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Updated: June 27, 2025
Jonah stayed to tea that night, contrary to his usual habit, for Mrs Yabsley was anxious to have the matter settled. "Wot's wrong wi' you an' me gittin' married, Ada?" he said. Ada nearly dropped her cup. "Garn, ye're only kiddin'!" she cried with an uneasy grin. "Fair dinkum!" said Jonah. "Right-oh," said Ada, as calmly as if she were accepting an invitation to a dance.
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. Mrs Yabsley had evidently gone out with the shirts. He lit the candle and sat down.
For Cardigan Street, when it learned that Mrs Yabsley only worked for the fun of the thing, had leaped to the conclusion that she was rolling in money. They knew that she had given Jonah his start in life, and felt certain that she owned half of the Silver Shoe. So the older residents had come to look on Mrs Yabsley as their property, and they formed a sort of club to sponge on her methodically.
Doughy still muttered, but the beer had deadened his senses and his jealous anger had evaporated. Half an hour later his wife crossed the street cautiously and went inside. Doughy saw her and, having reached the maudlin stage, got up and lurched across the street, anxious to make it up and be friends. Quite like the old times, thought Mrs Yabsley, when the street was as good as a play.
Jonah looked at her with a scowl. She knew quite well that he had married her for the child's sake alone. A savage retort was on his tongue, but Mrs Yabsley stepped in. "Well, Joe, now I see yer dead set on earnin' a livin', I don't mind tellin' yer I've got somethin' up me sleeve.
I've worked a good deal at science; of course one can't possibly neglect it; it's a simple duty to make oneself as many-sided as possible, don't you think? Just now, I'm giving half an hour before breakfast every day to Huxley's book on the Crayfish. Mr. Yabsley suggested it to me.
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.
"Wot does she want for 'em?" asked Mrs Yabsley, with a curious look. "Seven quid, an' they'd set a man up fer life," said Jonah. "Ah! that's a lot o' money," said Mrs Yabsley, raking the ashes from under the copper. "Wait till this water boils, an' we'll talk things over." Ada returned to her novelette. Ray, sitting upright with an effort, gurgled with pleasure to see his father.
Cardigan Street had watched the aristocracy from the gallery of the theatre with sharp, envious eyes, and reported their doings to Mrs Yabsley, but Miss Perkins was the first specimen she had ever seen in the flesh. In a week she learned more about the habits of the idle rich than she had ever imagined in a lifetime.
But what did you talk about last night?" "Of very many things. Canada and Northampton, religion and crayfish, Huxley and Yabsley." "Yabsley? Who's Yabsley?" "A gentleman of Northampton, a man of light and leading, a great friend of Miss Tomalin's." "An old man, I suppose?" asked Lady Ogram, sharply. "Not quite thirty." "But married? Of course married?" "I didn't ask; but, I fancy, not."
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