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Updated: June 27, 2025
Jonah and Ada jumped at the idea, but Mrs Yabsley thought with sorrow of her cherished dream Ada married on a fine day of sunshine, Cardigan Street in an uproar, a feast where all could cut and come again, the clink of glasses, and a chorus that shook the windows. Well, such things were not to be, and she shut her mouth grimly.
Then a scuffle followed, with slaps, blows and stifled yells, till Ada's mother, awakened by the noise, knocked on the wall with her slipper. And this was their romance of love. Mrs Yabsley was a widow; for Ada's father, scorning old age, had preferred to die of drink in his prime. The publicans lost a good customer, but his widow found life easier.
"I'm glad yer don't know 'ow giddy yer look, else us blokes wouldn't 'ave a chance, would we, Chook?" The girls bridled with pleasure at the rude compliments, pretending not to hear them, feeling very desirable and womanly in their finery. "Dickon ter you," said Mrs Yabsley. "Yer needn't think they're got up ter kill ter please yous.
"There's two ways of lookin' at these things." "'Strewth! I niver thought o' that," said Jonah, scratching his ear. "No, but other people do, worse luck," said Mrs Yabsley. Jonah stared at the child in silence. Mrs Yabsley turned and poked the fire under the copper boiler. Suddenly Jonah lifted his head and cried: "I say, missis, I can see a hole in a ladder plain enough!
"You'll be gittin' too fond of 'im, if y'ain't careful, Joe," she said at last. "Git work; wot's troublin' yer?" said Jonah, with a grin. "Nuthin'; only I was thinkin' wot a fine child 'e'd be in a few years. It's a pity 'e ain't got no real father." "Wot d'yer mean?" said Jonah, looking up angrily. "W'ere do I come in? Ain't I the bloke?" "Well, y'are an' y'ain't, yer know," said Mrs Yabsley.
She trembled with excitement when Jonah ripped up the narrow plank with the poker. Then he thrust his arm down till he touched the soft earth. He seemed a long time groping, and Mrs Yabsley wondered at the delay. At last he sat up, with a perplexed look. "I can't feel nuthin'," he said. "Are yez sure this is the place?" "Of course it is," said Mrs Yabsley, sharply.
When Jonah reached Cardigan Street, he was preoccupied and silent, and sat on the veranda, smoking in the dark, long after Ada and her mother had gone to bed. About one o'clock Mrs Yabsley, who was peacefully ironing shirts in her sleep, was awakened by a loud hammering on the door. She woke up, and instantly recognized what had happened.
"Just now I'm quite excited about ghost-worship. Mr. Yabsley doesn't think it is sufficient to explain the origin of religious ideas." "Mr. Yabsley," remarked Constance, "has pronounced opinions on most things?" "Oh, he is very wide, indeed. Very wide, and very thorough. There's no end to the examinations he has passed. He's thinking of taking the D. Litt at London; it's awfully stiff, you know."
Yabsley, it appeared, was the originator of the society for civilising the ignorant poor; Mr. Yabsley lectured on very large subjects, and gave readings from very serious authors; Mr. Yabsley believed in the glorious destinies of the human race, especially of that branch of it known as Anglo-Saxon. "He is an elderly gentleman?" asked Constance, with a half-smile of mischief. "Old! Oh dear, no! Mr.
When she had finished the last shirt, Mrs Yabsley looked at the clock with an exclamation. It was nearly ten. She had to deliver the shirts, and then buy the week's supplies. For she did her shopping at the last minute, in a panic. It had been her mother's way to dash into the butcher's as he swept the last bones together, to hammer at the grocer's door as he turned out the lights.
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