In a moment he replied, “Od nyok” (two heads), and I handed over the coins. With a comic gesture he queried—
“Yer wouldn’t like to larn a bit more o’ thet langwidge, would yer?”
“Rat-tat-tat” went the old brass knocker one morning at the side-door of my house, and on being informed that a tinker was inquiring for me, I hastened to see what manner of man he was. Before me stood a battered specimen of the Romany of the roads, and with a view to testing his depth, I asked—
“Do you ever dik any Romanitshels on the drom?” (see any Gypsies on the road).
“You ’ave me there, mister,” said he. “Upon my soul, I dunno what you’re talkin’ about.”
The man’s face was a study in innocence.
“You know right enough what I’m saying,” I continued in Romany.
My man could endure it no longer, and, exploding with mirth, he turned and shouted to his brother, who stood near a grinding-barrow on the road.
“Av akai, Bill, ’ere’s a rashai rokerin Romanes as fast as we can” (Come here, Bill, here’s a parson talking Gypsy). “Bring that shushi (rabbit) out o’ the guno” (sack).