"Well, _dye_, I stand a shilling for beer, and that's all I can do
to-day, for I've come out with only _shove trin-grushi_."
Liz took the shilling, looked at it and at me with an earnest air, and
shook her head.
"It'll never do, _rye_,--never. A gentleman wants more than six
shillin's to see a race through, and a reg'lar Romany rye like you ought
to slap down his _lovvo_ with the best of 'em for the credit of his
people. And if you want a _bar_ [a pound] or two, I'll lend you the
money, and never fear about your payment."
It was kind of the old _dye_, but I thought that I would pull through on
my five shillings, before I would draw on the Romany bank. To be
considered with sincere sympathy, as an object of deserving charity, on
the lowest race-ground in England, and to be offered eleemosynary relief
by a gypsy, was, indeed, touching the hard pan of humiliation. I went my
way, idly strolling about, mingling affably with all orders, for my watch
was at home. _Vacuus viator cantabit_. As I stood by a fence, I heard a
gentlemanly-looking young man, who was evidently a superior pickpocket,
or "a regular fly gonoff," say to a friend,--
"She's on the ground,--a great woman among the gypsies. What do they
call her?"
"Mrs. Lee."
"Yes. A swell Romany she is."
Whenever one hears an Englishman, not a scholar, speak of gypsies as
"Romany," he may be sure that man is rather more on the loose than
becomes a steady citizen, and that he walks in ways which, if not of
darkness, are at least in a shady _demi-jour_, with a gentle down grade.
I do not think there was anybody on the race-ground who was not familiar
with the older word.
It began to rain, and before long my new velveteen coat was very wet. I
looked among the booths for one where I might dry myself and get
something to eat, and, entering the largest, was struck by the appearance
of the landlady. She was a young and decidedly pretty woman, nicely
dressed, and was unmistakably gypsy. I had never seen her before, but I
knew who she was by a description I had heard. So I went up to the bar
and spoke:--
"How are you, Agnes?"
"Bloomin'. What will you have, sir?"
"_Dui curro levinor_, _yeck for tute_, _yeck for mandy_." (Two glasses
for ale,--one for you, one for me.)