Kiddo Cook prospered¹. The stall was a present fact, and the awning² was not far off; indeed, he was vigilantly³ in search of a second-hand⁴ one, not too much worn. But with all his affluence⁵ he was not often drunk. Nothing could be better than his pitch—right out in the High Street, in the busiest part, and hard by the London and County branch bank. They called it Kiddo's Bank in the Jago, and made jokes about alleged⁶ deposits of his. If you bought a penn'orth of greens from Kiddo, said facetious⁷ Jagos, he didn't condescend⁸ to take the money himself; he gave you a slip of paper, and you paid at the bank. And Kiddo had indulged in a stroke of magnificence that no other Jago would have thought of. He had taken two rooms, in the new County Council dwellings⁹. The secret was that Father Sturt had agreed to marry Kiddo Cook and Pigeony Poll. There would be plenty for both to do, what with the stall and the regular round with the barrow.  
The wedding-day came when Hannah Perrott had been one week a widow. For a few days Father Sturt had left her alone, and had guarded her privacy. Then, seeing that she gave no sign, he went with what quiet comfort he might, and bespoke¹⁰ her attention to her concerns. He invented some charing¹¹ work in his rooms for her. She did it very badly, and if he left her long alone, she would be found on the floor, with her face in a chair-seat, crying weakly. But the work was something for her to do and to think about, and by dint¹² of bustling¹³ it and magnifying its importance, Father Sturt brought her to some degree of mindfulness and calm.
 
Dicky walked that morning in a sort of numb¹⁴, embittered¹⁵ fury. What should he do now? His devilmost. Spare nobody and stop at nothing. Old Beveridge was right that morning years ago. The Jago had got him, and it held him fast. Now he went doubly sealed of the outcasts: a Jago with a hanged father. Father Sturt talked of work, but who would give him work? And why do it, in any case? What came of it before? No, he was a Jago and the world's enemy; Father Sturt was the only good man in it; as for the rest, he would spoil them when he could. There was something for to-morrow night, if only he could get calmed down enough by then. A builder's yard in Kingsland with an office in a loft¹⁶, and money in a common desk. Tommy Rann had found it, and they must do it together; if only he could get this odd numbness¹⁷ off him, and have his head clear. So much crying, perhaps, and so much trying not to, till his head was like to burst. Deep-eyed and pale, he dragged round into Edge Lane, and so into New Jago Street.
 
Jerry Gullen's canary was harnessed to the barrow, and Jerry himself was piling the barrow with rags and bottles. Dicky stood and looked; he thought he would rub Canary's head, but then he changed his mind, and did not move. Jerry Gullen glanced at him furtively¹⁹ once or twice, and then said: 'Good ole moke for wear, ain't 'e?'
 
'Yus,' Dicky answered moodily²⁰, his talk half random²¹. ''E'll peg²² out soon now.'
 
''Im? Not 'im. Wy, I bet 'e'll live longer'n you will. 'E ain't goin' to die.'
 
'I think 'e'd like to,' said Dicky, and slouched on.
 
Yes, Canary would be better off, dead. So would others. It would be ............