“Why, I'll take it to Cape Town, if you like,” said the changeable Falcon.
“You will?” said Christopher, surprised.
“Why not? I'm not much of a digger. I can serve our interest better by selling. I could get a thousand pounds for this at Cape Town.”
“We will talk of that quietly,” said Christopher.
Now, the fact is, Falcon, as a digger, was not worth a pin. He could not sort. His eyes would not bear the blinding glare of a tropical sun upon lime and dazzling bits of mica, quartz, crystal, white topaz, etc., in the midst of which the true glint of the royal stone had to be caught in a moment. He could not sort, and he had not the heart to dig. The only way to make him earn his half was to turn him into the travelling and selling partner.
Christopher was too generous to tell him this; but he acted on it, and said he thought his was an excellent proposal; indeed, he had better take all the diamonds they had got to Dale's Kloof first, and show them to his wife, for her consolation: “And perhaps,” said he, “in a matter of this importance, she will go to Cape Town with you, and try the market there.”
“All right,” said Falcon.
He sat and brooded over the matter a long time, and said, “Why make two bites of a cherry? They will only give us half the value at Cape Town; why not go by the steamer to England, before the London market is glutted, and all the world finds out that diamonds are as common as dirt?”
“Go to England! What! without your wife? I'll never be a party to that. Me part man and wife! If you knew my own story”—
“Why, who wants you?” said Reginald. “You don't understand. Phoebe is dying to visit England again; but she has got no excuse. If you like to give her one, she will be much obliged to you, I can tell you.”