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Updated: May 23, 2025
Chook stopped to admire the art gallery, gay with coloured pictures from the Christmas numbers of English magazines. On the walls were framed pictures of Christ crucified, the red blood dropping from His wounds, or the old rustic bridge of an English village, crude as almanacs, printed to satisfy the artistic longings of the people.
As Chook drove off with Pinkey, she waved her hand to them, and then, surveying the street with the air of a proprietor, entered the shop and took possession. They were going to Sir Joseph Banks's for the picnic; but, to Pinkey's surprise, the cart turned into Botany Street and pulled up in front of Sarah's cottage. "Wotcher stoppin' 'ere for?" she inquired.
"Nit yer larks!" he cried. "I thought it was the cop." "Cum 'ere, Joe; I want yer," said the girl. "Wot's up now?" he cried, following her along the street. They stood in earnest talk for some minutes, while Chook complimented the red-headed girl on her wit. "Yer knocked me sky-'igh," he confessed, with a leer. "Did I?" "Yer did. Gi' me one straight on the point," he admitted.
But Pinkey pulled him across the room to Chook, who was standing like a fool. He looked Chook up and down as if he were a piece of furniture, and then, without a word, held out his hand. The reconciliation was complete. "Well, we must be goin', William," said Mrs Partridge, wondering how she was to get home without a hat; but Partridge followed Chook into the kitchen, where a candle was burning.
"Yer never cut yer lip lookin' at the play; yer've gone back ter the Push, as Sarah always said yer would." "I'll screw Sarah's neck when I can spare the time," said Chook, savagely.
"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.
"Wot's the time?" she asked, with a suspicious look. "Five past twelve," said Chook, reluctantly. "An' ye're only just come 'ome! Wot d'ye mean by stoppin' out till this time of night?" she cried, turning on him furiously, but secretly relieved, like a patient who finds the dentist is out. "The play was out late, an' we..." stammered Chook.
But their boots were remarkable, fitting like a glove, with high heels and a wonderful ornament of perforated toe-caps and brass eyelet-holes on the uppers. Mrs Yabsley, moved by the solemn occasion, formally introduced Chook and Pinkey. They stared awkwardly, not knowing what to say. In a flash, Chook remembered her as the red-haired girl whom he had chiacked at the corner.
Satisfied that the Road was quiet, he moved off, dragging his feet as if they weighed a ton. At once a sinister excitement passed through the groups. "That was Cassidy, now we shan't be long." "Wot price Jonah givin' us the slip?" "'Ow'll Chook perform, if 'e ain't at Ada's?" It was the Push, who had run their man to earth at the Angel, where he was drinking in the bar, alone.
With his other winnings Chook had over fifteen pounds in his pocket, and he decided to go, although the night was young. As he went to the stairs, the boxer cried out, "No one to leave for five minutes!" following the custom when a big winner left the room, to prevent a swarm of cadgers, lug-biters, and spielers begging a tram fare, a bed, a cup of coffee from the winner.
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