almost against the wall.

"I came to get what belonged to me."

Ingolby laughed ironically. "Most of us are here for that purpose. We
think the world owes us such a lot."

"I know what is my own."

Ingolby lit his pipe, his eyes reflectively scanning the other.

"Have you got it again out here--your own?"

"Not yet, but I will."

Ingolby took out his watch, and looked at it. "I haven't found it easy
getting all that belongs to me."

"You have found it easier getting what belongs to some one else," was
the snarling response.

Ingolby's jaw hardened. What did the fellow mean? Did he refer to money,
or--was it Fleda Druse? "See here," he said, "there's no need to say
things like that. I never took anything that didn't belong to me, that I
didn't win, or earn or pay for--market price or 'founder's shares'"--he
smiled grimly. "You've given me the best treat I've had in many a day.
I'd walk fifty miles to hear you play my Sarasate--or even old Berry's
cotton-field fiddle. I'm as grateful as I can be, and I'd like to pay
you for it; but as you're not a professional, and it's one gentleman
to another as it were, I can only thank you--or maybe help you to get
what's your own, if you're really trying to get it out here. Meanwhile,
have a cigar and a drink."

He was still between the Romany and the wall, and by a movement forward
sought to turn Jethro to the spirit-table. Probably this manoeuvring was
all nonsense, that he was wholly misreading the man; but he had always
trusted his instincts, and he would not let his reason rule him entirely
in such a situation. He could also ring the bell for Jim, or call to
him, for while he was in the house Jim was sure to be near by; but he
felt he must deal with the business alone.

The Romany did not move towards the spirit-table, and Ingolby became
increasingly vigilant.

"No, I can't pay you anything, that's clear," he said; "but to get your
own--I've got some influence out here--what can I do? A stranger is up
against all kinds of things if he isn't a native, and you're not. Your
home and country's a good way from here, eh?"

Suddenly the Romany faced him. "Yes. I come from places far from here.
Where is the Romany's home? It is everywhere in the world, but it
is everywhere inside his tent. Because his country is everywhere and
nowhere, his home is more to him than it is to any other. He is alone
with his wife, and with his own people. Yes, and by long and by last,
he