"I'm ashamed o'yer,Chook,"she remarked severely."Yer the two ends an'middle of a 'eathen.That's wot they call 'is surplus,an'I wish I 'ad the job of ironin'it."Order was restored,but at intervals the girls broke into ripples of hysterical laughter.Then Chook saw the organ,with its rows of painted pipes,and nudged Jonah.
"Wot price that fer a mouth-orgin,eh?Yer'd want a extra pair o'bellows ter play that."Jonah examined the instrument with the interest of a musician,surprised by the enormous tubes,packed stiffly in rows,the plaything of a giant;but he still kept an eye on the pair that were being married,with the nervous interest of a criminal watching an execution.The women,to whom weddings were an afternoon's distraction,like the matinees of the richer,stared about the building.Mrs Yabsley,wedged with difficulty in the narrow pew,pretended that they were made uncomfortable on purpose to keep people awake during the sermon.Presently Ada and Pinkey,who had been examining the memorial tablets on the walls,began to argue whether the dead people were buried under the floor of the church.Pinkey decided they were,and shivered at the thought.Ada called her a fool;they nearly quarrelled.
When their turn came,the Canon advanced to meet them,setting them at their ease with a few kindly words,less a priest than a courteous host welcoming his guests.He seemed not to notice Jonah's deformity.But,as he read the service,he was the priest again,solemn and austere,standing at the gates of Life and Death.He followed the ritual with scrupulous detail,scorning to give short measure to the poor.In the vestry they signed their names with tremendous effort,holding the pen as if it were a prop.Mrs Yabsley,being no scholar,made a mark.The Canon left them with an apology,as another party was waiting.
"Rum old card,"commented Chook,when they got outside."I reckon 'e's a man w'en 'e tucks 'is shirt in."The party decided to go home by way of Regent Street,drawn by the sight of the jostling crowd and the glitter of the lamps.As they threaded their way through the crowd,Jonah stopped in front of a pawnshop and announced that he was going to buy a present for Ada and Pinkey to bring them luck.He ignored Ada's cries of admiration at the sight of a large brooch set with paste diamonds,and fixed on a thin silver bracelet for her,and a necklace of imitation pearls,the size of peas,for Pinkey.
Ada thrust her fat fingers through the rigid band of metal;it slipped over the joints and hung loosely on her wrist.Then Pinkey clasped the string of shining beads round her thin neck,the metallic lustre of the false gems heightening the delicate pallor of her fine skin.The effect was superb.Ada,feeling that the bride was eclipsed,pretended that her wedding ring was hurting her,and drew all eyes to that badge of honour.
When they reached Cardigan Street,Mrs Yabsley went into the back room,and returned grunting under the weight of a dozen bottles of beer in a basket.Then,one by one,she set them in the middle of the table like a group of ninepins.It seemed a pity to break the set,but they were thirsty,and the pieman was not due for half an hour.A bottle was opened with infinite precaution,but the faint plop of the cork reached the sharp ears of Mrs Swadling,who was lounging at the end of the lane.The unusual movements of Mrs Yabsley had roused her suspicions,but the arrival of her husband,Sam fighting drunk for his tea,had interrupted her observations.She was accustomed to act promptly,even if it were only to dodge a plate,and in an instant her sharp features were thrust past the door,left ajar for the sake of coolness.
"I thought I'd run across an'ask yer about that ironmould,on Sam's collar,"she began.
Then,surprised by the appearance of the room,dressed for a festival,she looked around.Her eyes fell on the battalion of bottles,and she stood thunderstruck by this extravagance.But Ada,anxious to display her ring,was smoothing and patting her hair every few minutes.Already the movement had become a habit.Unconsciously she lifted her hand and flashed the ring in the eyes of Mrs Swadling.
"Well,I never!"she cried."I might 'ave known wot yer were up to,an'me see a weddin'in me cup only this very mornin."Mrs Yabsley looked at Jonah and laughed.
"Might as well own up,Joe,"she cried."The cat's out of the bag.""Right y'are,"cried Jonah."Let 'em all come.I can't be 'ung fer it."Mrs Yabsley,delighted with her son-in-law's speech,invited Mrs Swadling to a seat,and then stepped out to ask a few of her neighbours in to drink a glass and wish them luck.In half an hour the room was full of women,who were greatly impressed by the bottles of beer,a luxury for aristocrats.When Joey the pieman arrived,some were sitting on the veranda,as the room was crowded.Mrs Yabsley anxiously reckoned the number of guests;she had reckoned on twelve,and there were twenty.
She beckoned to Jonah,and they whispered together for a minute.He counted some money into her hand,and cried,"Let 'er go;it's only once in a lifetime."Then Mrs Yabsley,as hostess,went to each in turn,asking what they preferred.The choice was limited to green peas,hot pies,and saveloys,and as each chose,she ticked it off on a piece of paper in hieroglyphics known only to herself,as she was used to number the shirts and collars.
Joey,impressed by the magnitude of the order,got down from his perch in the cart and helped to serve the guests.And he passed in and out among the expectant crowd,helping them to make a choice,like a chef anxious to please even the most fastidious palates.
