"Monsieur knows the Gipsies" (here he shook his head), "and monsieur
speaks _argot_ very well." (A shrug.) "Perhaps he knows more than he
credits himself with. Perhaps" (and here his wink was diabolical)--
"_perhaps monsieur knows the entire tongue_!"

Spa is full not only of gamblers, but of numbers of well-dressed Parisian
sharpers who certainly know "the entire tongue." I hastened to pay my
tinker, and went my way homewards. Ross Browne was accused in Syria of
having "burgled" onions, and the pursuit of philology has twice subjected
me to be suspected by tinkers as a flourishing member of the "dangerous
classes."

But to return to my rat-catcher. As I quoted a verse of German Gipsy
song, he manifested an interest in it, and put me several questions with
regard to the race in other lands.

"I wish I was a rich gentleman. I would like to travel like you, sir,
and have nothing to do but go about from land to land, looking after our
Rummany people as you do, and learnin' everything Rummany. Is it true,
sir, we come from Egypt?"

"No. I think not. There are Gipsies in Egypt, but there is less Rommany
in their _jib_ (language) than in any other Gipsy tribe in the world. The
Gipsies came from India."

"And don't you think, sir, that we're of the children of the lost Ten
Tribes?"

"I am quite sure that you never had a drop of blood in common with them.