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 saw Blackey mutter savagely when the
girl came in, and it was easy to see that he was not a full-blood gipsy,
or he would never have threatened to strike her in a public bar. Then it
happened that I heard a yell one night as I was stealing around the
by-streets after most of the drunken people had gone home. A man's voice
growled harshly--it was like the snarl of a wild beast,--"Three nights
you done no good. Blarst yer slobberin'! you ain't got no more savvey
than a blank blank cow. I'd put a new head on yer for tuppence.
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