Milanko, son of Yono, was an impertinent lad, but good-humoured, rather ugly and always grinning. I had assured him repeatedly that in the sugar-refinery to which I have the misfortune to be attached all the “pots” were as big as houses and in perfect repair, so that to my deep regret I was unable to take advantage of the offer of his professional services. Milanko, however, with the incredulity of an habitual liar, made an independent reconnaissance through a window and caught sight of an ancient copper tub, some six feet in diameter and about a quarter of a ton in weight. Moreover he ascertained, by means best known to himself, that it was cracked and patched; and I was weak enough to admit, under his searching cross-examination, that it would be an advantage to have its inner surface coated with tin. It was a huge vessel, but Milanko was ambitious, and thereafter called regularly at inconvenient hours to present a series of petitions: first, for the order to mend and tin the pan; second, for the loan of a pound to purchase solder; third, for half a sovereign to get boots; fourth, for five shillings to buy a hat; and fifth, for three pence, the price of a packet of cigarettes. He accepted the emphatic refusal of his larger requests philosophically and without resentment. To the last I gave a favourable hearing, even at our first interview, and we parted with a friendly exchange of Zha Devlesa (Go with God) and Ash Devlesa (Remain with God), well understanding that a second rehearsal was ordered for the morrow and that it would be succeeded by daily performances. The play had not a long run. One ill-starred afternoon I granted the main petition, and the cauldron was carted to Birkenhead to be deposited in the camp.

Knowing that the Gypsies’ policy was always to do as much work as possible, and generally far more than their customer expected or required, I sent the chief engineer to Green Lane to make plain to them that the vessel was only to be tinned, and that the cracks and patches were to be left unmended. No contract was signed, though there was a distinct verbal agreement that the cost was to be one pound. I was, however, prepared to pay as much as three, the price for which a Liverpool firm had offered to do the same work, because I recognized that the pan was large and heavy and was interested to see how the coppersmiths would handle it without either blocks and tackle or large fires. To my great disappointment I was allowed to see nothing. When I visited the camp the cauldron was always discreetly covered with a sheet, and the Gypsies found ingenious means to keep me and it as far apart as possible. But occasionally they would draw me aside and expatiate alarmingly on the amount of tin, acid and labour that were needed, and, ignoring their estimate, talk tentatively of forty pounds as a just and probable charge.

At last, one morning, a messenger arrived to report that the cauldron was ready for delivery, and on the afternoon of the same day the chief engineer, instructed that he might pay three pounds but not a penny more, took with him a cart and crossed the river to Birkenhead. He found the pan turned upside down on the cindery ground of the camp and proposed to remove it to the refinery in order that the quality of the work might be examined. But the Gypsies, holding that possession is nine-tenths of the law, refused to permit the removal before payment was made. The wisdom of their decision became evident when bargaining began, for the engineer offered one pound while they, with fierce indignation, demanded twenty-five, making the sum unmistakably clear by placing a sovereign on the pan and indicating the numeral by means of their outstretched fingers. The discrepancy between claim and tender was too wide for easy or rapid adjustment, and neither side showed any willingness to compromise. The engineer, accustomed to dealing with Orientals, stuck to his terms, but finding the Gypsies equally stubborn and much noisier, and convinced as tea-time approached that no settlement was then possible, he ordered the cart back to Liverpool and himself withdrew from the conference.

And then the Gypsies made a false step. The engineer had scarcely settled down to his evening meal when, to his amazement, word was sent from the refinery that the cauldron and the coppersmiths were at the gate. They had changed their minds, hastened to overtake the cart aboard the luggage-boat, and persuaded the carter to return to the tents and bring the pan away. The office being closed when they arrived, settlement of their little account was out of the question, and, obliged to surrender the only security they had for payment, they could but protest loudly and depart with an invitation to call again the next day.

Other duties kept me away from business, and I was not a spectator of their visit. But I heard afterwards long, eloquent and indignant stories of how Milanko, apparelled like a mountebank, with his father and the deformed dwarf Burda or Morkosh, his cousin’s husband, dared to profane the solemnity of the counting-house, a sanctuary where the cumulative respectability of five generations of sugar-boilers is devoutly worshipped. Never during the whole course of its long business experience had that chamber entertained guests so unwelcome. They arrived at ten in the morning and stayed until half-past two, demanding payment from the cashier and relenting gradually from twenty-five to seven pounds, less than which they long refused to accept. Nobody knew what to do with them—the situation was unprecedented. When tired of standing and worrying busy clerks with the question “Master, what you do now?” they scandalized the whole staff by sitting cross-legged on the floor. It was a contest of endurance; and, thanks to the definite orders I had left, we won. Just as the problem of what was to happen at closing time, if they were still in possession, was becoming insistent, the Gypsies gave way, accepted three pounds and retired, after desecrating the office for four hours and a half.

It would have been absurd to expect Kola’s disciples to rest content with a reasonable reward, and indeed they often begged for supplementary payments. Even the chief’s wife condescended to interest herself in the matter and complained to me about the character of the engineer—a bad man, as she said; and I had to explain that it was partly for this particular fault of character that we valued him. Yono never forgave me, but Milanko resumed friendly relationships at once, and I believe that the tribe in general respected me the more for my victory.