“Yes,” said I, “like the cant words—”
“Bonnet is cant,” said the man; “we of the thimble, as well as all clyfakers and the like, understand cant, as, of course, must every bonnet; so, if you are employed by me, you had better learn it as soon as you can, that we may discourse together without being understood by every one. Besides covering his principal, a bonnet must have his eyes about him, for the trade of the pea, though a strictly honest one, is not altogether lawful; so it is the duty of the bonnet, if he sees the constable coming, to say, the gorgio’s welling.”
“That is not cant,” said I, “that is the language of the Rommany Chals.”
“Do you know those people?” said the man.
“Perfectly,” said I, “and their language too.”
“I wish I did,” said the man, “I would give ten pounds and more to know the language of the Rommany Chals. There’s some of it in the language of the pea and thimble; how it came there I don’t know, but so it is. I wish I knew it, but it is difficult. You’ll make a capital bonnet; shall we close?”
“What would the wages be?” I demanded.
“Why, to a first-rate bonnet, as I think you would prove, I could afford to give from forty to fifty shillings a week.”
“Is it possible?” said I.
“Good wages, a’n’t they?” said the man.