r's tired, Ray," he said. "Go an' boil the kettle; she'll
want some tea when she wakes up."

"That's 'ow I 'ave ter lie to everybody; an' I suppose they all know
the truth, an' nod an' wink behind my back," he cried bitterly. "I've
tried all I know; but now 'er mother's gone, I'm fair beat. People
envy me because I've got on, but they little know wot a millstone I've
got round my neck."

He lifted his head, and look steadily at Ada snoring in a drunken sleep
on the couch. And to Clara's surprise, his face suddenly changed;
tears stood in his eyes.

"Poor devil! I don't know that she's to blame altogether. It's in her
blood. Her father went the same way. My money's done 'er no good.
She'd 'ave been better off in Cardigan Street on two pounds a week."

Clara was surprised at the pity in his voice. She thought that he
loathed and despised his wife. Suddenly Jonah looked up at her.

"Will yer meet me to-morrow afternoon?" he asked abruptly.

"Why?" said Clara, alarmed and surprised.

"I want yer to 'elp me. Since 'er mother died, she's gone from bad to
worse. I've got no one to 'elp me, an' I feel I'll burst if I don't
talk it over with somebody."

"I hardly know," replied Clara, taken by surprise.

"Say the Mosman boat at half past two, an' I'll be there," said Jonah
brusquely.

"Very well," said Clara.

CHAPTER 19

THE PIPES OF PAN

Circular Quay, shaped like a bite in a slice of bread, caught the eye
like a moving picture. The narrow strip of roadway, hemmed in between
the Customs House and the huge wool stores, was alive with the
multitudinous activity of an ant-hill. A string of electric cars slid
past the jetties in parallel lines or climbed the sharp curve to
Phillip Street; and every minute cars, loaded with passengers from the
dusty suburbs, swung round the corners of the main streets and stopped
in front of the ferries. And as the cars stopped, the human cargo
emptied itself into the roadway and hurried to the turnstiles, harassed
by the thought of missing the next boat.

From the waterside, where the great mail steamers lay moored along the
Quay, came the sudden rattle of winches, the cries of men unloading
cargo, and the shrill hoot of small steamers crossing the bay. Where
the green waters licked the piles and gurgled under the jetties,
waterside loafers sat on the edge of the wharves intently watching a
fishing-line thrown out. Men in greasy clothes and flannel shirts,