. I accosted him.

"_Sarishan_?"

"_Sarishan rye_!"

"Did you ever see me before? Do you know me?"

"No, sir."

"I'm sorry for that. I have a nice velveteen coat which I have been
keeping for your father. How's your brother Frank? Traveling about
Kingston, I suppose. As usual. But I don't care about trusting the coat
to anybody who don't know me."

"I'll take it to him, safe enough, sir."

"Yes, I dare say. On your back. And wear it yourself six months before
you see him."

Up spoke his wife: "That he shan't. I'll take good care that the _pooro
mush_ [the old man] gets it all right, in a week."

"Well, _dye_, I can trust you. You remember me. And, Anselo, here is my
address. Come to the house in half an hour."

In half an hour the housekeeper, said with a quiet smile,--

"If you please, sir, there's a gentleman--a _gypsy_ gentleman--wishes to
see you."

It is an English theory that the master can have no "visitors" who are
not gentlemen. I must admit that Anselo's dress was not what could be
called gentlemanly. From his hat to his stout shoes he looked the
impenitent gypsy and sinful poacher, unaffected and natural. There was a
cutaway, sporting look about his coat which indicated that he had grown
to it from boyhood "in woodis grene." He held a heavy-handled whip, a
regular Romany _tchupni_ or _chuckni_, which Mr. Borrow thinks gave rise
to the word "jockey." I thought the same once, but have changed my mind,
for there were "jockeys" in England before gypsies. Altogether, Anselo
(which comes from Wenceslas) was a determined and vigorous specimen of an
old-fashioned English gypsy, a type which, with all its faults, is not
wanting in sundry manly virtues.

I knew that Anselo rarely entered any houses save ale-houses, and that he
had probably never before been in a study full of books, arms, and
bric-a-brac. And he knew that I was aware of it. Now, if he had been
more of a fool, like a red Indian or an old-fashioned fop, he would have
affected a stoical indifference, for fear of showing his ignorance. As
it was, he sat down in an arm-chair, glanced about him, and said just the
right thing.

"It must be a pleasant thing, at the end of the day, after one has been
running about, to come home to such a room as this, so full of fine
things, and sit down in such a comfortable chair." "Will I have a glass
of old ale? Yes, I thank you." "That is _kushto levinor_ [good ale]. I
never tas