Japhet in Search of a Father

“Perhaps you will be able to answer that question. Mr Dionysius,” said I to Tim.

“Yes, sir, I know exactly.”

“Well, sir, let’s hear.”

“In the first place, all the pretty women will come, and all the ugly ones stay away; and as for the men, all those who have got any money will be certain to come; those who hav’n’t, poor devils, must stay outside.”

“Suppose, sir, you make a bow to the ladies.”

“A very low one, sir?”

“Yes, very low indeed.”

Tim bent his body to the ground, and threw a somerset forward. “There, sir; I bowed so low, that I came up on the other side.”

“Ha! ha! capital!” from the crowd.

“I’ve got a round turn in my back, sir,” continued Tim, rubbing himself. “Hadn’t I better take it out again?”

“By all means.”

Tim threw a somerset backwards. “There, sir, all’s right now. One good turn deserves another. Now I’ll be off.”

“Where are you going to, sir?”

“Going sir! Why, I left my lollipop in the tinder-box, and I’m going to fetch it.”

“Ha! ha! ha!”

“Strike up, music!” and Master Jumbo commenced tumbling.

Such was the elegant wit with which we amused and attracted the audience. Perhaps, had we been more refined, we should not have been so successful.

That evening we had the room as full as it could hold. Signor Velotti alias Melchior astonished them. The cards appeared to obey his commands—rings were discovered in lady’s shoes—watches were beat to a powder and made whole—canary birds flew out of eggs. The audience were delighted. The entertainment closed with Fleta’s performance on the slack wire; and certainly never was there anything more beautiful and graceful. Balanced on the wire in a continual, waving motion, her eyes fixed upon a point to enable her to maintain her position, she performed several feats, such as the playing with five oranges, balancing swords, etcetera. Her extreme beauty—her very picturesque and becoming dress—her mournful expression and downcast eyes—her gentle manner, appeared to win the hearts of the audience; and when she was assisted off from her perilous situation by Melchior and me, and made her graceful courtesy, the plaudits were unanimous.

When the company dispersed I went to her, intending to praise her, but I found her in tears. “What is the matter, my dear Fleta?”

“O nothing! don’t say I have been crying—but I cannot bear it—so many people looking at me. Don’t say a word to Melchior—I won’t cry any more.”

Part 1—Chapter XII

It is very easy to humbug those who are so eager to be humbugged as people are in this World of Humbug—We show ourselves excessively disinterested, which astonishes everybody.

I kissed and consoled her; she threw her arm round my neck, and remained there with her face hid for some time. We then joined the others at supper. Melchior was much pleased with our success, and highly praised the conduct of Timothy and myself, which he pronounced was, for the first attempt, far beyond his expectations.

We continued to astonish all the good people of – for five days, when we discovered the indubitable fact, that there was no more money to be extracted from their pockets, upon which we resumed our usual clothes and smock-frocks and with our bundles in our hands, set off for another market town, about fifteen miles distant. There we were equally successful, and Melchior was delighted with our having proved such a powerful acquisition to his troop; but not to dwell too long upon one subject, I shall inform the reader that, after a trip of six weeks, during which we were very well received, we once more returned to the camp, which had located within five miles of our last scene of action. Everyone was content—we were all glad to get back and rest from our labours. Melchior was pleased with his profits, poor little Fleta overjoyed to be once more in the seclusion of her tent, and Nattée very glad to hear of our good fortune, and to see her husband. Timothy and I had already proved ourselves so useful, that Melchior treated us with the greatest friendship and confidence—and he made us a present out of the gains, for our exertions; to me he gave ten, and to Timothy five, pounds.

“There, Japhet, had you hired yourself I should not have paid you more than seven shillings per week, finding you in food; but you must acknowledge that for six weeks that is not bad pay. However, your earnings will depend upon our success, and I rather think that we shall make a much better thing of it when next we start, which will be in about a fortnight; but we have some arrangements to make. Has Timothy a good memory?”

“I think he has.”

“That is well. I told you before that we are to try the ‘Wise Man,’—but first we must have Nattée in play. To-morrow we will start for —,” mentioning a small quiet town about four miles off.

We did so, early the next morning, and arrived about noon, pitching our tents on the common, not far from the town; but in this instance we left all the rest of our gang behind. Melchior’s own party and his two tents were all that were brought by the donkeys.

Melchior and I, dressed as countrymen, went into the town at dusk, and entered a respectable sort of inn, taking our seats at one of the tables in the tap-room, and, as we had already planned, after we had called for beer, commenced a conversation in the hearing of the others who were sitting drinking and smoking.

“Well, I never will believe it—it’s all cheat and trickery,” said Melchior, “and they only do it to pick your pocket. Tell your fortune, indeed! I suppose she promised you a rich wife and half-a-dozen children.”

“No, she did not,” replied I, “for I am too young to marry; but she told me what I know has happened.”

“Well, what was that?”

“Why, she told me that my mother had married again, and turned me out of doors to work for my bread.”

“But she might have heard that.”

“How could she? No, that’s not possible; but she told me I had a mole on my knee, which was a sign of luck. Now how could she know that?”

“Well, I grant that was odd—and pray what else did she promise you?”

“Why, she said that I should meet with my dearest friend to-night. Now that does puzzle me, for I have but one in the world, and he is a long way off.”

“Well, if you do meet your friend, then I’ll believe her; but if not, it has been all guess work; and pray what did you pay for all this—was it a shilling, or did she pick your pocket?”

“That’s what puzzles me,—she refused to take anything. I offered it again and again, and she said, ‘No; that she would have no money—that her gift was not to be sold.’”

“Well, that is odd. Do you hear what this young man says?” said Melchior, addressing the others, who had swallowed every word.

“Yes,” replied one; “but who is this person?”

“The queen of the gipsies, I am told. I never saw such a wonderful woman in my life—her eye goes right through you. I met her on the common, and, as she passed, she dropped a handkerchief. I ran back to give it her, and then she thanked me and said, ‘Open your hand and let me see the palm. Here are great lines, and you will be fortunate;’ and then she told me a great deal more, and bid God bless me.”

“Then if she said that, she cannot have dealings with the devil,” observed Melchior.

“Very odd—very strange—take no money—queen of the gipsies,” was echoed from all sides.

The landlady and the bar-maid listened with wonder, when who should come in, as previously agreed, but Timothy. I pretended not to see him; but he came up to me, seizing me by the hand, and shaking it with apparent delight, and crying, “Wilson, have you forgot Smith?”

“Smith!” cried I, looking earnestly in his face. “Why so it is. How came you here?”

“I left Dublin three days ago,” replied he; “but how I came here into this house, is one of the strangest things that ever occurred. I was walking over the common, when a tall handsome woman looked at me, and said, ‘Young man, if you will go into the third public-house you pass, you will meet an old friend, who expects you.’ I thought she was laughing at me; but as it mattered very little in which house I passed the night, I thought, for the fun of the thing, I might as well take her advice.”

“How strange!” cried Melchior, “and she told him the same—that is, he would meet a friend.”

“Strange—very strange—wonderful—astonishing!” was echoed from all quarters, and the fame of the gipsy was already established.

Timothy and I sat down together, conversing as old friends, and Melchior went about from one to the other, narrating the wonderful occurrence till past midnight, when we all three took beds at the inn, as if we were travellers.