LONDON—T/4 Jim Freeman’s pals will never trust gypsies as long as they live, but Freeman isn’t complaining.
Freeman, from Palestine, Ill., was walking down Picadilly with only a schilling to his name. A small swarthy gypsy approached, selling white heather. “Buy some luck, American; buy some luck.”
Freeman exchanged the shilling for heather; the shilling alone wouldn’t buy much anyway. A moment later a tall swarthy man tapped his shoulder and put a 5-pound note in his mitts. “Here’s the luck,” he said.
Freeman’s good fortune was told and retold, of course, the gypsy selling heather did terrific business. But somehow or another, the big guy with the English 20-dollar bills never showed up again.