“If I had that caravan, now, and a thousand a year,” we heard one man observe, “I’d kick about everywhere all over the country, and I wouldn’t call the king my cousin.”
Soon after we had returned from a walk and a look at the shops a couple of caravans with real gipsies crossed the bridge.
“Stop, Bill, stop!” cried one of the tawny women, who had a bundle of mats for a chest protector. “Stop the ’orses, can’t yer? I wouldn’t miss a sight o’ this for a pension o’ ’taters.”
The horses were stopped. Sorry-looking nags they were, with coffin heads, bony rumps, and sadly swollen legs.
“Well I never!”
“Sure there was never sich a wan as that afore on the road!”
“Why, look at her, Sally! Look at her, Jim! Up and down, and roun’ and roun’, and back and fore. Why, Bill! I say, that wan’s as complete as a marriage certificate or a summons for assault.”
We people inside felt the compliment.
But we did not show.
“Hi, missus!” cried one; “are ye in, missus? Surely a wan like that wouldn’t be athout a missus. Will ye buy a basket, missus? Show your cap and your bonny face, missus. Would ye no obleege us with just one blink at ye?”