"Don't talk so loud; do you think I want all the Gorgios around here to know I talk Gipsy?
Come in; _jal adree the ker and pi a curro levinor_." The tinker entered.

As with most Gipsies there was really, despite the want of "education," a real politeness--a singular intuitive refinement pervading all his actions, which indicated, through many centuries of brutalisation, that fountain-source of all politeness--the Oriental.

Many a time I have found among Gipsies whose life, and food, and dress, and abject ignorance, and dreadful poverty were far below that of most paupers and prisoners, a delicacy in speaking to and acting before ladies, and a tact in little things, utterly foreign to the great majority of poor Anglo-Saxons, and not by any means too common in even higher classes.
For example, there was a basket of cakes on the table, which cakes were made like soldiers in platoons.

Now Mr Katzimengro, or Scissorman, as I call him, not being familiar with the anatomy of such delicate and winsome maro, or bread, was startled to find, when he picked up one biscuit de Rheims, that he had taken a row.

Instantly he darted at me an astonished and piteous glance, which said-- "I cannot, with my black tinker fingers, break off and put the cakes back again; I do not want to take all--it looks greedy." So I said, "Put them in your pocket." And he did so, quietly.