But Harman scarcely heard.
If they had turned on their tracks they might have seen Smart, who, after a drink at the bar of the hotel, had started out to visit the shops, more especially those likely to push the sale of O.K. pearls and North Pole diamonds—a side line.
At half-past four that afternoon Harman—Davis having gone fishing—found himself in the Continental bar. The place was empty, and Billy was in the act of paying and taking his departure when in came Smart.
“Hullo,” said Harman. “Have a drink?”
They drank. Highballs first of all, and then, at the suggestion of Billy, who paid for drinks the whole of that afternoon, hopscotches, which are compounded of Bourbon, crushed ice, lemon peel, parfait amour and a crystallised cherry.
At the second hopscotch the tongue of Smart was loosened and his words began to flow.
“Well, I reckon there’s not much to the town,” said Smart, “but it’s an oleograph for scenery and pictooresqueness; with a pier for landing and a bathing beach where all that fishermen’s truck and those canoes are, it would beat a good many places on the islands that don’t think five cents of themselves. I’ve been pushing the name of Wiseman and Philips into the ears of all and sundry that has got ears to hear with, but all such places as these is only seeds by the way. Chicago is our main crop an’ Noo York, after that Pittsburg, and we’re feeling for London, England.
“We’ve agents in Paris and Madrid that aren’t asleep, and Wiseman says before he dies he’ll put a rope of pearls round Mother Earth, and a North Pole di’mond tiara on her old head. Yes, sir. (Third hopscotch.) That’s what Wiseman says in his office and my hearing, and Philips, he helps run the luxury and fake leather sundry department, he said he’d fit her out with O de Nile coloured croc leather boots and a vanity bag of stamped lizard skin if the sales went on jumping as they were going, which was more like Klondike stuffed with the Arabian nights than any sales proposition he had ever heard, seen, dreamt or read of. Sales! (hic) as sure as there’s two cherries in this glass I’m holding, my orders booked in Chicago for pearls ending Christmas Day last was over one hundred thousand dollars. One hundred thousand dollars. But you haven’t seen our projuce.”
He bent, picked up his bag, fumbled in it and produced a box and from the box a gorgeous pearl necklace.
“Feel of those,” said Smart, “weigh them, look at ’em, look at the grading, look at the style, look at the lustre and brilliancy. Could Tiffany beat them for twenty thousand dollars? No, sir, he couldn’t; they leave him way behind.”