
Every mark and every dint was noted with satisfaction by the furtive
eyes. The new arrivals had nothing to boast about.

Mrs Partridge, who collected gossip and scandal as some people collect
stamps, generally tired of a neighbourhood in three months, after she
had learned the principal facts--how much of the Brown's money went in
drink, how much the Joneses owed at the corner shop, and who was really
the father of the child that the Smiths treated as a poor relation.
When she had sucked the neighbourhood dry like an orange, she took a
house in another s