eas an' pies, all 'ot, all 'ot!"

His cart, a kitchen on wheels, sent out a column of smoke from its
stovepipe chimney; and when he raised the lids of the shining cans, a
fragrant steam rose on the air. The cart, painted modestly in red,
bore a strange legend in yellow letters on the front:

WHO'D HAVE THOUGHT IT,
PEAS AND PIES WOULD HAVE BOUGHT IT!

This outburst of lyric poetry was to inform the world that Joey had
risen from humble beginnings to his present commercial eminence, and
was not ashamed of the fact.

He called regularly about ten o'clock, and Jonah and Ada spent a
delightful five minutes deciding which delicacy to choose for the
night. When they tired of green peas they chose hot pies, full of rich
gravy that ran out if you were not careful how you bit; or they
preferred the plump saveloy, smoking hot from the can, giving out a
savoury odour that made your mouth water. Then Ada fetched a jug of
beer from the corner to wash it down. Soon Jonah stayed at the house
on Saturday night as a matter of course.

But Jonah drew the line when the mother hinted that he might as well
stay there altogether. He feared a trap; and when she pointed out the
danger of two women living alone in the house, he looked at her brawny
arms and smiled.

Haunted by her scheme for marriage, she set to work to undermine
Jonah's obstinacy. She proceeded warily, and made no open attack; but
Jonah began to notice with uneasiness that he could not talk for five
minutes without stumbling on marriage. In the midst of a conversation
on the weather, he would be amazed to find the theme turn to the praise
of marriage, brought mysteriously to this hateful word as a man is led
blindfold to a giddy cliff. When his startled look warned the mother,
she changed the subject.

Still she persevered, sapping Jonah's prejudices with the terrible zeal
of a priest making a convert. When he saw her drift, it set him
thinking, and he watched Ada with curious attention as she moved about
the house helping her mother.

It was Sunday morning, and Ada was shelling peas. The pods split with
a sharp crack under her fingers, and the peas rattled into a tin basin.
She wore an old skirt, torn and shabby; her bodice was split under the
arms, showing the white lining. Her hair lay flat on her forehead,
screwed tightly in curling-pins, which brought into relief her fiat
face and high cheekbones, for she was no beauty. By a singular
coquetry, sh