“Ha, ha; no it isn’t Arthur; that’s Johnny!”
“Ah, the sapeau (gip., snake)! Why, he’s got Crafty Jemmy’s nose!”
“Dik the gorgio in Uncle Sam’s stardy (gip., hat)!”
“Oh nei! oh nei! What are you a salin (gip., laughing) at?” “It’s our Elijah vellin (gip., coming) from Bosbury, a seaport town in the middle of England. Look at his chokas (gip., shoes)! Hasn’t he got bongy mouee (gip., ugly mouth)!”
“Dik that fellow’s swagler (gip., pipe)!”
“Arthur can dance! Now Arthur’s a-going it! Well done, Arthur!!”
Bang-bang went the tambourine, as the beau of the village whirled his partner round, to the admiration of the surrounding throng. There was no harm meant by our gipsies’ chaff. If anyone present had wanted their assistance, they would have been the first to give it them. It was quite impossible for them to remain quiet; naturally impulsive and gay, they must laugh in their lightsome moods. There were some young ladies, and apparently their brother, sitting near.
As we were standing with Esmeralda at our tents, whilst Noah and Zachariah were playing, a dark thick-set, heavy-featured old woman pressed through the throng round us. She had all the appearance of a gipsy, when she suddenly shook Esmeralda by the hand. We thought she was a Norwegian Zigeuner. Then she took hold of Esmeralda’s large necklace, and tried to take it off, before she could recover from her surprise. Immediately we saw what she was doing, we pulled her away, and she retired in silence through the crowd. We saw her afterwards, sitting on a bank, watching us.
It is ten o’clock, and our music ends, saying, “God nat (Nor., good night), god folk (Nor., good people).” We retired to our tent. Most of our visitors left. One young gentleman, who spoke English, said to Noah outside our tents, “A little more music.”
“I can’t, sir,” said Noah. “The master never has any playing after ten. You should have come before, sir.”