“She teases him anyhow, and she’s silly to do so,—I tell her she’ll get a tatto yeck one o’ these days, but she only laughs and says, ‘O lumme, there’s plenty o’ young chaps about yet.’ But you can’t put old heads on young shoulders, can you?”
Awaking, apparently, to the fact that his tongue had been running away with him, the old fellow added apologetically—
“I’m afraid we’ve kept you a bit, but once we get fairly started there’s no telling when we are going to stop.
“Good night. Don’t forget the ‘oppin’.”
CHAPTER IV
THE fact that nearly all true Romanies have two surnames—one by which they are known to the gorgio, the other by which all genuine gypsies know them—will, unless given due consideration, be somewhat puzzling to those whose knowledge of the gypsies is but slight. Regarded cursorily, such an arrangement would appear to possess no advantage, but upon consideration it will be obvious that to a seclusive, suspicious and suspected people, the ability to converse—not only in the language of the country in which they dwell, but also—in a tongue which is practically unknown outside their own race, is likely to stand them in good stead, more especially if the proper names in the secret tongue bear no resemblance to their equivalents in the language of the country; and it cannot be doubted that many a tight corner has been negotiated, and many a man has escaped punishment,—deserved or otherwise,—simply because warning or other timely information has been conveyed in the secret language to those concerned.
The following case in point was related to me by the principal gypsy actor in the incident:—
A gay mush (policeman) “collared” him on one occasion when he was with some relatives. Desiring to apprise a certain gypsy family of this occurrence and to give them information that would put them upon the alert, and, being in the circumstances obliged to speak openly, he said in Romany to his brother who was near, all that was necessary for his purpose, including, of course, the name of the family. This conveyed nothing to the policeman, who was evidently nonplussed as he said roughly to his prisoner,—“Now, young man, we don’t want any of your back slang,” an observation which, instead of impressing his hearers with his perspicacity as it was evidently intended to do, informed them that he was utterly ignorant of the Romany tongue, and, not only this, but that he was not sufficiently astute to keep the knowledge of his ignorance to himself; had it been possible, however, for the officer to have heard even the English surname of the family implicated, his suspicions would have been at once aroused, but he had scarcely disappeared from the scene when a child was despatched hotfoot with the message to the camp of the family involved.