He held it off and feasted his eyes on it as if it had been of gold and diamonds.
“I’ve heard of two others,” the absorbed enthusiast went on. “There isn’t any way to gauge its value. Colonel Oje, of Dolores, has one. You couldn’t buy it. He got it out of a religious Khiva down on the Tunit-Cha Mountains. He says it’s older than the Aztecs.”
Roy looked at the ring with new interest. Then he reached out and taking hold of it, slipped it upon Mr. Cook’s third finger. It fitted perfectly.
“I’m glad you like it,” he said as he settled back into his chair and dropped his head upon his arms on the chair back. “I hoped you would. I bought it for you.”
Mr. Cook looked at him with sudden intenseness. Then his face relaxed into a good natured laugh.
“You are a li—a prevaricator,” he said.
“Only a little,” laughed Roy in reply. “I really bought it for myself. But it’s yours now.”
Mr. Cook sat down, twisted the jewel on his finger a moment, and then said:
“Do you really want me to take it?”