Роберт Фиш - Rough Diamond

“And how far is Bultfontein?” And Fay? he thought.

“A few miles, no more. Why?”

“Nothing,” Barney said shortly. “Go on about diamonds. You were going to tell me how other people make money in them.”

Harry was studying his younger brother with an odd look on his face. “You talk differently,” he said. “You don’t sound so Cockney — so East End. Who is she?”

Barney reddened. “Who is who?”

“The one who apparently had more influence on you than your family.”

“Go on about the diamonds,” Barney said.

“I only hope I’m invited to the wedding,” Harry said sententiously. “At least that way I’ll meet the miracle worker.”

“The diamonds!”

Harry took a deep draft of his beer, touched his lips with the sleeve of his shirt, quite as if it were a lace handkerchief, and then leaned back again; Harry had class, Barney had to admit that. “Right-o,” Harry said. “Well, there are three ways to make money in the diamond business. First, of course, is by digging them. You can rent a claim for a few shillings a month, so it’s the one way you can start if you don’t have much money. Of course, you have to hire Kaffirs unless you’re willing to do all the digging yourself, but even then the earth has to be crushed and sorted, and that’s the sort of work a man likes to do himself if he doesn’t want to be robbed blind. So you either need partners or enough money to hire labor. Labor’s cheap, but it isn’t exactly free. Still, it’s Cheap Street to get started, digging is, and while it’s hard work, sometimes you hit it big, find a real stone, and end up with some money. But usually you’re working for enough to put food on the table. And that’s when you can trust your partners, which is far from always being the case.”

He paused and looked around the dining room. Even though by now it was dark outside and work at the mines had stopped, there were very few people in the place taking advantage of the Queen’s Hotel’s excellent cuisine.

“Look around. The place is empty,” Harry said. “A few more in the bar but not many, I’d wager. Any you see are probably traders or commercial travelers in to sell to the shops. Although most of the traders are probably at the Kimberley Club, where the really important people in town get together. But the diggers?” He shrugged. “Having a plate of beans outside their tents, that is, if they’re lucky.”

Barney frowned. “But the diggers — the ones I saw down there in the mine today — don’t tell me they was workin’ for fun!”

“Just about,” Harry said. “Sure, there’s always the hope that the next shovel you turn over will bring up another Star of Africa; and sure, the ones with enough of a stake can hold on to their stones and hope for better prices before having to sell, but those diggers are few and far between. Most of them have to sell at almost any price just to pay their help and eat.” He shook his head decisively. “No, renting a claim and digging and crushing and sorting is the hard way to make money here in Kimberley. Besides, all the decent claims are taken, and to buy a claim from the man who has the license for it — a claim that is producing well — costs money. And with the price of diamonds where it is today, at least here at the mine, it isn’t worth it. Even if you had the money. And to buy or rent a claim that isn’t producing, of course, is simply stupid.”

“Which claims are producing?”

“The ones where they get diamonds,” Harry replied. In the interest of accuracy, however, he added, “Usually the claims nearer the center of the mine. I don’t know why, but the ones near the edge, near the reef, don’t seem to produce as well.”

Harry paused as the waitress placed a bowl of thick, rich soup before each of them. He sampled it, waited for Barney’s equal approval, almost as if he had had something to do with its creation, and then began to eat wolfishly. It was obvious to Barney that his brother had been on short rations for some time. It was not until Harry had finished, wiped his plate with a bit of bread for the last drops, that he went back to his exposition.

“The second way to make money in this business,” he said, “is to become what is called a ‘kopje walloper.’ That’s a man who goes from claim to claim — actually, from sorting pile to sorting pile, where ninety per cent of the diamonds are found — buying the day’s find from the miners, offering as little as he can for their stones, and then selling them for as much as he can to the diamond traders on Main Street, or High Street. The profit margin is small, of course; enough to make it worth while for the traders not to waste their time going from sorting pile to sorting pile, or for the miners to spend their time going to the traders, often with stones the big traders aren’t interested in. The kopje walloper is sort of an itinerant middle man; the poor man’s trader. Sort of an old man Feldman with his horse and wagon buying rags and glass and then reselling them to the bigger yards. But to become a kopje walloper takes capital. Not a great deal, but enough to pay for what you buy and to be able to buy what you want, because it’s a cash business, of course.”

Their empty plates were removed and a large steaming succulent joint was brought before them. Harry dug in at once, slabbing off chunks and stuffing them into his mouth. He raised his hand, pointing to their empty beer mugs, and drank deeply when they were refilled. Barney waited until his brother’s hunger had been at least partially satisfied before pressing for the third way to make money in diamonds.

“Ah! The third way, and by far the best way,” Harry said between his chewing and swallowing, “is to become a diamond merchant — a trader. He buys, almost at his own price today, and ships the stones off to London at a huge profit, even at today’s depressed market. But that, of course, requires a great deal of capital, because the bigger and better stones are expensive, and because he deals in quantity. Just the rent alone on an office on the Main Street is more than most diggers earn in a month.” He leaned back, finally sated, and reached into a pocket for a toothpick, applying it as he talked. “Which one d’you think you’d like for a start?”

“I don’t know. I don’t have enough money for any of them. And you don’t look particularly rich.”

“Of course, there are other ways to make money in Kimberley,” Harry said. “Open a bar. Or a greengrocer’s. Or dig a well and sell water. Actually, water isn’t a bad idea. A smart man would bring in a pump and pump out the claims when they get flooded, which they do whenever it rains hard, or whenever they dig into a spring. The man who brings in the first pump is going to get rich. Only nobody’s thought of it yet.”

“Somebody has,” Barney said.

Harry’s eyebrows went up. Barney nodded.

“The wagon I came on was bringing the parts for a steam pump for some bloke named Rhodes.”

“Ah!” Harry nodded. “Over at De Beers at the Old Rush. Only he’ll probably put it up at Dutoitspan; they get flooded more often.” He suddenly grinned. “And you know what? He’ll charge for pumping the claims dry, and then sell the water back to the diggers for their crushing and sorting operations. Brilliant! I thought of it a long time ago, but” — Harry sighed — “no money. No capital.”

And if Harry had had the money, Barney thought dispassionately, my brother would have been thinking of another idea, another scheme, and end up doing nothing about either. As he managed to find fifteen excuses not to rent a claim and dirty his hands digging for the stones. It was a pity Harry was like that, but Barney had no intention of allowing his brother’s indolence to affect him. He became aware that their waitress was standing at their side and that Harry was looking at him in a slightly embarrassed manner.