My words produced all the effect I had anticipated; the hat fell from his lax grasp and lay unheeded, while my uncle stared at me in speechless surprise. "These garments, sir," I continued, lowering my voice mysteriously, "are merely a disguise, for it seems there was a possibility of my being apprehended as Galloping Jerry's accomplice. Allow me to return your hat, sir." My uncle George clutched it and made a kind of gurgling sound in his throat. "However," I continued, "I am anxious to exchange these things for others less conspicuously hideous and should esteem it a kindness if you would advance the necessary money for it, for sir, I am penniless." "Ha--your highwayman cove robbed you, of course!" "He did, Uncle, but had the extraordinary magnanimity to restore all he'd taken. My money, sir, went in the--the purchase of a gipsy maiden--" "Hey--gipsy--a woman--d'ye mean--you--" "A young gipsy girl, Uncle." "Good God!" he ejaculated faintly and, sinking upon the shaft of the empty cart behind him, he fanned himself feebly with his hat. "Peregrine," said he, shaking grave head at me, "your aunt Julia is right--a wonderful woman! Poetry is your line, after all--books--romances, lad--imagination--" "You think I am romancing, sir?" "Aye, though I call it 'gammoning.'" "Sir, you affront me!" "No offence, Perry," said he kindly. "You just can't help it--comes natural to you--like a gamecock fights. What other marvels have you seen?" "A tinker, Uncle." "Hum! Anything else?" "I saw Jessamy Todd fight the big fellow at the 'Ring o' Bells' this morning and--" "What?" cried my uncle, on his feet in a moment. "You saw Jessamy fight? Oh, begad, Perry--why couldn't you say so before?" "You believe this, then, sir?" "I do. Tell me all about it. I've heard rumours--they say it was a clean knockout--" "The big man was indeed rendered quite unconscious, Uncle--" "And you saw? Out with it, Perry lad!" "But sir," I enquired, a little disdainfully, "why all this stir about a vulgar brawl?" "Vulgar brawl, begad--" "Well, a brutal bout at fisticuffs with a ruffian--" "Heavens and earth, boy," exclaimed my uncle, in growing indignation, "don't ye know you were privileged to see one of the very greatest fighters of any time, school or--oh, b'gad--" "You mean Jessamy Todd, sir?" "Of course I do. And what's more--Tom Croxton, The 'Thunderbolt'--the man who forced Jessamy to fight--was a plant--" "Now pray, Uncle George, how may a great, hulking ruffian even faintly resemble any such thing?" At this my uncle gasped, stared, shook his head, jingled his spurs and finally spoke: