With all the patience of Job, and the meekness of Moses, I awaited my time, and finally obtained my information.
The impatience of such minds in narrative is amusing.

Let us suppose that I am asking some _kushto Rommany chal_ for a version of AEsop's fable of the youth and the cat.

He is sitting comfortably by the fire, and good ale has put him into a story-telling humour.

I begin-- "Now then, tell me this _adree Rommanis_, in Gipsy--Once upon a time there was a young man who had a cat." Gipsy.--"_Yeckorus--'pre yeck cheirus_--_a raklo lelled a matchka_"-- While I am writing this down, and long before it is half done, the professor of Rommany, becoming interested in the subject, continues volubly-- -- "_an' the matchka yeck sala dicked a chillico apre a rukk_--( and the cat one morning saw a bird in a tree"-- ) I.--"Stop, stop! _Hatch a wongish_! That is not it! Now go on.

_The young man loved this cat so much_"-- _Gipsy_ (fluently, in Rommany), "that he thought her skin would make a nice pair of gloves"-- "Confound your gloves! Now do begin again"-- _Gipsy_, with an air of grief and injury: "I'm sure I was telling the story for you the best way I knew how!" Yet this man was far from being a fool.