That man was like a great many men—very benevolent to himself.
GUDLO XXII. THE STORY OF “ROMMANY JOTER.”
If a Rommany chal gets nashered an’ can’t latch his drum i’ the ratti, he shells avree, “Hup, hup—Rom-ma-ny, Rom-ma-ny jo-ter!” When the chavvis can’t latch the tan, it’s the same gudlo, “Rom-ma-ny jo-ter!” Joter pens kett’nus.
And yeck ratti my dadas, sixty besh kenna, was pirryin’ par the weshes to tan, an’ he shooned a bitti gudlo like bitti ranis a rakkerin’ puro tacho Rommanis, and so he jalled from yeck boro rukk to the waver, and paul’ a cheirus he dicked a tani rani, and she was shellin’ avree for her miraben, “Rom-ma-ny, Rom-ma-ny jo-ter!” So my dada shokkered ajaw, “Rom-ma-ny chal, ak-ai!” But as he shelled there welled a boro bavol, and the bitti ranis an’ sar prastered avree i’ the heb like chillicos adree a starmus, and all he shunned was a savvaben and “Rom-ma-ny jo-ter!” shukaridir an’ shukaridir, pash sar was kerro.
An’ you can dick by dovo that the kukalos, an’ fairies, an’ mullos, and chovihans all rakker puro tacho Rommanis, ’cause that’s the old ’Gyptian jib that was penned adree the Scripture tem.
If a Gipsy is lost and cannot find his way in the night, he cries out, “Hup, hup—Rom-ma-ny, Rom-ma-ny jo-ter!” When the children cannot find the tent, it is the same cry, “Rom-ma-ny jo-ter!” Joter means together.
And one night my father, sixty years ago (literally, now), was walking through the woods to his tent, and he heard a little cry like little ladies talking real old Gipsy, and so he went from one great tree to the other (i.e., concealing himself), and after a while he saw a little lady, and she was crying out as if for her life, “Rom-ma-ny, Rom-ma-ny jo-ter!” So my father cried again, “Gipsy, here!” But as he hallooed there came a great blast of wind, and the little ladies and all flew away in the sky like birds in a storm, and all he heard was a laughing and “Rom-ma-ny jo-ter!” softer and softer, till all was done.
And you can see by that that the goblins (dwarfs, mannikins), and fairies, and ghosts, and witches, and all talk real old Gipsy, because that is the old Egyptian language that was talked in the Scripture land.
GUDLO XXIII. OF THE RICH GIPSY AND THE PHEASANT.
Yeckorus a Rommany chal kaired adusta wongur, and was boot barvelo an’ a boro rye. His chuckko was kashno, an’ the crafnies ’pre lester chuckko were o’ sonnakai, and his graias solivaris an’ guiders were sar ruppeny. Yeck divvus this here Rommany rye was hawin’ habben anerjal the krallis’s chavo, an’ they hatched adree a weshni kanni that was kannelo, but saw the mushis penned it was kushtidearer. “Bless mi-Duvel!” rakkered the Rommany rye shukar to his juvo, “tu and mandy have hawed mullo mass boot ’dusta cheiruses, mi-deari, but never soomed kek so wafro as dovo. It kauns worse than a mullo grai!”