The two companions in crime walked on, till the house Peace was making for had been reached. He delivered his frames, and then returned to his own residence in company with the gipsy, whom he introduced to his wife as an old and esteemed friend.
Dinner was served and every attention was paid to Peace’s guest, who made himself quite at home; he was a gentleman who had very little pride about him, and did not want much pressing to partake of the dainties placed before him.
He was, however, a little reserved before his friend’s better half, and did not touch on subjects which would in any way compromise his host.
An hour or two was passed after dinner pleasantly enough. Peace played several tunes on his violin, trotted out his animals and made them go through their performances, after which he and the gipsy retired to his workshop where they smoked the pipe of peace and talked upon subjects which more immediately concerned themselves.
“And so you are drifting about in troubled waters in an unsatisfactory way?” said our hero.
“I get a haul now and then,” observed the gipsy, “but then there is a long gap between; then ye see I get cursedly hard up sometimes. I get a greenhorn to purchase a ‘screw’ (an unsound horse) at a topping price, and in course when I pull off a bargain of this sort it sets me up for awhile, but greenhorns are not so easy to lug hold on nowadays; ‘blokes’ are getting jolly too artful—and it’s only by nows and thens I lands one of that kidney. Still I have done pretty fairish at times in the horse-coping line; but there are too many in it, Charlie—and it ain’t what it used to be by a long way.”
“How about your aristocratic friend and patron?” inquired Peace.
“Oh, hang him, he’s been fleeced right and left, and has run through a sight of money. It’s the way with those swell blokes—they prey upon one another.”
“Well, I’ve got a bit of a job on hand,” said our hero, in a whisper, drawing his chair nearer to that of his companion, “and if you like to stand in, say the word.”
“Ah, you’ve no call to ask that ere question. I’ll stand in, whatever it may be, and shall be but too glad to do so. Out with it—let’s know the lively little caper.”