The digger laughed his loudest.
“Give it the missis! That’s good. The missis’d want more’n an ounce and a half for her share. Mister, wimmen’s expensive.”
“Ain’t you got no kid to share the charm with?”
“Now you’re gettin’ at me”—the chuckle again—“worse ’an ever. You’re gettin’ at me fine. Look ’ere, I’m goin’ to quit: I’m off.”
“But, in the meantime, what am I to do with this nice piece of gold? I could make a ring for each of your fingers, and some for your toes. I could pretty near make you a collarette, to wear when you go to evening parties in a low-necked dress, or a watch chain more massive than the bloomin’ Mayor’s. There’s twelve pounds’ worth of gold in that piece.”
The digger looked perplexed. The problem puzzled him.
“How’d an amulet suit you?” suggested the goldsmith.
“A what?”
“A circle for the arm, with a charm device chased on it.”
“A bit like a woman, that—eh, mister?”