“Oh, what a large diamond!” Mary cried as she saw the sparkling stone. “I never saw one so large and beautiful!”
“It's just as easy to make them large as small,” explained Tom.
“Make them?” she looked the surprise she felt.
“Yes, I'm about to start for the place where diamonds are made.”
“Oh, Tom! But isn't it dangerous? I mean won't you have to go to some far country—like Africa—to get to where diamonds are made?”
“Well, we are going on quite a trip, but not as far as that. And as for the danger—well, we'll have to take what comes,” and he told her something of the proposed quest.
“Oh, it sounds—sounds scary!” Mary exclaimed, when she had heard of Mr. Jenks' experience. “Do be careful, Tom!”
“I will,” he promised, and, somehow he was glad that she had cautioned him thus—and in such tones as she had used. For Mary Nestor was a girl that any young chap would have been glad to have manifest an interest in him.
“Well, I guess I'll have to say good-by,” spoke Tom, at length. “We expect to start in a couple of days, and I may not get another chance to see you.”
“Oh, I—I hope you come back safely,” faltered Mary, and then she held out her hand, and Tom—well, it's none of our affair what Tom did after that, except to say that he hurried out, fairly jumped into his monoplane, and completed the trip home.