But it was the cat playing with the mouse.The bricklayer ran like a cow,his joints stiffened by years of toil;the larrikins,light on their feet as hares,kept the pace with a nimble trot,silent and dangerous,conscious of nothing but the desire and power to kill.
As he turned into Abercrombie Street,Chook ran level with him,then stooped swiftly and caught his ankle.The bricklayer went sprawling,and in an instant the Push closed in on the fallen man as footballers form a scrum,kicking the struggling body with silent ferocity,drunk with the primeval instinct to destroy.
"Nit!"cried Jonah;and the Push scattered,disappearing by magic over fences and down lanes.
The bricklayer had ceased to struggle,and lay in a heap.Five minutes later some stragglers,noticing the huddled mass on the road,crossed the street cautiously and stared.Then a crowd gathered,each asking the other what had happened,each amazed at the other's ignorance.
The excitement seemed to penetrate the houses opposite.Heads were thrust out of windows,doors were opened,and a stream of men and women,wearing whatever they could find in the dark,shuffled across the footpath.
Some still fumbled at their braces;others,draped like Greek statues,held their garments on with both hands.A coarse jest passed round when a tall,bony woman came up,a man's overcoat,thrown over her shoulders,barely covering her nightdress.They stood shivering in the cold air,greedy to hear what sensation had come to their very doors.
"It's only a drunken man."
"They say 'e was knocked down in a fight."
"No;the Push stoushed 'im,an'then cleared."Someone struck a match and looked at his face;it was smeared with blood.
Then the crowd rendered "first aid"in the street fashion.
"Wot's yer name?W'ere d'yer live?'Ow did it 'appen?"And at each question they shook him vigorously,impatient at his silence.
The buzz of voices increased.
"W'ere's the perlice?"
"Not w'ere they're wanted,you may be sure."
"It's my belief they go 'ome an'sleep it out these cold nights.""Well,I s'pose a p'liceman 'as ter take care of 'imself,like everybody else,"said one,and laughed.
"It's shameful the way these brutes are allowed to knock men about.""An'the perlice know very well 'oo they are,but they're afraid of their own skins."The woman in the nightdress had edged nearer,craning her neck over the shoulders of the men to see better.As another match was struck she saw the man's face.
"My Gawd,it's my 'usband!"she screamed."Bill,Bill,wot 'ave they done ter yer?"Her old affection,starved to death by years of neglect,sprang to life for an instant in this cry of agony.She dropped on her knees beside the bruised body,wiping the blood from his face with the sleeve of her nightdress.A dark red stain spread over the coarse,common calico.
And she kissed passionately the bleeding lips,heedless of the sour smell of alcohol that tainted his breath.The bricklayer groaned feebly.
With a sudden movement she stripped the coat from her shoulders,and covered him as if to protect him from further harm.
Her hair,fastened in an untidy knot,slipped from the hairpins,and fell,grey and scanty,over her neck;her bony shoulders,barely covered by the thin garment,moved convulsively.
"'Ere,missis,take this,or you'll ketch cold,"said a man kindly,pulling off his coat.
Then,with the quick sympathy of the people,they began to make light of the matter,trying to persuade her that his injuries were not serious.
A friendly rivalry sprang up among them as they related stories of wonderful recoveries made by men whose bodies had been beaten to a jelly.
One,carried away by enthusiasm,declared that it did a man good to be shattered like glass,for the doctors,with satanic cunning seized the opportunity to knead the broken limbs like putty into a more desirable shape.But their words fell on deaf ears.The woman crouched over the prostrate man,stroking the bruised limbs with a stupid,mechanical movement as an animal licks its wounded mate.
The crowd divided as a policeman came up with an important air.Brisk and cheerful,he made a few inquiries,enchanted with this incident that broke the monotony of the night's dreary round.The crowd breathed freely,feeling that the responsibility had shifted on to the official shoulders.
He blew shrilly on his whistle,and demanded a cab.
"Cab this time o'night?No chance,"was the common opinion.
But by great good luck a cab was heard rattling along the next street.
Two men ran to intercept it.
The woman clung desperately to the crippled body as they lifted it into the cab,impeding the men in their efforts,imploring them to carry him to his own house,with the distrust of the ignorant for the hospitals,where the doctors amuse themselves by cutting and carving the bodies of their helpless patients.The policeman,a young man,embarrassed by the sight of this half-dressed woman,swore softly to himself.
"'Ere,missis,you'd better get 'ome,you can't do any good 'ere,"he said,kindly."Don't you worry;I've seen worse cases than this go 'ome to breakfast the next day."As the cab drove off,some neighbours led her away,her thin,angular body shaken with sobs.
The street was quiet again,but some groups still lingered,discussing with relish the details of the outrage,searching their memories for stories of brutal stoushings that had ended in the death of the victim.
THE BABY DISCOVERS JONAH
An hour later Jonah and Chook,picking the most roundabout way,reached home.The family was in bed,and the house in darkness.The two mates dropped silently over the fence,and,with the stealthy movements of cats,clambered through the window of the room which they shared,for Jonah believed that secrets were kept best by those who had none to tell.
"Gawd,I'm dry,"said Chook,yawning."I could do a beer.""That comes of runnin'along the street so 'ard,"said Jonah,grinning.
