a steady man with his two pounds a week; he would jump at the chance,
and the whole street would turn out to the wedding. But, as is common,
her far-seeing eyes had neglected the things that lay under her nose.
Ada, in open revolt, had chosen Jonah the larrikin, a hunchback, crafty
as the devil and monstrous to the sight. In six months the inevitable
had happened.

She was dismayed, but unshaken, and set to work to repair the damage with
the craft and strategy of an old general. She made no fuss when the child
was born, and Jonah, who meditated flight, in fear of maintenance, was
assured he had nothing to worry about. Mrs Yabsley had a brief interview
with him at the street corner.

"As fer puttin' yous inter court, I'll wait till y'earn enough ter keep
yerself, an' Gawd knows w'en that'll 'appen," she remarked pleasantly.

As she spoke she earnestly considered the large head, wedged between the
shoulders as if a giant's hand had pressed it down, the masterful nose,
the keen grey eyes, and the cynical lips; and in that moment determined
to make him Ada's husband. Yet he was the last man she would have chosen
for a son-in-law. A loafer and a vagabond, he spoke of marriage with
a grin. Half his time was spent under the veranda at the corner with
the Push. He worked at his trade by fits and starts, earning enough to
keep himself in cigarettes.

That was six months ago, and Ada had returned to the factory, where her
disaster created no stir. Such accidents were common. Mrs Yabsley reared
the child as she had reared her daughter, in a box-cradle near the
wash-tub or ironing-board, for Ada proved an indifferent mother.