"He did, Uncle, but had the extraordinary magnanimity to restore all he'd taken. My money, sir, went in the—the purchase of a gipsy maiden—"
"Hey—gipsy—a woman—d'ye mean—you—"
"A young gipsy girl, Uncle."
"Good God!" he ejaculated faintly and, sinking upon the shaft of the empty cart behind him, he fanned himself feebly with his hat. "Peregrine," said he, shaking grave head at me, "your aunt Julia is right—a wonderful woman! Poetry is your line, after all—books—romances, lad—imagination—"
"You think I am romancing, sir?"
"Aye, though I call it 'gammoning.'"
"Sir, you affront me!"
"No offence, Perry," said he kindly. "You just can't help it—comes natural to you—like a gamecock fights. What other marvels have you seen?"
"A tinker, Uncle."
"Hum! Anything else?"