Then, with feverish vivacity, Mrs Yabsley mapped out half a dozen careers
for him, chiefly in connection with a shop, for to her, who lived by the
sweat of her brow, shopkeepers were aristocrats, living in splendid ease.

"It's no go, missis," said Jonah. "Marriage is all right fer them as
don't know better, but anyhow, it ain't wot it's cracked up ter be."

He avoided the house for some weeks after this conversation, patrolling
the streets with the gang, with the zest of a drunkard returning to his
cups. Mrs Yabsley, who saw that she had pushed her attack too far,
waited in patience.

Jonah found the Push thirsting for blood. One of them had got three
months for taking a fancy to a copper boiler that he had found in an empty
house, and they discovered that a bricklayer, who lived next door, had put
the police on his track. The Push resolved to stoush him, and had lain in
wait for a week without success. Jonah took the matter in hand, and
inquired secretly into the man's habits. He discovered that the
bricklayer, sober as a judge through the week, was in the habit of
fuddling himself on pay-day. Jonah arranged a plan, which involved a
search of every hotel in the neighbourhood.

But one Saturday night, as they were stealthily scouting the streets for
their man, Jonah suddenly thought of Ada. It was weeks since he had last
seen her. He was surprised by a faint longing for her presence, and,
with a word to Chook, he slipped away.

The cottage was in darkness and the door locked; but after a moment's
hesitation, he took the key from under the flowerpot and went in. He
struck a match and looked round. The irons were on the table.