“We’ll take it down to Cape Town,” continued Tom, “and if we can’t dispose of it with advantage there, it will be worth our while to ship for London with it. Let us go along to Madison’s first, though; he knows something of these things, and can perhaps give us some idea of what we may consider a fair price for our treasure.”
We turned off from the track accordingly, before reaching our hut, and kept along the narrow path leading to Madison’s farm. He was at lunch when we entered; and in a minute we were seated at each side of him, enjoying South African hospitality.
“Well,” he said, after the servants were gone, “what’s in the wind now? I see you have something to say to me. What is it?”
Tom produced his packet, and solemnly untied the handkerchiefs which enveloped it. “There!” he said, putting his crystal on the table; “what would you say was a fair price for that?”
Madison took it up and examined it critically. “Well,” he said, laying it down again, “in its crude state about twelve shillings per ton.”
“Twelve shillings!” cried Tom, starting to his feet. “Don’t you see what it is?”
“Rock-salt!”
“Rock-salt be d—d! a diamond.”
“Taste it!” said Madison.
Tom put it to his lips, dashed it down with a dreadful exclamation, and rushed out of the room.