CHAPTER VII
INTENT on “copy,” I was one day sauntering along a road in my own locality, when, just as a motor-car came into view round a curve, I felt a sudden tug at my sleeve, and at the same instant I was adjured to—
“Come this side o’ the road; then, if they knocks you down, you gets compensation.”
Turning to face the giver of this sage advice, I beheld, as I half expected, one of my gypsy acquaintances; he was carrying a workman’s rush bag in one hand, and from a pocket protruded the neck of a small vase he was taking to his camp to repair. As he was a petulengro, or tinker, and I had generally seen him engaged upon such work as repairing pots and pans, I questioned him with reference to his doing repairs to china; thereupon he informed me that he had “allus done a little o’ that sort o’ thing,” that it needed care, but paid better than the other work, and that latterly he had done more of it than anything else.
As we trudged along, I persuaded him to talk of himself and his work.
“Ah!” said he, “I’ve seen some rum people in my travels; some won’t trust me an inch away from ’em, and others lets me cart their crockery home to do it; I’ve riveted pretty near everything, from egg-shell china to Dutch tiles; some o’ the stuff’s been as hard as flint an’ some so soft that it pulled the ‘spark’ out o’ my drill and left it down at the bottom of a hole same as a terrier in a rabbit burrow, and it often takes as much coaxin’ to get out. O’ course them diamond sparks don’t run to much money, but you can’t give one in with a threepenny rivetin’ job, can you? There’s old Mrs.——, a reg’lar old—— she is; do you know she makes me sit in her kitchen to mend her fireproof dishes and such-like, and they’re as hard as granite; but because they take time to drill she thinks I’m doin’ it o’ purpose, but the more money people has the less they seems to know. I don’t go near her if I can help it, but, o’ course, you can’t say you won’t do it when they sends after you. Now there’s Mr.——, he’s different and no mistake; he’ll give me lots o’ work, and he generally drops a bit o’ cake or something o’ that sort into my pocket when he sees me, but they say that’s the sort as dies young,” and, turning towards me, he gave a knowing wink, and added, “’cos you don’t find many of ’em about. I once taught an old fellow the way to mend his own china, but, you bet, I made him pay for it; not as there’s much in it, but I guessed he wouldn’t want me ’ny more. My missis is as good as me at rivetin’, and she does a lot I takes home. Well, good day to you. I turns in here; p’rhaps you’ll be this way again ’fore long.” So saying, he turned off into the forest, presumably in the direction of his encampment.
Continuing my way along the high road towards a bypath which should lead me to the gypsy camp that was really the object of my excursion, I had barely completed my notes of the conversation just related when I met a man who had come from it. He was carrying a fairly large bundle and was hurrying in the direction of the railway station; he did not stop, but called as he passed—