‘Why so?’ said Mr. Petulengro.

‘Because they have so much to say for themselves,’ said the black man, ’even when dead and gone.  When they are laid in the churchyard, it is their own fault if people ain’t talking of them.  Who will know, after I am dead, or bitchadey pawdel, that I was once the beauty of the world, or that you Jasper were—­’

’The best man in England of my inches.  That’s true, Tawno—­however, here’s our brother will perhaps let the world know something about us.’

‘Not he,’ said the other, with a sigh; ’he’ll have quite enough to do in writing his own lils, and telling the world how handsome and clever he was; and who can blame him?  Not I. If I could write lils, every word should be about myself and my own tacho Rommanis—­my own lawful wedded wife, which is the same thing.  I tell you what, brother, I once heard a wise man say in Brummagem, that “there is nothing like blowing one’s own horn,” which I conceive to be much the same thing as writing one’s own lil.’

After a little more conversation, Mr. Petulengro arose, and motioned me to follow him.  ‘Only eighteenpence in the world, brother?’ said he, as we walked together.

’Nothing more, I assure you.  How came you to ask me how much money I had?’

’Because there was something in your look, brother, something very much resembling that which a person showeth who does not carry much money in his pocket.  I was looking at my own face this morning in my wife’s looking-glass—­I did not look as you do, brother.’

‘I believe your sole motive for inquiring,’ said I, ’was to have an opportunity of venting a foolish boast, and to let me know that you were in possession of fifty pounds.’

‘What is the use of having money unless you let people know you have it?’ said Mr. Petulengro.  ’It is not every one can read faces, brother; and, unless you knew I had money, how could you ask me to lend you any?’

‘I am not going to ask you to lend me any.’

’Then you may have it without asking; as I said before, I have fifty pounds, all lawfully-earnt money, got by fighting in the ring—­I will lend you that, brother.’

‘You are very kind,’ said I; ‘but I will not take it.’

‘Then the half of it?’

’Nor the half of it; but it is getting towards evening, I must go back to the Great City.’

‘And what will you do in the Boro Foros?’

‘I know not,’ said I.

’Earn money?

‘If I can.’

‘And if you can’t?’

‘Starve!’

‘You look ill, brother,’ said Mr. Petulengro.

’I do not feel well; the Great City does not agree with me.  Should I be so fortunate as to earn some money, I would leave the Big City, and take to the woods and fields.’

‘You may do that, brother,’ said Mr. Petulengro, ’whether you have money or not.  Our tents and horses are on the other side of yonder wooded hill, come and stay with us; we shall all be glad of your company, but more especially myself and my wife Pakomovna.’