though he had been left in a dust-bin for a week. And he was
talking to _me_ of the irksome worries of a large business.
I almost laughed outright. Either he was mad or playing a sorry
jest on his own poverty.

"If high aims and high positions," said I, "have their
drawbacks of hard work and anxiety, they have their compensations.
Influence, the power of doing good, of assisting those weaker and
poorer than ourselves; and there is even a certain gratification in
display . . . . . "

My banter under the circumstances was in very vile taste. I
spoke on the spur of the contrast of his appearance and speech. I
was sorry even while I was speaking.

He turned a haggard but very composed face upon me. Said he:
"I forgot myself. Of course you would not understand."

He measured me for a moment. "No doubt it is very absurd.
You will not believe me even when I tell you, so that it is fairly
safe to tell you. And it will be a comfort to tell someone. I
really have a big business in hand, a very big business. But there
are troubles just now. The fact is . . . . I make diamonds."

"I suppose," said I, "you are out of work just at present?"

"I am sick of being disbelieved," he said impatiently, and
suddenly unbuttoning his wretched coat he pulled out a little
canvas bag that was hanging by a cord round his neck. From this he
produced a brown pebble. "I wonder if you know enough to know what