nce. He stooped and examined the shining
marble slab again, lurching from one side to the other with incessant
motion.

"An' not a flowersh onsh grave!" he cried. "Sam was awf'ly fond
flowersh."

"Get away 'ome, or the Johns'll pinch yer," said Jonah.

Dad stopped and stared at him with a glimmering of reason in his
fuddled brain.

"I know yoush," he cried, with a cunning leer. "An' I know your fren'
there. She isn't yer missis. She never is, y' know. Naughty boy!" he
cried, wagging his finger at Jonah; "but I wont split on pal."

That reminded him of the deceased Sam, and he turned again to the
monument.

"Goo'bye, Sam," he cried suddenly, under the impression that he had
been to a funeral. "I've paid me respecks to an ol' fren', an' now
we'll both sleep in peace."

"Come away and leave him," whispered Clara, trembling with disgust and
mortification.

"No fear!" said Jonah. "The Johns down 'ere don't know 'im, an'
they'll lumber 'im. You walk on ahead, an' I'll steer 'im 'ome."

He looked round; there was not a cab to be seen.

He led Dad out of the stonemason's yard with difficulty, as he wanted
to wait for the mourning coaches. Then, opposite the mortuary, he
remembered his little present for the Duchess, and insisted on going
back.

"Wheresh my lil' present for Duchess?" he wailed. "Can't go 'ome
without lil' present."

Jonah was in despair. At last he rolled his handkerchief into a ball
and thrust it into Dad's hand.

Then Dad, relieved and happy, cast Jonah off, and stood for a moment
like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Jonah watched anxiously, expecting him
to fall, but all at once, with a forward lurch Dad broke into a run,
safe on his feet as a spinning top. Jonah had forgotten Dad's run,
famous throughout all Waterloo, Redfern, and Alexandria.

CHAPTER 22

A FATAL ACCIDENT

As Clara crossed the tunnel at Cleveland Street, she found that she had
a few minutes to spare, and stopped to admire the Silver Shoe from the
opposite footpath. Triumphant and colossal, treading the air securely
above the shop, the glittering shoe dominated the street with the
insolence of success. More than once it had figured in her dreams,
endowed with the fantastic powers of Aaron's rod, swallowing its rivals
at a gulp or slowly crushing the life out of the bruised limbs.

Her eye travelled to the shop below, with its huge plate-glass windows
framed in brass, packed with boots set at every an