man could swaller tables an' chairs faster than I
could buy 'em."

So she opened a laundry, and washed and ironed for the neighbourhood.
Cardigan Street was proud of her. Her eyes twinkled in a big, humorous
face; her arm was like a leg of mutton; the floors creaked beneath her
as she walked. She laughed as a bull roars; her face turned purple;
she fought for air; the veins rose like cords on her forehead. She was
pointed out to strangers like a public building as she sat on her
veranda, gossiping with the neighbours in a voice that shook the
windows. There was no tongue like hers within a mile. Her sayings
were quoted like the newspaper. Draymen laughed at her jokes.

Yet the women took their secret troubles to her. For this unwieldy
jester, with the jolly red face and rough tongue, could touch the heart
with a word, when she was in the humour. Then she spoke so wisely and
kindly that the tears gathered in stubborn eyes, and the poor fools
went home comforted.

Ever since her daughter was a child she had speculated on her marriage.
There was to be no nonsense about love. That was all very well in
novelettes, but in Cardigan Street love-matches were a failure.
Generally the first few months saw the divine spark drowned in beer.
She would pick a steady man with his two pounds a week; he would jump
at the chance, and the whole street would turn out to the wedding.
But, as is common, her far-seeing eyes had neglected the things that
lay under her nose. Ada, in open revolt, had chosen Jonah the larrikin,
a hunchback, crafty as the devil and monstrous to the sight. In six
months the inevitable had happened.

She was dismayed, but unshaken, and set to work to repair the damage
with the craft and strategy of an old general. She made no fuss when
the child was born, and Jonah, who meditated flight, in fear of
maintenance, was assured he had nothing to worry about. Mrs Yabsley
had a brief interview with him at the street corner.

"As fer puttin' yous inter court, I'll wait till y'earn enough ter keep
yerself, an' Gawd knows w'en that'll 'appen," she remarked pleasantly.

As she spoke she earnestly considered the large head, wedged between
the shoulders as if a giant's hand had pressed it down, the masterful
nose, the keen grey eyes, and the cynical lips; and in that moment
determined to make him Ada's husband. Yet he was the last man she
would have chosen for a son-in-law. A loafer and a vagabond, he spoke