He settled himself in the armchair again, and accepting another cigar, watched his host as he took his hat from the sideboard.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” said the latter somewhat anxiously. “You won’t go before I come?”
“Not me,” said the seaman bluntly. “When I say a thing I stick to it. I don’t haggle, and haggle, and—” he paused a moment for a word, “and haggle,” he concluded.
Left to himself, he smoked on contentedly, blandly undisturbed by the fact that the assistant looked in at the door occasionally, to see that things were all right. It was quite a new departure for Mr. Hyams to leave his parlor to a stranger, and the assistant felt a sense of responsibility so great that it was a positive relief to him when his master returned, accompanied by another man.
“This is my friend,” said Mr. Hyams, as they entered the parlor and closed the door. “You might let him see the stone.”
The seaman took off his belt again, and placing the diamond in his hand held it before the stranger who, making no attempt to take it, turned it over with his finger and examined it critically.
“Are you going to sea again just yet?” he inquired softly.
“Thursday night,” said the seaman, “Five hundred is my price; p’raps he told you. I’m not going to haggle.”
“Just so, just so,” said the other quietly. “It’s worth five hundred.”
“Spoke like a man,” said the seaman warmly.