steady work, for Ada would leave the factory if he married her. The
thought filled him with weariness. The vagabond in him recoiled from the
set labours and common burdens of his kind. Ever since he could remember
he had been more at home in the streets than in the four walls of a room.
The Push, the corner, the noise and movement of the streets--that was life
for him. And he decided the matter for ever; there was nothing in it.

But, as the months slipped by, and Jonah remained impregnable to her
masked batteries, Mrs Yabsley attacked him openly. Jonah stood his
ground, and pointed out, with cynical candour, his unfitness to keep a
wife. But Mrs Yabsley seized the opportunity to sketch out a career for
him, with voluminous instances, for she had foreseen and arranged
all that.

"An' 'oo's ter blame fer that?" she cried, "a feller that oughter be
gittin' 'is three pounds a week. W'y, look at Dave Brown. Don't I
remember the time 'e used ter 'awk a basket o' fish on Fridays, an' doss
in park? An' now 'e goes round in a white shirt, an' draws 'is rents.
An' mark me, it was gittin' married did that fer 'im. W'en a man's
married, 'e's got somethin' better to do than smokin' cigarettes an'
playin' a mouth-orgin."

"Yes," said Jonah, grinning. "Git up an' light the fire, an' graft
'is bloomin' 'ead off."

Mrs Yabsley feigned deafness.

"Anyhow, 'e didn't git 'is 'ouses 'awkin' fish," pursued Jonah; "'e got
'em while 'e kep' a pub."