Louis Fallen had similar ideas, although he was no philosopher. The finer abstractions of lawlessness left Louie not only cold but in a condition to make ice cream shiver merely by breathing on it. Neither were Louie's interpretations of those essential ideas particularly novel; but he was a very sound practitioner.
"It's a waste of time tryin' to think up new stunts, Sol," Louie declared, "while there's all the mugs you want still fallin' for the old ones. Anyone with a good uncut diamond can draw a dividend from it every day."
"Anyone who could put down five-hundred quid could float a good uncut diamond, Louie," replied Mr. Solomon, sympathetic but cautious.
"Anyone who could put down five hundred quid could float a company and swindle people like a gentleman," said Louie.
Mr. Solomon shook his head sadly. His business was patronised by a small and exclusive clientele which was rarely in a position to bargain with him.
"Dot's a pity, Louie. I like to see a good man get on."
"Now listen to me, you old shark," said Louie amiably. "I want a diamond, a real classy bit of ice, and all I can afford is a hundred pounds. Look over your stock and see what you can find. And make it snappy — I want to get started this week."
"Vun honderd pounds iss for a cheap bit of paste," said Mr. Solomon pathetically. "You know I ain't got nothing like dot in my shop, Louie."
Half an hour later he parted grudgingly with an excellent stone, for which Louie Fallen was persuaded to pay a hundred and fifty pounds, and the business-like tension of the interview relaxed in an exchange of cheap cigars. In the estimation of Mr. Solomon, who had given thirty pounds for the stone, it was a highly satisfactory afternoon's work.
"You got a gift there, Louie," he said gloomily.