Cassidy the policeman,with the slow,leaden step of a man who is going nowhere,stopped for a moment in front of the hotel,and examined the street with a suspicious eye.He saw nothing but some groups of young men leaning against the veranda-posts at the opposite corner.They smoked and spat,tranquilly discussing the horses and betting for the next Cup meeting.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.Chook had posted them with the instinct of a general,and then left in hurried search of Jonah.And they watched the swinging doors of the hotel with cruel eyes,their nerves already vibrating with the ancestral desire to kill,the wild beast within them licking his lips at the thought of the coming feast.
Meanwhile,in Cardigan Street,Chook was arguing with Jonah.When told that the Push was waiting for him,he had listened without interest;the matter seemed foreign and remote.The velvety touch of his son's frail body still thrilled his nerves;its sweet,delicate odour was still in his nostrils.And he flatly refused to go.Chook was beside himself with excitement;tears stood in his eyes.
"W'y,y'ain't goin'ter turn dawg on me,Jonah,are yer?""No bleedin'fear,"said Jonah;"but I feel--I dunno 'ow I feel.The blasted kid knocked me endways,"he explained,in confusion.
As he looked down the street,he caught sight of Mrs Yabsley on the other side.She walked slowly on account of the hill,gasping for air,the weekly load of meat and groceries clutched in her powerful arms.His eyes softened with tenderness.He felt a sudden kinship for this huge,ungainly woman.He wanted to run and meet her,and claim the sweet,straight-limbed child that he had just discovered.Chook,standing at his elbow,like the devil in the old prints,was watching him curiously.
"Well,I'm off,"cried Chook at last."Wot'll I tell the blokes?"Jonah was silent for a moment,with a sombre look in his eyes.Then he pulled himself together.
"Let 'er go,"he cried grimly;"the kid can wait."On the stroke of eleven,as they reached the "Angel",the huge lamps were extinguished,the doors swung open and vomited a stream of men on to the footpath,their loud voices bringing the noise and heat of the bar into the quiet street.They dispersed slowly,talking immoderately,parting with the regret of lovers from the warm bar with its cheerful light and pleasant clink of glasses.The doors were closed,but the bar was still noisy,and the laggards slipped out cautiously by the side door,where a barman kept watch for the police.Presently the bricklayer came out,alone.He stood on the footpath,slightly fuddled,his giddiness increased by the fresh air.Immediately Chook lurched forward to meet him,with a drunken leer.
"'Ello,Bill,fancy meetin'yous!"he mumbled.
The man,swaying slightly,stared at him in a fog.
"I dunno you,"he muttered.
"Wot,yer dunno me,as worked wid yer on that job in Kent Street?Dunno Joe Parsons,as danced wid yer missis at the bricklayers'picnic?"The man stopped to think,trying to remember,but his brain refused the effort.
"Orl right,"he muttered;"come an''ave a drink."And he turned to the bar.
"No fear,"cried Chook,taking him affectionately by the arm,"no more fer me!I'm full up ter the chin,an'so are yous.""Might's well 'ave another,"said the man,obstinately.
Chook pulled him gently away from the hotel,along the street.
"It's gittin'late;'ow'll yer ole woman rous w'en yer git 'ome?""Sez anythin'ter me,break 'er bleedin'jaw,"muttered the bricklayer.
And then his eyes flamed with foolish,drunken anger."I earn the money,don'I,an'I spend it,don'I?"he inquired.And he refused to move till Chook answered his question.
The Push closed quietly in.
"'Oo are these blokes?"he asked uneasily.
"Pals o'mine,all good men an'true,"said Chook,gaily.
They were near Eveleigh Station,and the street was clear.The red signal-lights,like angry,bloodshot eyes,followed the curve of the line as it swept into the terminus.An engine screamed hoarsely as it swept past with a rattle of jolting metal and the hum of swiftly revolving wheels.The time was come to strike,but the Push hesitated.The show of resistance,the spark to kindle their brutal fury,was wanting.
"Is this a prayer meetin'?"inquired Waxy Collins,with a sneer."Biff him on the boko,an'we'll finish 'im in one act.""Shut yer face,"said Jonah,and he stepped up to the bricklayer.
"Ever 'ear tell of a copper boiler?"he inquired pleasantly.
"Ever meet a bleedin'bastard as put the cops on a bloke,an'got 'im three months''ard?"he inquired again.
The bricklayer stared at him open-mouthed,surprised and alarmed by the appearance of this misshapen devil with the glittering eyes.Then a sudden suspicion ran through the fuddled brain.
"I niver lagged 'im;s'elp me Gawd,I niver put nobody away to the cops!"he cried.
"Yer rotten liar,take that!"cried Jonah,and struck him full on the mouth with his fist.The man clapped his hand to his cut lip,and looked at the blood in amazement.The shock cleared his brain,and he remembered with terror the tales of deadly revenge taken by the pushes.He looked wildly for help.He was in a ring of mocking,menacing faces.
"Let 'im out,"cried Jonah,in a sharp,strident voice."The swine lives about 'ere;give 'im a run for 'is money."The Push opened out,and the man,sobered by his danger,stood for a moment with bewildered eyes.Then,with the instinct of the hunted,he turned for home and ran.The Push gave chase,with Chook in the lead.
Again and again the quarry turned,blindly seeking refuge in the darkest lanes.
As his pursuers gained on him he gave a hoarse scream--the dolorous cry of a hunted animal.
