I'm too proud for that sort of thing.Oh,what a rotten world this is!"she cried passionately,and burst into a storm of weeping.It was the most natural action of her life.
Jonah sat and stared at the lights of the Quay,dismayed by her tears but relieved in his mind.He had spoken at last;already he was framing fresh arguments to persuade her.Presently she dried her eyes and looked at him with the ghost of a smile.Then began a discussion which threatened to last all night,neither of them giving way from the position they had taken up,neither yielding an inch to the other's entreaties.Suddenly Jonah looked at his watch with an exclamation.It was nearly ten.In the heat of argument they had forgotten the lapse of time.They scrambled over boulders and through the lantana bushes down to the path,and just caught the boat.
When they reached the Quay they were surprised again by the splendour of the night.The moon,just past the full,flooded the streets with white light that left deep shadows between the buildings like a charcoal drawing.
They took a tram to the Haymarket,as they were afraid of being recognized in the Waterloo cars,and reached Regent Street after eleven.The hotels had disgorged their customers,who were talking loudly in groups on the footpath or lurching homeward with uneven steps.Jonah was explaining that he must see Clara all the way home on account of the lateness of the hour,when he was astonished to hear someone sobbing in the monumental mason's yard as if his heart would break.He turned and looked.The headstones and white marble crosses stood in rows with a faint resemblance to a graveyard;the moonlight fell clear and cold on these monuments awaiting a purchaser.Some,already sold,were lettered in black with the name of the departed.Jonah and Clara stared,puzzled by the noise,when they saw an old man in the rear of the yard in a top hat and a frock coat,clinging to a marble cross.He lurched round,and instantly Clara,with a gasp of amazement and shame,recognized her father.
She moved into the shadows of a house,humiliated to her soul by this exhibition;but Jonah laughed,in spite of himself,at the figure cut by Dad among the ready-made monuments.As he laughed,Dad caught sight of him,and clinging to a marble angel with one arm for support,beckoned wildly with the other.
"Come here--come here,"he cried between his sobs."I'm all alone with the dead,and nobody to shed a tear 'cep'meself.Shame on you,shame on you,"he cried,raising his voice in bitter grief,"to pass the poor fellows in their graves without sheddin'tear!"He stopped and stared with drunken gravity at the name on the nearest tombstone,trying to read the words which danced before his eyes in the clear light.Jonah saw them plainly.
SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF
SARAH JAMES,Aged Eighty-five.
A fresh burst of grief announced that Dad had deciphered the lettering.
"Sam!"he cried bitterly."Me old fren'Sam!To think of bringing him here without letting me know!The besh fren'I ever had."Here sobs choked his utterance.He stooped and examined the shining marble slab again,lurching from one side to the other with incessant motion.
"An'not a flowersh onsh grave!"he cried."Sam was awf'ly fond flowersh.""Get away 'ome,or the Johns'll pinch yer,"said Jonah.
Dad stopped and stared at him with a glimmering of reason in his fuddled brain.
"I know yoush,"he cried,with a cunning leer."An'I know your fren'there.She isn't yer missis.She never is,y'know.Naughty boy!"he cried,wagging his finger at Jonah;"but I wont split on pal."That reminded him of the deceased Sam,and he turned again to the monument.
"Goo'bye,Sam,"he cried suddenly,under the impression that he had been to a funeral."I've paid me respecks to an ol'fren',an'now we'll both sleep in peace.""Come away and leave him,"whispered Clara,trembling with disgust and mortification.
"No fear!"said Jonah."The Johns down 'ere don't know 'im,an'they'll lumber 'im.You walk on ahead,an'I'll steer 'im 'ome."He looked round;there was not a cab to be seen.
He led Dad out of the stonemason's yard with difficulty,as he wanted to wait for the mourning coaches.Then,opposite the mortuary,he remembered his little present for the Duchess,and insisted on going back.
"Wheresh my lil'present for Duchess?"he wailed."Can't go 'ome without lil'present."Jonah was in despair.At last he rolled his handkerchief into a ball and thrust it into Dad's hand.
Then Dad,relieved and happy,cast Jonah off,and stood for a moment like the Leaning Tower of Pisa.Jonah watched anxiously,expecting him to fall,but all at once,with a forward lurch Dad broke into a run,safe on his feet as a spinning top.Jonah had forgotten Dad's run,famous throughout all Waterloo,Redfern,and Alexandria.
A FATAL ACCIDENT
As Clara crossed the tunnel at Cleveland Street,she found that she had a few minutes to spare,and stopped to admire the Silver Shoe from the opposite footpath.Triumphant and colossal,treading the air securely above the shop,the glittering shoe dominated the street with the insolence of success.More than once it had figured in her dreams,endowed with the fantastic powers of Aaron's rod,swallowing its rivals at a gulp or slowly crushing the life out of the bruised limbs.
Her eye travelled to the shop below,with its huge plate-glass windows framed in brass,packed with boots set at every angle to catch the eye.
The array of shining brass rods and glass stands,the gaudy ticket on each pair of boots with the shillings marked in enormous red figures and the pence faintly outlined beside them,pleased her eye like a picture.
