“Oh yes, I eat bacon and eggs when I can get nothing better.”
“And what do you drink? Can you drink ale?”
“Oh yes,” said I; “I am very fond of ale when it’s good. Perhaps you will stand a pint?”
“Hm,” said the man looking somewhat blank; “there is no ale in the Pandy and there is no public-house near at hand, otherwise—Where are you going to-night?”
“To Gutter Vawr.”
“Well, then, you had better not loiter; Gutter Vawr is a long way off over the mountain. It will be dark, I am afraid, long before you get to Gutter Vawr. Good evening, David! I am glad to have seen you, for I have long wished to see a man from the north country. Good evening! you will find plenty of good ale at Gutter Vawr.”
I went on my way. The road led in a south-eastern direction gradually upward to very lofty regions. After walking about half-an-hour I saw a kind of wooden house on wheels drawn by two horses coming down the hill towards me. A short black-looking fellow in brown-top boots, corduroy breeches, jockey coat and jockey cap sat on the box, holding the reins in one hand and a long whip in the other. Beside him was a swarthy woman in a wild flaunting dress. Behind the box out of the fore part of the caravan peered two or three black children’s heads. A pretty little foal about four months old came frisking and gambolling now before now beside the horses, whilst a colt of some sixteen months followed more leisurely behind. When the caravan was about ten yards distant I stopped, and raising my left hand with the little finger pointed aloft, I exclaimed:
“Shoon, Kaulomengro, shoon! In Dibbel’s nav, where may tu be jawing to?”
Stopping his caravan with considerable difficulty the small black man glared at me for a moment like a wild cat, and then said in a voice partly snappish, partly kind:
“Savo shan tu? Are you one of the Ingrines?”