"You must be the Romany rye of the Coopers. I'm glad to see you. Bless
me, how wet you are. Go to the fire and dry yourself. Here, Bill, I
say! Attend to this gentleman."
There was a tremendous roaring fire at the farther end of the booth, at
which were pieces of meat, so enormous as to suggest a giant's roast or a
political barbecue rather than a kitchen. I glanced with some interest
at Bill, who came to aid me. In all my life I never saw a man who looked
so thoroughly the regular English bull-dog bruiser of the lowest type,
but battered and worn out. His nose, by oft-repeated pummeling, had
gradually subsided almost to a level with his other features, just as an
ancient British grave subsides, under the pelting storms of centuries,
into equality with the plain. His eyes looked out from under their
bristly eaves like sleepy wild-cats from a pig-pen, and his physique was
tremendous. He noticed my look of curiosity.
"Old Bruisin' Bill, your honor. I was well knowed in the prize-ring
once. Been in the newspapers. Now, you mus'n't dry your coat that way!
New welweteen ought always to be wiped afore you dry it. I was a
gamekeeper myself for six years, an' wore it all that time nice and
proper, I did, and know how may be you've got a thrip'ny bit for old
Bill. Thanky."
I will do Mrs. Agnes Wynn the credit to say that in her booth the best
and most abundant meal that I ever saw for the price in England was given
for eighteen pence. Fed and dried, I was talking with her, when there
came up a pretty boy of ten, so neat and well dressed and altogether so
nice that he might have passed current for a gentleman's son anywhere.
"Well, Agnes. You're Wynn by name and winsome by nature, and all the
best you have has gone into that boy. They say you gypsies used to steal
children. I think it's time to turn the tables, and when I take the game
up I'll begin by stealing your _chavo_."
Mrs. Wynn looked pleased. "He is a good boy, as good as he looks, and he
goes to school, and don't keep low company."
Here two or three octoroon, duodecaroon, or vigintiroon Romany female
friends of the landlady came up to be introduced to me, and of course to
take something at my expense for the good of the house. This they did in
the manner specially favored by gypsies; that is to say, a quart of ale,
being ordered, was offered first to me, in honor of my social position,
and then passed about from hand to hand. This rite accomplished, I went
forth to view the race. The sun had begun to shine again, the damp flags
and streamers had dried themselves in its cheering rays, even as I had
renewed myself at Dame Wynn's fire, and I crossed the race-course. The
scene was lively, picturesque, and thoroughly English. There are certain
pleasures and pursuits which, however they may be perfected in other
countries, always seem to belong especially to England, and chief among
these is the turf. As a fresh start was made, as the spectators rushed
to the ropes, roaring with excitement, and the horses swept by amid
hurrahs, I could realize the sympathetic feeling which had been developed
in all present by ancient familiarity and many associations with such
scenes. Whatever the moral value of these may be, it is certain that
anything so racy with local color and so distinctly fixed in popular
affection as the _race_ will always appeal to the artist and the student
of national scenes.
I found Old Liz lounging with Old Dick, her husband, on the other side.
There was a canvas screen, eight feet high, stretched as a background to
stop the sticks hurled by the players at "coker-nuts," while the nuts
themselves, each resting on a stick five feet high, looked like
disconsolate and starved spectres, waiting to be cruelly treated. In
company with the old couple was a commanding-looking, eagle-eyed Romany
woman, in whom I at once recognized the remarkable gypsy spoken of by the
pickpocket.
"My name is Lee," she said, in answer to my greeting. "What is yours?"
"Leland."
"Yes, you have added land to the lee. You are luckier than I am. I'm a
Lee without land."
As she spoke she looked like an ideal Meg Merrilies, and I wished I had
her picture. It was very strange that I made the wish at that instant,
for just then she was within an ace of having it taken, and therefore
arose and went away to avoid it. An itinerant photographer, seeing me
talking with the gypsies, was attempting, though I knew it not, to take
the group. But the keen eye of the Romany saw it all, and she went her
way, because she was of the real old kind, who believe it is unlucky to
have their portraits taken. I used to think that this aversion was of
the same kind as that which many good men evince in a marked manner when
requested by the police to sit for their photographs for the rogues'
gallery. But here I did the gypsies great injustice; for they will allow
their likenesses to be taken if you will give them a shoe-string. That
this old superstition relative to the binding and loosing of ill-luck by
the shoe-string should exist in this connection is of itself curious. In
the earliest times the shoe-latchet brought luck, just as the shoe itself
did, especially when filled with corn or rice, and thrown after the
bride. It is a great pity that the ignorant Gentiles, who are so careful
to do this at every wedding, do not know that it is all in vain unless
they cry aloud in Hebrew, "_Peru urphu_!" {159} with all their might when
the shoe is cast, and that the shoe should be filled with rice.
She went away, and in a few minutes the photographer came in great glee
to show a picture which he had taken.
"'Ere you are, sir. An elegant photograph, surroundin' sentimental
scenery and horiental coker-nuts thrown in,--all for a diminitive little
shillin'."
"Now that time you missed it," I said; "for on my honor as a gentleman, I
have only ninepence in all my pockets."
"A gent like you with only ninepence!" said the artist.
"If he hasn't got money in his pocket now," said Old Liz, speaking up in
my defense, "he has plenty at home. He has given pounds and pounds to us
gypsies."
"_Dovo's a huckaben_," I said to her in Romany. "_Mandy kekker delled
tute kumi'n a trin-grushi_." (That is untrue. I never gave you more
than a shilling.)
"Anyhow," said Liz, "ninepence is enough for it." And the man,
assenting, gave it to me. It was a very good picture, and I have since
had several copies taken of it.
"Yes, _rya_," said Old Liz, when I regretted the absence of my Lady Lee,
and talked with her about shoe-strings and old shoes, and how necessary
it was to cry out "_Peru urphu_!" when you throw them,--"yes. That's the
way the Gorgis always half does things. You see 'em get a horse-shoe off
the roads, and what do they do with it! Goes like _dinneli_ idiots and
nails it up with the p'ints down, which, as is well beknown, brings all
the bad luck there is flyin' in the air into the house, and _taders
chovihanees_ [draws witches] like anise-seed does rats. Now common sense
ought to teach that the shoe ought to be put like horns, with the p'ints
up. For if it's lucky to put real horns up, of course the horse-shoe
goes the same _drom_ [road]. And it's lucky to pick up a red string in
the morning,--yes, or at any time; but it's sure love from a girl if you
do,--specially silk. And if so be she gives you a red string or cord, or
a strip of red stuff, _that_ means she'll be bound to you and loves you."