and
buyer of diamonds, visited the place every Friday. We unlocked and
entered the middle shack, where there were a table, a desk, and two or
three chairs. In the corner of the window sill was one of the small
scales I had learned to recognize in my travels through diamond
country; tiny units of weight, like scraps of tin foil, measure carats
and fractions of carats. One of the men went into the left-hand room
and set to work brewing tea. South Africans are tremendous tea
drinkers. They outdo the British and even the Chinese at this exercise;
they drink tea almost as often as they light cigarettes. While the
water heated and the men went through papers I amused myself studying some records of diamond finds which were written out and hanging on the wall. All finds of stones weighing more than a
hundred carats had been noted there according to the dates of
discovery, exact weights, and the names of the men who had found them.
"Most
of the diggers are colored people," explained the younger of the
company men, meaning that they were people of mixed blood. "But we have
some native diggers too, and a few Europeans. You'll notice that most
of the names are Afrikaner, but some are English. One of the oldest
diggers here is an Englishman, Mr. Field; he was interviewed for one of
the local magazines the other day and I believe he's quite set up about
it—Mr. Field's been on the diggings longer than anybody. He claims to
be ninety years old. I wouldn't know, myself."
"Could
be. It's a healthy life," said the other man, Mr. Van der Westhuizen.
He looked as if he knew what he was talking about; he was himself a
big, strong man, sunburned and vigorous. "I felt fine when I was
digging," he continued. "I was out
