Роберт Фиш - Rough Diamond

True, Barney Isaacs was now the top kopje walloper in the Kimberley area. The best stones — those that were offered to wallopers and not dealers in the first place — were offered to him. And for the stones he bought, he received the best prices when he resold them. He had established a reputation for honesty and integrity, as well as one for his detailed knowledge of diamonds, and it all helped. But he was still only a kopje walloper and no more, and he knew it. And it galled him. He wasn’t a diamond trader, a dealer, and that was the bitter fact. He worked out of his hat, so to speak — or, rather, out of old Rhodes’ oat bag, which was more like it. He had no stock, nor any office in which to display large quantities of stones to the buyers from London or Paris; that was the way to make money! Not buying and selling one or two decent stones a day, together with a dozen or so inferior ones. They had made some money, he didn’t deny that; but they hadn’t made what he called money ! What he meant was, he didn’t have capital. He had his daily profits, plus what Jack Joel and Solly Loeb took from the two claims he had bought as part of their general partnership, but they weren’t great claims. They lay near the reef, rather than in the center of the mine; but unfortunately, those in the center of the mine cost real money.

Oh, yes, things had changed in the four years since Barney had become a kopje walloper; but he didn’t know if they had changed for the better or not, or at least had changed as he would have wished. His two nephews were there, it was true, and they had both turned out to be hardworking, intelligent boys, who didn’t seem to mind the long hours down in the mine, or the boring but vital work at the sorting table. It was also true that the diamond market had improved and decent stones that could be cut to a carat or more could now easily bring as much as four pounds a carat. More diggers had formed partnerships to work the mines more efficiently; fewer were leaving. Kimberley was beginning to take on the appearance of an organized town. Barney’s few books, the ones he had rented out until they had fallen to pieces, would have been a joke now. Someone had raised subscriptions and had started a free library, which had its own building and everything, even a full-time librarian. Tents were now by far in the minority, and the Miner’s Committee had strict rules as to the killing of animals and the disposal of wastes.

Yes, Kimberley and the diamond business had changed, but not Fay. She still seemed to remain the same. She still seemed unable to find someone to settle down with, and she had to be approaching twenty now, and certainly more than old enough to get married. And she still remained with her father, who in addition to getting older seemed to be getting more and more odd with each passing day. And, Barney thought, Fay seemed to get more and more beautiful as time passed. And still as distant and unattainable for him as the moon.

It was a sad thought but one that remained with him constantly, and as he led old Rhodes to the stable and then walked over to the Paris Hotel, where he and Harry now shared a room, he wondered at the rut into which he seemed to have fallen. As far as Harry was concerned, Barney knew, it was a comfortable rut and one that gave a very decent profit to add to their relatively large and growing account in the Kimberley Bank; but then Harry was planning on taking his share of the money and going to London very soon, intending to settle down and get married. But that was not at all what Barney wanted. He didn’t know exactly what he did want, but he knew it was different from what he had.

He paused to scrape the mud from his boots before entering the hotel, and noticed a poster nailed to one side of the door. It was advertising a circus. Barney smiled faintly. At one time, as a boy in Petticoat Lane, he had hoped to join a circus, use his acrobatic talents there; he wondered where he would have been now had he done so instead of taking off to join Harry in Africa. It was a pointless thought, he knew. For one thing he would never have met Fay, although in all honesty that probably would have been better. Had he not met her he might have been happily married to someone else, although he could not picture any other girl he would have wanted. He put the thought away almost forcibly and was about to abandon the poster when he noticed an additional statement at the bottom of the printed sheet. It stated that the Man Mountain of Angola, the Strongest Man in the World, would take on any challenger in the world for six rounds of boxing, the challenger to receive the sum of Five Pounds should he best the champion. Barney grinned broadly at the ridiculous thought that anyone in Kimberley would chance getting his head beat off for the paltry sum of five pounds, the price of a few meals in that highly inflationary area. And then he suddenly stopped short as an idea struck him. It was so simple, as all truly great ideas always are, that he wondered it had taken him all of several seconds to have thought of it! Five pounds, of course, was absurd. It was even completely inconsequential. There was real money to be gained, enough money, in fact, to allow him to realize his ambitions! And the more he examined his idea, standing staring at the poster, the better he liked it. He checked the data on the colorful poster once again, and saw the circus would remain in Kimberley a full week. More than ample time to put his scheme in operation!

With his idea bubbling in his head like champagne, Barney walked into the hotel and went to the bar, looking for Harry. His brother was at the far end of the bar, surrounded by a group as he told them a story. There was a burst of laughter as Harry ended. He noticed Barney and waved him over, but Barney motioned to his brother to come to him instead. The two made their way into the dining area and sat at a table that allowed privacy for their conversation. Barney waved away a waitress as Harry studied his brother’s face, noting the inner excitement. He frowned slightly. He hadn’t seen Barney in this mood for a very long time.

“All right, Barney,” he said. “What’s on your mind?”

Barney was barely able to hold back a grin. “Harry, how much money do we have in the Kimberley Bank?”

Harry held up a hand. “Hold it! Whatever brainstorm you have, remember that half of that money is mine. And the boys also each have a share; they’ve contributed.”

Barney waved that aside as being totally unimportant. “How much do we have there?”

Harry considered him for several seconds before answering. “A little more than four thousand pounds.”

“Fine!” Barney said with evident satisfaction. “We’re going to multiply that by ten to twenty times. Inside of a week!”

“Oh? And just how do we perform this miracle? Rob the bank? Or buy a printing press and print our own?”

“No. We’re going to let people give it to us. Force it on us, practically.” Barney leaned forward, unconsciously dropping his voice although there was nobody near them. “Harry, when you came in, did you see that poster outside advertisin’ a circus?”

“I know all about it. They’re staying at the Queen’s Hotel and I saw them there when I went to lunch. So what does the circus have to do with us? What do we do to get rich — open a fish-and-chips stand next to them? Or cotton candy?”

Barney paid no attention to the sarcasm, waving it away impatiently. “Did you see where they have someone they call the Man Mountain of Angola, or somethin’ like that? Who will fight anyone six rounds any rules, and if the challenger wins, he gets five quid?”

“So? Who in his right mind is going to fight some giant for a mere five pounds?”

“Me,” Barney said quietly, and leaned back in triumph.