it
is; you can't tell until they come in for the valuation, but these
fellows could use a little encouragement. They haven't had anything big
for months. How's it with you?"
The dealer said, "Oh, it's quiet here too. Still, I've found a few that aren't bad. Would you like to see them?"
He
pulled a bunch of keys out of his pocket and unlocked his case. Inside
it was like a giant jewel box with all the secondary prettiness left
out; there was no white padded satin or anything like that, just
diamonds, and they were hidden from first sight. The case was divided
into a number of little metal boxes or compartments of different depth.
Along one side paper money was tucked: all the rest was filled with
paper packets.
These
paper packets, as I soon learned in the diamond fields, are a special
sign of the trade. Most diamond people carry their wares around with a
splendid, airy carelessness. Everyone except the final middleman, who
displays his rings and necklaces piously surrounded by black velvet and
reinforced glass windows, seems to go out of his way to show who is
master— his diamonds or himself. The people of Kimberley and
Johannesburg and Orange Mouth carry gems in rusty tin pillboxes, old
candy boxes, and especially in folded paper—simple pieces of paper, not
particularly strong or tough, folded and opened and folded again around
bits of stone worth thousands of dollars. This dealer was one of the
paper-folders. He brought out packet after packet and unwrapped them to
show me what he was buying and selling and keeping. Some were rough
diamonds; some had been cut, and they blazed in the noonday light. He
usually carried around his whole stock, he said; it was safer than
leaving them at home or in the office.
"Ever seen a good collection of fancies?" he demanded. He
