After eighteen months the baby was born. Ginx thought it all out before the event. "He wouldn't go on the parish. He couldn't keep another youngster to save his life. He would not take charity. There was nothing to do but drown the baby." He must have talked his intentions at the ale-house, for the people in the neighborhood watched her "time" with interest. Going home one afternoon, he saws signs of excitement around his door. He entered. He took up the little stranger and bore it from the room. "His wife would have arisen but a strong power called weakness held her back." Out on the street, with the crowd following him, Ginx stopped to consider. "It is all very well to talk about drowning your baby, but to do it you need two things—water and opportunity. He turned toward Vauxhall Bridge. The crowd cried "Murder!"
"Leave me alone nabors," shouted Ginx; "this is my own baby and I'll do wot I likes with it. I kent keep it an' if I've got anythin' I can't keep, it's best to get rid of it, ain't it? This child's goining over Vauxhall Bridge."
The women clung to his arms and coat-tails. A man happened along. "A foundling? Confound the place, the very stones produce babies."
"It weren't found at all. It's Ginx's baby," cried the crowd.
"Ginx's baby. Who's Ginx?'
"I am," said Ginx.
"Well?"
"Well!"
"He's going to drown it!" came the chorus.
"Going to drown it? Nonsense!" said the officer.