‘Come, come, brother,’ said the Gypsy, ‘all this is mere conversation; you have a capital bargain, to-day the mercado is held, and you shall sell the mule; I will go with you myself. O, you understand baribu; sister, bring the bottle of anise; the señor and the señora must drink a copíta.’ After much persuasion, and many oaths, the man and woman were weak enough to comply; when they had drunk several glasses, they departed for the market, the Gypsy leading the mule. In about two hours they returned with the wretched beast, but not exactly as they went; a numerous crowd followed, laughing and hooting. The man was now frantic, and the woman yet more so. They forced their way upstairs to collect their baggage, which they soon effected, and were about to leave the house, vowing revenge. Now ensued a truly terrific scene, there were no more blandishments; the Gypsy men and women were in arms, uttering the most frightful execrations; as the woman came downstairs, the females assailed her like lunatics; the cripple poked at her with a stick, the tall hag clawed at her hair, whilst the father Gypsy walked close beside the man, his hand on his clasp-knife, looking like nothing in this world: the man, however, on reaching the door, turned to him and said: ‘Gypsy demon, my borrico by three o’clock—or you know the rest, the justicia.’ The Gypsies remained filled with rage and disappointment; the hag vented her spite on her brother. ‘’Tis your fault,’ said she; ‘fool! you have no tongue; you a Chabó, you can’t speak’; whereas, within a few hours, he had perhaps talked more than an auctioneer during a three days’ sale: but he reserved his words for fitting occasions, and now sat as usual, sullen and silent, smoking his pipe. The man and woman made their appearance at three o’clock, but they came—intoxicated; the Gypsy’s eyes glistened—blandishment was again had recourse to. ‘Come and sit down with the cavalier here,’ whined the family; ‘he is a friend of ours, and will soon arrange matters to your satisfaction.’ I arose, and went into the street; the hag followed me. ‘Will you not assist us, brother, or are you no Chabó?’ she muttered. ‘I will have nothing to do with your matters,’ said I. ‘I know who will,’ said the hag, and hurried down the street.