MILANKO, son of Yono, was an impertinent lad, but good-humoured, rather
ugly and always grinning. I had assured him repeatedly that in the
sugar-refinery to which I have the misfortune to be attached all the
“pots” were as big as houses and in perfect repair, so that to my deep
regret I was unable to take advantage of the offer of his professional
services. Milanko, however, with the incredulity of an habitual liar,
made an independent reconnaissance through a window and caught sight of
an ancient copper tub, some six feet in diameter and about a quarter of a
ton in weight. Moreover he ascertained, by means best known to himself,
that it was cracked and patched; and I was weak enough to admit, under
his searching cross-examination, that it would be an advantage to have
its inner surface coated with tin. It was a huge vessel, but Milanko was
ambitious, and thereafter called regularly at inconvenient hours to
present a series of petitions: first, for the order to mend and tin the
pan; second, for the loan of a pound to purchase solder; third, for half
a sovereign to get boots; fourth, for five shillings to buy a hat; and
fifth, for three pence, the price of a packet of cigarettes. He accepted
the emphatic refusal of his larger requests philosophically and without
resentment. To the last I gave a favourable hearing, even at our first
interview, and we parted with a friendly exchange of _Zha Devlesa_ (Go
with God) and _Ash Devlesa_ (Remain with God), well understanding that a
second rehearsal was ordered for the morrow and that it would be
succeeded by daily performances. The play had not a long run. One
ill-starred afternoon I granted the main petition, and the cauldron was
carted to Birkenhead to be deposited in the camp.
Knowing that the Gypsies’ policy was always to do as much work as
possible, and generally far more than their customer expected or
required, I sent the chief engineer to Green Lane to make plain to them
that the vessel was only to be tinned, and that the cracks and patches
were to be left unmended. No contract was signed, though there was a
distinct verbal agreement that the cost was to be one pound. I was,
however, prepared to pay as much as three, the price for which a
Liverpool firm had offered to do the same work, because I recognized that
the pan was large and heavy and was interested to see how the
coppersmiths would handle it without either blocks and tackle or large
fires. To my great disappointment I was allowed to see nothing. When I
visited the camp the cauldron was always discreetly covered with a sheet,
and the Gypsies found ingenious means to keep me and it as far apart as
possible. But occasionally they would draw me aside and expatiate
alarmingly on the amount of tin, acid and labour that were needed, and,
ignoring their estimate, talk tentatively of forty pounds as a just and
probable charge.
At last, one morning, a messenger arrived to report that the cauldron was
ready for delivery, and on the afternoon of the same day the chief
engineer, instructed that he might pay three pounds but not a penny more,
took with him a cart and crossed the river to Birkenhead. He found the
pan turned upside down on the cindery ground of the camp and proposed to
remove it to the refinery in order that the quality of the work might be
examined. But the Gypsies, holding that possession is nine-tenths of the
law, refused to permit the removal before payment was made. The wisdom
of their decision became evident when bargaining began, for the engineer
offered one pound while they, with fierce indignation, demanded
twenty-five, making the sum unmistakably clear by placing a sovereign on
the pan and indicating the numeral by means of their outstretched
fingers. The discrepancy between claim and tender was too wide for easy
or rapid adjustment, and neither side showed any willingness to
compromise. The engineer, accustomed to dealing with Orientals, stuck to
his terms, but finding the Gypsies equally stubborn and much noisier, and
convinced as tea-time approached that no settlement was then possible, he
ordered the cart back to Liverpool and himself withdrew from the
conference.
And then the Gypsies made a false step. The engineer had scarcely
settled down to his evening meal when, to his amazement, word was sent
from the refinery that the cauldron and the coppersmiths were at the
gate. They had changed their minds, hastened to overtake the cart aboard
the luggage-boat, and persuaded the carter to return to the tents and
bring the pan away. The office being closed when they arrived,
settlement of their little account was out of the question, and, obliged
to surrender the only security they had for payment, they could but
protest loudly and depart with an invitation to call again the next day.
Other duties kept me away from business, and I was not a spectator of
their visit. But I heard afterwards long, eloquent and indignant stories
of how Milanko, apparelled like a mountebank, with his father and the
deformed dwarf Burda or Morkosh, his cousin’s husband, dared to profane
the solemnity of the counting-house, a sanctuary where the cumulative
respectability of five generations of sugar-boilers is devoutly
worshipped. Never during the whole course of its long business
experience had that chamber entertained guests so unwelcome. They
arrived at ten in the morning and stayed until half-past two, demanding
payment from the cashier and relenting gradually from twenty-five to
seven pounds, less than which they long refused to accept. Nobody knew
what to do with them—the situation was unprecedented. When tired of
standing and worrying busy clerks with the question “Master, what you do
now?” they scandalized the whole staff by sitting cross-legged on the
floor. It was a contest of endurance; and, thanks to the definite orders
I had left, we won. Just as the problem of what was to happen at closing
time, if they were still in possession, was becoming insistent, the
Gypsies gave way, accepted three pounds and retired, after desecrating
the office for four hours and a half.
It would have been absurd to expect Kola’s disciples to rest content with
a reasonable reward, and indeed they often begged for supplementary
payments. Even the chief’s wife condescended to interest herself in the
matter and complained to me about the character of the engineer—a bad
man, as she said; and I had to explain that it was partly for this
particular fault of character that we valued him. Yono never forgave me,
but Milanko resumed friendly relationships at once, and I believe that
the tribe in general respected me the more for my victory.