snapping his fingers, grimacing, cutting capers that would have delighted
the gallery of a theatre.

"Encore!" yelled the Push as he danced himself to a standstill,
hot and breathless.

The rank and file came forward to testify. The men stammered in
confusion, terrified by the noise they made, shrinking from the crowd as
a timid bather shrinks from icy water, driven to this performance by an
unseen power. But the women were shrill and self-possessed, scolding
their hearers, demanding an instant surrender to the Army, whose
advantages they pointed out with a glib fluency as if it were a
Benefit Lodge.

Then the men knelt in the dust, the women covered their faces, and the
Captain began to pray. His voice rose in shrill entreaty, mixed with the
cries of the shopmen and the noise of the streets.

The spectators, familiar with the sight, listened in nonchalance, stopping
to watch the group for a minute as they would look into a shop window.
The exhibition stirred no religious feeling in them, for their minds,
with the tenacity of childhood, associated religion with churches,
parsons and hymn-books.

The Push grew restless, divided between a desire to upset the meeting
and fear of the police.

"Well I used ter think a funeral was slow," remarked Chook, losing
patience, and he stepped behind Jonah.