Jonah [1]
yer?" he asked, with another grin.
"Not wi' that face, Chook," she answered, laughing.
"None o' yer lip, now, or I'll tell Jonah wot yer were doin' last night," said Chook.
"W'ere is Joe?" asked the girl, suddenly serious. "Tell 'im I want ter see 'im."
"Gone ter buy a smoke; 'e'll be back in a minit."
"Right-oh, tell 'im wot I said," replied Ada, moving away.
"'Ere, 'old 'ard, ain't yer goin' ter interdooce yer cobber?" cried Chook, staring at the red-headed girl.
"An' 'er ginger 'air was scorchin' all 'er back," he sang in parody, suddenly cutting a caper and snapping his fingers.
The girl's white skin flushed pink with anger, her eyes sparkled with hate.
"Ugly swine! I'll smack yer jaw, if yer talk ter me," she cried.
"Blimey, 'ot stuff, ain't it?" inquired Chook.
"Cum on, Pinkey. Never mind 'im," cried Ada, moving off.
"Yah, go 'ome an' wash yer neck!" shouted Chook, with sudden venom.
The red-headed girl stood silent, searching her mind for a stinging retort.
"Yer'd catch yer death o' cold if yer washed yer own," she cried; and the two passed out of sight, tittering. Chook turned to his mates.
"She kin give it lip, can't she?" said he, in admiration.
A moment later the leader of the Push crossed the street, and took his place in silence under the veranda. A first glance surprised the eye, for he was a hunchback, with the uncanny look of the deformed--the head, large and powerful, wedged between the shoulders as if a giant's hand had pressed it down, the hump projecting behind, monstrous and inhuman. His face held you with a pair of restless grey eyes, the colour and temper of steel, deep with malicious intelligence. His nose was large and thin, curved like the beak of an eagle. Chook, whose acquaintance he had made years ago when selling newspapers, was his mate. Both carried nicknames, corrupted from Jones and Fowles, with the rude wit of the streets.
"Ada's lookin' fer yous, Jonah," said Chook.
"Yer don't say so?" replied the hunchback, raising his leg to strike a match. "Was Pinkey with 'er?" he added.
"D'ye mean a little moll wi' ginger hair?" asked Chook.
Jonah nodded.
"My oath, she was! Gi' me a knockout in one act," said Chook; and the others laughed.
"Ginger fer pluck!" cried someone.
And they began to argue whether you could tell a woman's character from the colour of her hair; whether red-haired women were more deceitful than others.
Suddenly, up the road, appeared a detachment of the Salvation Army, stepping in time to the muffled beat of a drum. The procession halted at the street corner, stepped out of the way of traffic, and formed a circle. The Push moved to the kerbstone, and, with a derisive grin, awaited the performance.
The wavering flame of the kerosene torches, topped with thick smoke, shone yellow against the whiter light of the gas-jets in the shops. The men, in red jerseys and flat caps, held the poles of the torches in rest. When a gust of air blew the thick black smoke into their eyes, they patiently turned their heads. The sisters, conscious of the public gaze, stood with downcast eyes, their faces framed in grotesque poke-bonnets.
The Captain, a man of fifty, with the knotty, misshapen hands of a workman, stepped into the centre of the ring, took off his cap, and began to speak.
"Oh friends, we 'ave met 'ere again tonight to inquire after the safety of yer everlastin' souls. Yer pass by, thinkin' only of yer idle pleasures, w'en at any moment yer might be called to judgment by 'Im Who made us all equal in 'Is eyes. Yer pass by without 'earin' the sweet voice of Jesus callin' on yer to be saved this very minit. For 'E is callin' yer to come an' be saved an' find salvation, as 'E called me many years ago. I was then like yerselves, full of wickedness, an gloryin' in sin. But I 'eard the voice of 'Im Who died on the Cross, an' saw I was rushin' 'eadlong to 'ell. An' 'Is blood washed all my sins away, an' made me whiter than snow. Whiter than snow, friends--whiter than snow! An' 'E'll
"Not wi' that face, Chook," she answered, laughing.
