"Here," replied he, slapping his pocket, and looking significantly at us. "I thought you were certain of knowing him again. About as certain as you were of telling the money in your hand."
He then, to our astonishment, imitated the doctor's voice, and quoted prosody syntax, and Latin. Timothy and I were still in astonishment, when he continued, "If I had not found out that you were in want of employ, and further, that your services would be useful to me, I should not have made this discovery. Do you now think that you know enough to enter into my service? It is light work, and not bad pay; and now you may choose."
"I trust," said I, "that there is no dishonesty?"
"None that you need practise, if you are so scrupulous; perhaps your scruples may some day be removed. I make the most of my wares—every merchant does the same. I practise upon the folly of mankind—it is on that, that wise men live."
Timothy gave me a push, and nodded his head for me to give my consent. I reflected a few seconds, and at last I extended my hand. "I consent," replied I, "with the reservation I have made."
"You will not repent," said he; "and I will take your companion, not that I want him particularly, but I do want you. The fact is, I want a lad of gentlemanly address, and handsome appearance—with the very knowledge you possess—and now we will say no more for the present. By-the-bye, was that real Latin of yours?"
"No," replied I, laughing; "you quoted the grammar, and I replied with medical prescriptions. One was as good as the other."
"Quite—nay, better; for the school-boys may find me out, but not you. But now observe, when we come to the next cross road, we must get down—at least, I expect so; but we shall know in a minute."
In about the time he mentioned, a dark, gipsy-looking man looked into the wagon, and spoke to our acquaintance in an unknown language. He replied in the same, and the man disappeared. We continued our route for about a quarter of an hour, when he got out, asked us to follow him, and speaking a few words to the fool, which I did not hear, left him and the boy in the wagon. We paid our fare, took possession of our bundles, and followed our new companion for a few minutes on the cross road, when he stopped, and said, "I must now leave you, to prepare for your reception into our fraternity; continue straight on this road until you arrive at a lime-kiln, and wait there till I come."
He sprang over a stile, and took a direction verging at an angle from the road, forced his way through a hedge, and disappeared from our sight. "Upon my word, Timothy," said I, "I hardly know what to say to this. Have we done right in trusting to this man, who, I am afraid! is a great rogue? I do not much like mixing with these gipsy people, for such I am sure he belongs to."