icked
the waters of the harbour into white flakes like the lash of a whip,
and Jonah felt the salt breath of the sea on his cheeks. His eye
travelled over the broad sheet of water from the South Head, where the
long rollers of the Pacific entered and broke with a muscular curve, to
the shores broken by innumerable curves into bays where the moving
waters, already tamed, lost their beauty like a caged animal, and spent
themselves in fretful ripples on the sand. Overhead the sky, arched in
a cloudless dome of blue, was reflected in the turquoise depths of the
water.

Then Mosman came in sight with its shaggy slopes and terra-cotta roofs,
the houses, on the pattern of a Swiss chalet, standing with spaces
between, fashionable and reserved. Jonah thought of Cardigan Street,
and smiled. They walked in silence along the path to Cremorne Point,
the noise of birds and the rustling of leaves bringing a touch of the
country to Jonah.

"Had you been waiting long?" asked Clara, suddenly.

"Since twenty past two," replied Jonah.

"The impudence of some people is incredible," she said. "I've just
lost a pupil and a guinea a quarter--it's the same thing. The mother
thought I should buy the music for the child out of the guinea. That
means a hat and a pair of gloves or a pair of boots less through no
fault of my own. You don't seem very sympathetic," she cried, looking
sharply at Jonah.

"I ain't," said Jonah, calmly.

"Well, I must say you don't pick your words. A guinea may be nothing
to you, but it means a great deal to me."

"It ain't that," said Jonah, "but I hate the thought of yer bein' at
the beck an' call of people who ain't fit to clean yer boots. Ye're
like a kid 'oldin' its finger in the fire an' yellin' with pain.
There's no need fer yer to do it. I've offered ter make yer cashier in
the shop at two pounds a week, if yer'd put yer pride in yer pocket."

"And throw a poor girl out of work to step into her shoes."

"Nuthin' of the sort, as I told yer. She's been threatenin' fer months
to git married, but it 'urts 'er to give up a good billet an' live on
three pounds a week. Yer'd do the bloke a kindness, if yer made me
give 'er the sack."

"It's no use. My mother wouldn't listen to it. For years she's half
starved herself to keep me out of a shop. She can never forget that
her people in England are gentry."

"I don't know much about gentry, but I could teach them an' yer mother
some common sense,"