"None o' yer lip, now, or I'll tell Jonah wot yer were doin' last night," said Chook.
"W'ere is Joe?" asked the girl, suddenly serious. "Tell 'im I want ter see 'im."
"Gone ter buy a smoke; 'e'll be back in a minit."
"Right-oh, tell 'im wot I said," replied Ada, moving away.
"'Ere, 'old 'ard, ain't yer goin' ter interdooce yer cobber?" cried Chook, staring at the red-headed girl.
"An' 'er ginger 'air was scorchin' all 'er back," he sang in parody, suddenly cutting a caper and snapping his fingers.
The girl's white skin flushed pink with anger, her eyes sparkled with hate.
"Ugly swine! I'll smack yer jaw, if yer talk ter me," she cried.
"Blimey, 'ot stuff, ain't it?" inquired Chook.
"Cum on, Pinkey. Never mind 'im," cried Ada, moving off.
"Yah, go 'ome an' wash yer neck!" shouted Chook, with sudden venom.
The red-headed girl stood silent, searching her mind for a stinging retort.
"Yer'd catch yer death o' cold if yer washed yer own," she cried; and the two passed out of sight, tittering. Chook turned to his mates.
"She kin give it lip, can't she?" said he, in admiration.
A moment later the leader of the Push crossed the street, and took his place in silence under the veranda. A first glance surprised the eye, for he was a hunchback, with the uncanny look of the deformed--the head, large and powerful, wedged between the shoulders as if a giant's hand had pressed it down, the hump projecting behind, monstrous and inhuman. His face held you with a pair of restless grey eyes, the colour and temper of steel, deep with malicious intelligence. His nose was large and thin, curved like the beak of an eagle. Chook, whose acquaintance he had made years ago when selling newspapers, was his mate. Both carried nicknames, corrupted from Jones and Fowles, with the rude wit of the streets.
"Ada's lookin' fer yous, Jonah," said Chook.
"Yer don't say so?" replied the hunchback, raising his leg to strike a match. "Was Pinkey with 'er?" he added.
"D'ye mean a little moll wi' ginger hair?" asked Chook.
Jonah nodded.
"My oath, she was! Gi' me a knockout in one act," said Chook; and the others laughed.
"Ginger fer pluck!" cried someone.
And they began to argue whether you could tell a woman's character from the colour of her hair; whether red-haired women were more deceitful than others.
Suddenly, up the road, appeared a detachment of the Salvation Army, stepping in time to the muffled beat of a drum. The procession halted at the street corner, stepped out of the way of traffic, and formed a circle. The Push moved to the kerbstone, and, with a derisive grin, awaited the performance.
The wavering flame of the kerosene torches, topped with thick smoke, shone yellow against the whiter light of the gas-jets in the shops. The men, in red jerseys and flat caps, held the poles of the torches in rest. When a gust of air blew the thick black smoke into their eyes, they patiently turned their heads. The sisters, conscious of the public gaze, stood with downcast eyes, their faces framed in grotesque poke-bonnets.
The Captain, a man of fifty, with the knotty, misshapen hands of a workman, stepped into the centre of the ring, took off his cap, and began to speak.
"Oh friends, we 'ave met 'ere again tonight to inquire after the safety of yer everlastin' souls. Yer pass by, thinkin' only of yer idle pleasures, w'en at any moment yer might be called to judgment by 'Im Who made us all equal in 'Is eyes. Yer pass by without 'earin' the sweet voice of Jesus callin' on yer to be saved this very minit. For 'E is callin' yer to come an' be saved an' find salvation, as 'E called me many years ago. I was then like yerselves, full of wickedness, an gloryin' in sin. But I 'eard the voice of 'Im Who died on the Cross, an' saw I was rushin' 'eadlong to 'ell. An' 'Is blood washed all my sins away, an' made me whiter than snow. Whiter than snow, friends--whiter than snow! An' 'E'll