“The one with the black eyes and short frock? Oh, I remember her!” said Mr. Toosypegs. “I’ve never seen her since.”
“No, I shouldn’t s’pose you ’ad,” said Mr. Harkins, gruffly, “seein’ she’s as mad as a March ’are, down there with her tribe. Mysterious are the ways of Providence. You blamed little rascal! hif you do that again, I’ll chuck you inter the Serpentine! blessed hif I don’t.”
His last sentence, which began with a pious upturning of the whites, or rather the yellows, of Mr. Harkins’ eyes, was abruptly cut short by a depraved youth, who, turning a course of summersaults for the benefit of his constitution, rolled suddenly against Mr. Harkins’ shins, and the next instant found himself whimpering and rubbing a portion of his person, where Mr. Harkins had planted a well-applied kick.
“The way the principuls of perliteness is neglected to be hinstilled hinto the minds of youths now-a-days, is distressin’ to behold,” said Mr. Harkins, with a grimace of pain; “but has I was sayin’ habout the hold gipsy queen, she’s gone crazy, hand”—(here Mr. Harkins lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper)—“she’s went hand got a baby.”
“Do tell!” ejaculated Mr. Toosypegs, who saw it was expected of him to be surprised, and who consequently was, though he could not see any earthly reason for it.
“A baby,” went on Mr. Harkins, who would have emphasized his words by another dig in the ribs, but that Mr. Toosypegs dodged back in alarm; “a real baby, alive and kickin’!”
“Pshaw! it ain’t possible!” said Mr Toosypegs, in a voice betraying not the slightest particle of emotion.
“It is—hincredulous as it may sound, it’s true,” said Mr. Harkins, solemnly. “The way I found hit hout was this: I was comin’ halong ’ome, one night hafter bringing hoff a cove w’at got waylaid to Lunnon, a-singin’ to myself that there song, the ‘Roast Beef hof Hold Hingland,’ hand a-thinkin’ no more ’arm, Mr. Toosypegs, nor a lot hof young pigses goin’ to market,” said Mr. Harkins, giving his stick a grand flourish to mark this bold figure of speech. “It wasn’t a dark night, Mr. Toosypegs, nor yet a light one; the starses was a-shinin’ like heverything, when, hall hof a suddint, a ’and was laid hon the reins, hand a voice, so deep and orful-like hit made me fairly jump, said:
“‘Will you let me ride hin your vagging has far has you’re going?’
“I looked round, Mr. Toosypegs,” continued Mr. Harkins, in a husky whisper, “and there I see’d that there gipsy queen, lookin’ so dark, hand fierce, and wild-like, I nearly jumped clean hout the wagging. Blessed! if I wasn’t skeert! Just then I heerd a cry from a bundle she’d got in her arms, hand what do you think I saw, Mr. Toosypegs?”