To dissipate the delusion, I inquired of the Gipsy-- "You have been in America.

Did you ever hunt game in the west ?" "Yes; many a time.

On the plains." "Of course--buffalo--antelope--jack rabbits.

And once" (I said this as if forgetfully)--"I once ate a hedgehog--no, I don't mean a hedgehog, but a porcupine." A meaning glance shot from the Gipsy's eye.

I uttered a first-class password, and if he had any doubt before as to who the Rommany rye might be, there was none now.