Almost a year after the arrival of the coppersmiths, old Grantsha, his sons Fardi, Yantshi and Yishwan, and his son-in-law Yono, with their wives and children reappeared in Liverpool, meaning to take ship and follow Kola, who had already gone to Monte Video. But no boat could be found to convey them, and after waiting a week in an emigrants’ lodging-house in Duke Street, they were obliged to go by rail to Dover and embark there. It was a gloomy, undecorated dwelling in which they stayed, a warren of scantily-furnished rooms, in each of which one family camped like bears in an overcrowded menagerie. Since there was nothing else to do, their idle misery found expression in begging. At home and abroad, in season and out of season, whenever there was anybody to beg from, they begged immoderately—all except Fardi. He and his family were exceptional, cultivating little courtly airs and holding themselves somewhat aloof from the rest of the tribe; and in the matter of respectability the chief himself could hardly hold a candle to his brother, though they had this in common, that neither ever begged.

I spent the afternoon of the day of their departure with the coppersmiths. It was a naturally dispiriting afternoon of steady, drizzling rain, and the conduct of the Gypsies made it almost insufferably unpleasant. Throughout a long wet promenade Milanko begged dismally for a silk scarf. A smaller boy, inspired by a well-founded conviction that I would give him a cap, accompanied me and a friend when we went home for afternoon tea. He begged in the streets and at table as continuously and mechanically as a Chinese praying wheel, refused food and drink in order that his mouth might be free to exercise its main function, and afterwards, drenched but undaunted, droned petitions during half our walk to the station. Yono enticed me into an apartment on the first floor where he and his family lived, in order that we might debate at tiresome length a proposed supplementary payment for tinning the cauldron. Even Fardi’s wife and daughter forgot their manners. He himself was out, but his women locked the door and removed the key in order that I might not escape from their room at the top of the house until Lotka had made a last desperate effort to become possessor of my carpet. They were interrupted by a loud knock, and hope rose within me that Fardi had returned and would exercise parental authority to stop the persecution. But it was only patient Yono wishing to resume the discussion about the cauldron. As he came in I went out—against resistance, precipitately. Downstairs Grantsha and burly Yishwan sat in a larger room surrounded by children, while a group of women stitched industriously at the opposite end. Every one of them begged. The lads demanded watches, cigarette-holders and silver match-boxes; even the dotard Grantsha asked for money; Yishwan’s smallest request was for the coat from off my back; and the girls pleaded singly and in chorus: “Brother, why have you given me nothing?” The attack was irresistible: I was outnumbered, and the only alternative to surrender was flight. So I rose to take my leave, assisted to my feet by two impish boys who, with apparent politeness, seized my hands and unnoticed by me cleverly stole my silver Zodiac ring.

Children. Photo, by Newspaper Illustrations, Ltd.The Gypsies had told me that they would go to Lime Street Station at seven o’clock, and that their train would leave at half-past eight. Twice before under similar circumstances they had tried to hoodwink me, and it seemed that they had tricked me again, for when at half-past seven I reached Lime Street there was never a gay red skirt to be seen, nor even a braided coat. Moreover, on inquiry, I learned that no train for Dover left that or any other Liverpool Station at eight-thirty. Almost glad to escape a renewal of the afternoon’s hostilities I began to retrace my steps. I had not walked a couple of hundred yards when, from afar, I spied a flash of colour so brilliant that it could have been nothing except a Gypsy girl’s dress. She was standing outside the Central Station, where the tribe had assembled to wait two hours, for their train was scheduled to start at half-past nine. A microcosm within, yet untouched by, the greater world, these outlandish people sat perfectly self-possessed and completely isolated amid a throng of inquisitive strangers whose presence imported to them as little as the presence of the vulgar sparrows. They were adventuring on a journey longer than that which their ancestors undertook centuries ago when they emigrated from India, yet they exhibited no greater emotion than if they were changing parishes. On the platform they had grouped themselves by families, and behind each group was a hillock of trunks, utensils, bedding, carpets and tents; but before I reached them Vasili and another lad met me and, postponing my farewell interview with the elders, I turned back with the boys to buy them cigarettes. In the street we found Fardi, and he accompanied us to a tobacconist.

To my surprise Fardi encouraged the boys not only to choose the most expensive Russian cigarettes, but also to demand meerschaum holders. That very afternoon, to distinguish him above his brethren and mark my approval of the admirable Fardi who never begged, I had given him as parting present a splendid guinea pipe; and now he must needs demonstrate that he had gulled me, that though he had played a long and cunning game of respectability he was no whit less a Gypsy than the others, and could, when he chose, beg with the best. My paragon produced three leather purses which, he said most falsely, contained all the money he possessed. Two were empty, and in the third a half-sovereign lurked among some coppers. He begged for a loan, and, when I refused to entertain the idea, entreated me to buy a dress for his wife. In the window of a shop which was preparing to close he saw a gloriously green silk underskirt marked “six and eleven” which was exactly what she would like; and I was the more ready to surrender to his unexpected attack because I had given Lotka nothing. But when we entered the shop he saw and preferred a long silk scarf which was attractively festooned upon a rail. I bought it, congratulating myself secretly that Fardi, being illiterate, would not notice that its cost was two shillings less than that of the petticoat. But Fardi’s sharp eyes discerned the price I paid, and immediately he claimed the dress as well, becoming almost abusive, and telling me plainly that I ought to be ashamed to refuse so small a favour. It was the revelation of a new and unsuspected Fardi—a much less comfortable character than the Fardi who never begged.

He begged desperately and without a moment’s pause until the train left Liverpool, ably abetted by every member of his family. Had I yielded Fardi would have won a barren victory, because the shop was closed and the dress beyond our reach: but higher principles were at stake—it was a trial of strength, and the respect in which the Gypsies held me was threatened. There were flank attacks by Yishwan, who wanted my watch, and rear attacks from battalions of boys, whose demands a universal provider would have been hard pushed to satisfy: but Lotka’s skirt was the main objective, and, meeting all arguments, talking with marvellous if ungrammatical fluency, and shouting as loudly as anybody, I held my position without budging a hair’s-breadth.

Even when, with their samovars and eiderdown beds, the whole party had been packed in the carriages, Fardi stood at a door and mischievously continued his persecution. But he and the others bade me a warm farewell, wishing me brilliantly overwhelming blessings, all except Yono, who angrily rejected my proffered hand; and as the train steamed out of the station an impudent little boy waved from a window a grubby fist, on one finger of which shone my stolen silver ring.