sives, built up a fire in my furnace, put the
whole concern in, and--went out for a walk."

I could not help laughing at his matter-of-fact manner. "Did
you not think it would blow up the house? Were there other people
in the place?"

"It was in the interest of science," he said, ultimately. "There
was a costermonger family on the floor below, a begging-letter
writer in the room behind mine, and two flower-women were
upstairs. Perhaps it was a bit thoughtless. But possibly
some of them were out.

"When I came back the thing was just where I left it, among
the white-hot coals. The explosive hadn't burst the case. And
then I had a problem to face. You know time is an important
element in crystallisation. If you hurry the process the crystals
are small--it is only by prolonged standing that they grow to any
size. I resolved to let this apparatus cool for two years, letting
the temperature go down slowly during the time. And I was now
quite out of money; and with a big fire and the rent of my room, as
well as my hunger to satisfy, I had scarcely a penny in the world.

"I can hardly tell you all the shifts I was put to while I was
making the diamonds. I have sold newspapers, held horses, opened
cab-doors. For many weeks I addressed envelopes. I had a place as
assistant to a man who owned a barrow, and used to call down one
side of the road while he called down the other.

"Once for a week I had absolutely nothing to do, and I begged.
What a week that was! One day the fire was going out and I had
eaten nothing all day, and a little chap taking his girl out, gave
me sixpence--to show off. Thank heaven for vanity! How the
fish-shops smelt! But I went and spent it all on coals, and had
the furnace bright red again, and then--Well, hunger makes a fool
of a man.

"At last, three weeks ago, I let the fire out. I took my
cylinder and unscrewed it while it was still so hot that it
punished my hands, and I scraped out the crumbling lava-like mass
with a chisel, and hammered it into a powder upon an iron plate.
And I found three big diamonds and five small ones. As I sat on
the floor hammering, my door opened, and my neighbour, the
begging-letter writer came in. He was drunk--as he usually is.
"'Nerchist,' said he. 'You're drunk,' said I. ''Structive
scoundrel,' said he. 'Go to your father,' said I, meaning the
Father of Lies. 'Never you mind,' said he, and gave me a cunning
wink, and hiccuped, and lea