Mr.Petulengro-Rommany Rye-Lil-writers-One's own horn-Lawfully-earnt money-The wooded hill-A great favourite-The shop window-Much wanted.
AND,as I wandered along the green,I drew near to a place where several men,with a cask beside them,sat carousing in the neighbourhood of a small tent.'Here he comes,'said one of them,as I advanced,and standing up he raised his voice and sang:-'Here the Gypsy gemman see,With his Roman jib and his rome and dree-Rome and dree,rum and dry Rally round the Rommany Rye.'
It was Mr.Petulengro,who was here diverting himself with several of his comrades;they all received me with considerable frankness.
'Sit down,brother,'said Mr.Petulengro,'and take a cup of good ale.'
I sat down.'Your health,gentlemen,'said I,as I took the cup which Mr.Petulengro handed to me.
'Aukko tu pios adrey Rommanis.Here is your health in Rommany,brother,'said Mr.Petulengro;who,having refilled the cup,now emptied it at a draught.
'Your health in Rommany,brother,'said Tawno Chikno,to whom the cup came next.
'The Rommany Rye,'said a third.
'The Gypsy gentleman,'exclaimed a fourth,drinking.
And then they all sang in chorus:-
'Here the Gypsy gemman see,With his Roman jib and his rome and dree-Rome and dree,rum and dry Rally round the Rommany Rye.'
'And now,brother,'said Mr.Petulengro,'seeing that you have drunk and been drunken,you will perhaps tell us where you have been,and what about?'
'I have been in the Big City,'said I,'writing lils.'
'How much money have you got in your pocket,brother?'said Mr.
Petulengro.
'Eighteenpence,'said I;'all I have in the world.'
'I have been in the Big City,too,'said Mr.Petulengro;'but Ihave not written lils-I have fought in the ring-I have fifty pounds in my pocket-I have much more in the world.Brother,there is considerable difference between us.
'I would rather be the lil-writer,after all,'said the tall,handsome,black man;'indeed,I would wish for nothing better.'
'Why so?'said Mr.Petulengro.
'Because they have so much to say for themselves,'said the black man,'even when dead and gone.When they are laid in the churchyard,it is their own fault if people ain't talking of them.
Who will know,after I am dead,or bitchadey pawdel,that I was once the beauty of the world,or that you Jasper were-'
'The best man in England of my inches.That's true,Tawno-however,here's our brother will perhaps let the world know something about us.'
'Not he,'said the other,with a sigh;'he'll have quite enough to do in writing his own lils,and telling the world how handsome and clever he was;and who can blame him?Not I.If I could write lils,every word should be about myself and my own tacho Rommanis-my own lawful wedded wife,which is the same thing.I tell you what,brother,I once heard a wise man say in Brummagem,that "there is nothing like blowing one's own horn,"which I conceive to be much the same thing as writing one's own lil.'
After a little more conversation,Mr.Petulengro arose,and motioned me to follow him.'Only eighteenpence in the world,brother?'said he,as we walked together.
'Nothing more,I assure you.How came you to ask me how much money I had?'
'Because there was something in your look,brother,something very much resembling that which a person showeth who does not carry much money in his pocket.I was looking at my own face this morning in my wife's looking-glass-I did not look as you do,brother.'
'I believe your sole motive for inquiring,'said I,'was to have an opportunity of venting a foolish boast,and to let me know that you were in possession of fifty pounds.'
'What is the use of having money unless you let people know you have it?'said Mr.Petulengro.'It is not every one can read faces,brother;and,unless you knew I had money,how could you ask me to lend you any?'