ced, thick-set, dark fellow, who grins perpetually and shows
a nice set of teeth. The elder man confidentially informed me that the
stout young man was his son-in-law.

We had been a long time acquainted before I learned anything definite
about these four. The girl usually arrives about half-past ten; she
spends money freely, and the four always take home a huge can of beer.
Some while ago the young man--Blackey he is nicknamed--went out, and I
followed him quietly. He had been affable with me all the evening, and
went so far as to offer me a drink. It struck me that he was indirectly
trying to pump me, for he said, "You don't talk like none of us. I
reckon you've been on the road." Moreover, when we met he had saluted me
thus, "Sarishan Pala. Kushto Bak," and this salutation happens to be
Rommany. As we pursued our talk, he inquired, "You rakker Rommanis?"
(You speak the gipsy tongue?) and I answered, "Avo." I could see that he
wanted to establish some bond of communication between us, and that was
why I followed him. As I quietly came up behind him he said, "That's
tacho like my dad. I dicked a bar and a pash-crooner." (That's as true
as can be. I saw a sovereign and a half-crown.) He was not comfortable
when he saw me, and I knew I had been a fool to let him know that I
spoke Rommany. However, I passed on as if I had not heard a word. The
fellow had no doubt been told that I was a tramp, and he put a feeler to
find out whether I knew the language of the road. Next day we met very
early. I had stayed out all night with some poachers, and I was in The
Chequers by half-past seven in the morning. Master Blackey was there
also, and we exchanged greetings. He was blotchy and his eyes seemed
heavy; moreover, he was without a drink, and I correctly guessed that he
had no money. My evil genius prompted me to ask for brandy-and-soda,
which was the last thing I should have done, and Blackey said, "Us
blokes can't go for sixpenny drinks. Let me 'ave a drappie levinor." The
gipsy word for ale was quietly dropped in, and I ordered the right stuff
as if nothing unusual had been said. Then it flashed on me. "This beauty
has heard of me from the Suffolk gipsies; he knows that I carry money
sometimes, and he wants to find out if I am really the laulo Rye." (The
Surrey Roms call me the Boro Rye; the Suffolk Roms call me laulo Rye.)

For a good while after this the times seemed to be rather bad for the
four companions. Several times I s