“Oh, scissors! What, that varmint!”
“Ah, you’re right, he is a varmint. But, I say, just let me come inside—there’s a good fellow.”
“Inside where?”
“The stable. Anywhere to get out of sight.”
“I’d step it, if I were you.”
“That’s just what I want to do.”
“Come in, mate, I won’t turn my back upon a man whose in a bit of a mess, which I ’xpect you are.”
“In a jolly mess, and no flies.”
The gipsy crept into the stable, and his newly-formed friend went on cleaning the harness as if nothing had happened.
Both remained for some time inside the stable without saying a word. Presently his friend, the ostler, said, in a low whisper—