oneself
up to the beautiful enticing planet. Disaster always overcame the
moonstruck wretch at that point, of course, for he overreached himself
and crashed to his death below. Now if, I pondered, the moon had such
an effect upon grown people, how much effect would a little piece of
the moon—to wit, a moonstone—have upon a little boy. For I had gazed
long and earnestly at my treasure on many occasions.
Once
I fell in love with an umbrella-seller's daughter. It is a love story
hardly worth the telling, save that the umbrella-seller's daughter fell
in love with my moonstone, and when I would not give it her freely she
offered me an umbrella rib in exchange. It was not a bad offer in its
way, for I had no umbrella ribs, but I refused the deal and lost my
lady-love, too.
Once
started on the path of collectorship, I took every opportunity I
could—true to collecting form—to show my stones to everyone who came to
the house. I hungered to have them appreciated and hear myself envied;
but also I had ulterior motives. If any of these people happened to be
jewellers or dealers in precious stones, they might remember me when
turning out some discarded titbit from their rejection drawer and send
it to me. I never forgot to jog their memories, with the result that
eventually I accumulated not only examples of many varieties of
semiprecious stones, but also got a number of duplicates. Now, the
only use for duplicates is as "swaps", and at that time none of my
comrades collected precious stones. My only hope was to create a
market, and I was actually successful among a few of the boys, tempting
them to desert butter-
