The Romany Rye: A Sequel to 'Lavengro'Borrow, George
General
The Romany Rye: A Sequel to 'Lavengro'
Borrow, George
Adventure stories; England -- Fiction; Romanies -- Fiction
they can't say that I am either a coward, or a screw either, except so
far as one who gets his bread by horses may be expected to be; and they
can't say of me that I ever ate up an ice which a young woman was waiting
for, or that I ever backed out of a fight. Horse!' said he, motioning
with his finger tauntingly to the other, 'what do you want with a horse,
except to take the bread out of the mouth of a poor man--to-morrow is not
the battle of Waterloo, so that you don't want to back out of danger by
pretending to have hurt yourself by falling from the creature's back, my
lord of the white feather--come, none of your fierce looks--I am not
afraid of you.' In fact, the other had assumed an expression of the
deadliest malice, his teeth were clenched, his lips quivered and were
quite pale; the rat-like eyes sparkled, and he made a half spring, a la
rat, towards his adversary, who only laughed. Restraining himself,
however, he suddenly turned to his understrapper, saying, 'Symmonds, will
you see me thus insulted? Go and trounce this scoundrel; you can, I
know.' 'Symmonds trounce me!' said the other, going up to the person
addressed, and drawing his hand contemptuously over his face; 'why I beat
Symmonds in this very yard in one round three years ago, didn't I,
Symmonds?' said he to the understrapper, who held down his head,
muttering in a surly tone, 'I didn't come here to fight; let every one
take his own part.' 'That's right, Symmonds,' said the other,
'especially every one from whom there is nothing to be got. I would give
you half-a crown for all the trouble you have had, provided I were not
afraid that my Lord Plume there would get it from you as soon as you
leave the yard together. Come, take yourselves both off; there's nothing
to be made here.' Indeed, his lordship seemed to be of the same opinion,
for after a further glance at the horse, a contemptuous look at me, and a
scowl at the jockey, he turned on his heel, muttering something which
sounded like fellows, and stalked out of the yard, followed by Symmonds.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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