denly serious. "Tell 'im I want ter
see 'im."

"Gone ter buy a smoke; 'e'll be back in a minit."

"Right-oh, tell 'im wot I said," replied Ada, moving away.

"'Ere, 'old 'ard, ain't yer goin' ter interdooce yer cobber?" cried
Chook, staring at the red-headed girl.

"An' 'er ginger 'air was scorchin' all 'er back," he sang in parody,
suddenly cutting a caper and snapping his fingers.

The girl's white skin flushed pink with anger, her eyes sparkled with
hate.

"Ugly swine! I'll smack yer jaw, if yer talk ter me," she cried.

"Blimey, 'ot stuff, ain't it?" inquired Chook.

"Cum on, Pinkey. Never mind 'im," cried Ada, moving off.

"Yah, go 'ome an' wash yer neck!" shouted Chook, with sudden venom.

The red-headed girl stood silent, searching her mind for a stinging
retort.

"Yer'd catch yer death o' cold if yer washed yer own," she cried; and
the two passed out of sight, tittering. Chook turned to his mates.

"She kin give it lip, can't she?" said he, in admiration.

A moment later the leader of the Push crossed the street, and took his
place in silence under the veranda. A first glance surprised the eye,
for he was a hunchback, with the uncanny look of the deformed--the
head, large and powerful, wedged between the shoulders as if a giant's
hand had pressed it down, the hump projecting behind, monstrous and
inhuman. His face held you with a pair of restless grey eyes, the
colour and temper of steel, deep with malicious intelligence. His nose
was large and thin, curved like the beak of an eagle. Chook, whose
acquaintance he had made years ago when selling newspapers, was his
mate. Both carried nicknames, corrupted from Jones and Fowles, with
the rude wit of the streets.

"Ada's lookin' fer yous, Jonah," said Chook.

"Yer don't say so?" replied the hunchback, raising his leg to strike a
match. "Was Pinkey with 'er?" he added.

"D'ye mean a little moll wi' ginger hair?" asked Chook.

Jonah nodded.

"My oath, she was! Gi' me a knockout in one act," said Chook; and the
others laughed.

"Ginger fer pluck!" cried someone.

And they began to argue whether you could tell a woman's character from
the colour of her hair; whether red-haired women were more deceitful
than others.

Suddenly, up the road, appeared a detachment of the Salvation Army,
stepping in time to the muffled beat of a drum. The procession halted
at the street corner, stepped out of the way of traffic, and formed a
circle. T