a general, and then left in hurried search of Jonah. And they watched the
swinging doors of the hotel with cruel eyes, their nerves already
vibrating with the ancestral desire to kill, the wild beast within them
licking his lips at the thought of the coming feast.

Meanwhile, in Cardigan Street, Chook was arguing with Jonah. When told
that the Push was waiting for him, he had listened without interest;
the matter seemed foreign and remote. The velvety touch of his son's
frail body still thrilled his nerves; its sweet, delicate odour was still
in his nostrils. And he flatly refused to go. Chook was beside himself
with excitement; tears stood in his eyes.

"W'y, y'ain't goin' ter turn dawg on me, Jonah, are yer?"

"No bleedin' fear," said Jonah; "but I feel--I dunno 'ow I feel. The
blasted kid knocked me endways," he explained, in confusion.

As he looked down the street, he caught sight of Mrs Yabsley on the other
side. She walked slowly on account of the hill, gasping for air, the
weekly load of meat and groceries clutched in her powerful arms. His eyes
softened with tenderness. He felt a sudden kinship for this huge,
ungainly woman. He wanted to run and meet her, and claim the sweet,
straight-limbed child that he had just discovered. Chook, standing at his
elbow, like the devil in the old prints, was watching him curiously.

"Well, I'm off," cried Chook at last. "Wot'll I tell the blokes?"

Jonah was silent for a moment, with a sombre look in his eyes. Then he
pulled himself together.