Роберт Фиш - Rough Diamond

“Eight pounds for the lot,” he said.

The sorter didn’t even bother to comment; he merely tilted the contents of the pan back into his palm, added to it the other stones, and returned them all to his belt. He buttoned the pouch holding the stones and shook his head. “That’s insane,” he said. “That don’t pay labor, either ours nor the boys’. Not to mention Mac and the others down in the hole digging the stuff.”

The kopje walloper shrugged; his voice took on a whine. “If I pay more then I don’t get paid for my time. These are tough times, Jerry. You know that.”

“I also know I’m not selling stones at four shilling a carat when they bring eighteen in London, tough times or not,” Jerry said flatly, and turned back to the table, paying no further attention to the small gray-haired man. The man shrugged, put his scales back into their box, and was about to leave when Barney came up to him.

“Hey — are you a… a kopje walloper?”

The man merely looked at him, resentful of his time being taken by a young boy. “No,” he said sarcastically. “I’m a trader who goes around with his shop in his pocket. What d’you want?”

Barney dipped into his shirt pocket, bringing out the results of his day’s endeavor. “How about these?”

The man stared into Barney’s palm and then looked up with an ugly expression on his thin face. His tiny eyes had narrowed even further. “Are you funning with me, boy?”

“No, sir! D’they… d’they have any value?”

The man studied Barney’s face a few moments and then came to the conclusion that the boy was serious. “I’ll give you sixpence for them,” he said. He reached into his pocket, brought out a coin, and placed it on the edge of the sorting table. Then he reached over and knocked Barney’s hand in the air. The tiny stones went flying. “That’s what they’re really worth,” he said, and chuckled at his joke. Then he picked up his box and stumped from the yard.

“Not a very friendly chap,” Jerry said as he watched for Barney’s reaction. The boy looked as if he might have a temper. But the boy’s reaction was not at all what he had expected.

“It’s a tanner, ain’t it?” Barney said, and grinned. “He was offerin’ four shilling a carat. On that basis, was them tiny bitsy things I had worth any sixpence?”

“They were not,” Jerry admitted.

“Then he cheated himself, and he’s a bloody fool,” Barney said, and picked up his pack. “Well, thanks, fellow.” And he walked from the yard, whistling.

When he got back to the tent he saw that Harry had shaved and put on clean clothes. There was a pot of steaming tea set to one side of the fire and Harry had put some mealies on to boil. It appeared that the area around the tent had also been picked up and swept, and the rip in the side of the tent had been repaired, albeit not too neatly. Still, it was something. And even the smell seemed to have dissipated. Or else I’m gettin’ used to it, Barney thought. Harry waved a hello to him.

“How did it go today? Sell any books?”

Barney shrugged. “I practically gave ’un away, and on top of that I worked all day for a sixpence I didn’t even earn. But it was worth it. I learned somethin’. I was cullin’ already culled dirt; that was in trade for the book. I got the sixpence on the side because some nasty bloke thought he was bein’ funny.” He told Harry about it, grinning. Then his grin faded. “But y’know,” he said slowly, “sittin’ there siftin’ dirt gives a bloke plenty of time to think. And I got ideas.”

“Oh? Such as?”

“Well,” Barney said, sitting down beside the fire, “first, about the books. I was bein’ stupid. Why sell them when they could be let out, say, at a penny a day?”

“You mean, rent, like? Books?”

“Why not?” Barney asked, almost curiously. “A bloke buys a book, say he pays a tanner for it, maybe a bob. It lays around once he’s read it, or maybe even before he’s read it. That’s a bloody waste of readin’, especially in a place where they ain’t got too many books. But if he pays a penny a day, then he’s goin’ to read it quick as he can, and get it back. That way lots more people get a chance to read it. See?”

“Very philanthropic,” Harry said dryly, and laughed.

“Whatever, it’s a good idea,” Barney said stubbornly. “Comin’ back here tonight I stopped at all the hotels and bars and put the word out I got books to rent. And we can push ’em when we’re at the bar, tonight, give a pitch to the blokes lined up gettin’ beered.”

“I wasn’t going to the bar tonight,” Harry said slowly.

Barney frowned. “Why not?”

Harry looked down at his brother. It almost seemed that Barney was the older, and he the younger. There was almost something defensive in his answer, although he knew there was certainly no need for there to be.

“I went out and got a job today,” Harry said slowly. “A regular job. Starting tomorrow. At a trader’s.”

“Doin’ what?”

“Anything he tells me to do.”

Barney thought a moment and then suddenly grinned. “Good-o! You can learn all there is to know about diamonds, the good ’uns, the bad ’uns, the ones in between, what they’re worth, how the trader picks ’em and pays for ’em. Then, at night, you come back here and teach me.” He tugged at Harry’s leg; Harry sat down beside him. Barney slapped his brother on the shoulder. “We’re goin’ to be rich, Harry! We’re goin’ to be rich yet! Because I got lots of ideas! I told you about comin’ up with the idea of lettin’ the books while I was cullin’ dirt today, didn’t I?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Well, I thought of somethin’ else, too.”

“What was that?”

Barney seemed to simmer down. “I want to try it before I tell you, just to see if it works.” He brightened. “Now, let’s eat them mealies, because afterward we’re goin’ down to that Paris Hotel and put on the best act the Barnato Brothers ever have!”

Harry frowned. “It doesn’t seem right for someone working at a trader’s to be — well, putting on a show—”

“What? We ain’t goin’ to rob the place! There’s nothin’ wrong with it! And we need every penny we can get our meat-grabbers on! We ain’t spendin’ a bloody penny we don’t need to! We need capital and we’re goin’ to get it! And also,” he added more quietly, more under control, “we’re goin’ to put on a show there because you said they give you a sandwich for the act, besides what you pick up on the side from the blokes around the bar.” He suddenly grinned. “Maybe for the famous Barnato Brothers, both of them in person, they’ll hand out a full bloody meal!”

Harry glanced at his brother in silence. He almost didn’t recognize the dynamo his younger brother seemed to have become. Oh, sure, Barney had always been the most ambitious and hardworking in the family, but nothing like this. A suspicion came to Harry. The more he thought about it the less of a suspicion and the more of a certainty it became. And if he were right, maybe something could be done about Barney’s horrible English. It was amazing that a boy who worshiped the theater and the words of Shakespeare could mangle the language whenever he became excited or started to quote his favorite actors or playwrights.

“Who is she?” Harry asked innocently.

“Who is who?”

“The girl you suddenly want to get rich for.”

Barney felt his face getting red. “You’re goin’ off your chump, Harry!”

“I hope not,” Harry said, “because I have a feeling it’s the same girl who almost had you speaking English there for a while. And if it is, and you know where she is and how to get in touch with her, I think it’s time she gave you some more lessons.”