MILANKO, son of Yono, was an impertinent lad, but good-humoured, rather ugly and always grinning. I had assured him repeatedly that in the sugar-refinery to which I have the misfortune to be attached all the “pots” were as big as houses and in perfect repair, so that to my deep regret I was unable to take advantage of the offer of his professional services. Milanko, however, with the incredulity of an habitual liar, made an independent reconnaissance through a window and caught sight of an ancient copper tub, some six feet in diameter and about a quarter of a ton in weight. Moreover he ascertained, by means best known to himself, that it was cracked and patched; and I was weak enough to admit, under his searching cross-examination, that it would be an advantage to have its inner surface coated with tin. It was a huge vessel, but Milanko was ambitious, and thereafter called regularly at inconvenient hours to present a series of petitions: first, for the order to mend and tin the pan; second, for the loan of a pound to purchase solder; third, for half a sovereign to get boots; fourth, for five shillings to buy a hat; and fifth, for three pence, the price of a packet of cigarettes. He accepted the emphatic refusal of his larger requests philosophically and without resentment. To the last I gave a favourable hearing, even at our first interview, and we parted with a friendly exchange of _Zha Devlesa_ (Go with God) and _Ash Devlesa_ (Remain with God), well understanding that a second rehearsal was ordered for the morrow and that it would be succeeded by daily performances. The play had not a long run. One ill-starred afternoon I granted the main petition, and the cauldron was carted to Birkenhead to be deposited in the camp. Knowing that the Gypsies’ policy was always to do as much work as possible, and generally far more than their customer expected or required, I sent the chief engineer to Green Lane to make plain to them that the vessel was only to be tinned, and that the cracks and patches were to be left unmended. No contract was signed, though there was a distinct verbal agreement that the cost was to be one pound. I was, however, prepared to pay as much as three, the price for which a Liverpool firm had offered to do the same work, because I recognized that the pan was large and heavy and was interested to see how the coppersmiths would handle it without either blocks and tackle or large fires. To my great disappointment I was allowed to see nothing. When I visited the camp the cauldron was always discreetly covered with a sheet, and the Gypsies found ingenious means to keep me and it as far apart as possible. But occasionally they would draw me aside and expatiate alarmingly on the amount of tin, acid and labour that were needed, and, ignoring their estimate, talk tentatively of forty pounds as a just and probable charge.