Tales of the Jazz Age

The Diamond As Big As the Ritz

1

John T. Unger came from a family that had been well known in Hades--a

small town on the Mississippi River--for several generations. John's

father had held the amateur golf championship through many a heated

contest; Mrs. Unger was known "from hot-box to hot-bed," as the local

phrase went, for her political addresses; and young John T. Unger, who

had just turned sixteen, had danced all the latest dances from New

York before he put on long trousers. And now, for a certain time, he

was to be away from home. That respect for a New England education

which is the bane of all provincial places, which drains them yearly

of their most promising young men, had seized upon his parents.

Nothing would suit them but that he should go to St. Midas's School

near Boston--Hades was too small to hold their darling and gifted son.

Now in Hades--as you know if you ever have been there--the names of

the more fashionable preparatory schools and colleges mean very

little. The inhabitants have been so long out of the world that,

though they make a show of keeping up-to-date in dress and manners and

literature, they depend to a great extent on hearsay, and a function

that in Hades would be considered elaborate would doubtless be hailed

by a Chicago beef-princess as "perhaps a little tacky."

John T. Unger was on the eve of departure. Mrs. Unger, with maternal

fatuity, packed his trunks full of linen suits and electric fans, and

Mr. Unger presented his son with an asbestos pocket-book stuffed with

money.

"Remember, you are always welcome here," he said. "You can be sure,

boy, that we'll keep the home fires burning."

"I know," answered John huskily.

"Don't forget who you are and where you come from," continued his

father proudly, "and you can do nothing to harm you. You are an

Unger--from Hades."

So the old man and the young shook hands, and John walked away with

tears streaming from his eyes. Ten minutes later he had passed outside

the city limits and he stopped to glance back for the last time. Over

the gates the old-fashioned Victorian motto seemed strangely

attractive to him. His father had tried time and time again to have it

changed to something with a little more push and verve about it, such

as "Hades--Your Opportunity," or else a plain "Welcome" sign set over

a hearty handshake pricked out in electric lights. The old motto was a

little depressing, Mr. Unger had thought--but now ....

So John took his look and then set his face resolutely toward his

destination. And, as he turned away, the lights of Hades against the

sky seemed full of a warm and passionate beauty.

* * * * *

St. Midas's School is half an hour from Boston in a Rolls-Pierce

motor-car. The actual distance will never be known, for no one, except

John T. Unger, had ever arrived there save in a Rolls-Pierce and

probably no one ever will again. St. Midas's is the most expensive and

the most exclusive boys' preparatory school in the world.

John's first two years there passed pleasantly. The fathers of all the

boys were money-kings, and John spent his summer visiting at

fashionable resorts. While he was very fond of all the boys he

visited, their fathers struck him as being much of a piece, and in his

boyish way he often wondered at their exceeding sameness. When he told

them where his home was they would ask jovially, "Pretty hot down

there?" and John would muster a faint smile and answer, "It certainly

is." His response would have been heartier had they not all made this

joke--at best varying it with, "Is it hot enough for you down there?"

which he hated just as much.

In the middle of his second year at school, a quiet, handsome boy

named Percy Washington had been put in John's form. The new-comer was

pleasant in his manner and exceedingly well dressed even for St.

Midas's, but for some reason he kept aloof from the other boys. The

only person with whom he was intimate was John T. Unger, but even to

John he was entirely uncommunicative concerning his home or his

family. That he was wealthy went without saying, but beyond a few such

deductions John knew little of his friend, so it promised rich

confectionery for his curiosity when Percy invited him to spend the

summer at his home "in the West." He accepted, without hesitation.

It was only when they were in the train that Percy became, for the

first time, rather communicative. One day while they were eating lunch

in the dining-car and discussing the imperfect characters of several

of the boys at school, Percy suddenly changed his tone and made an

abrupt remark.

"My father," he said, "is by far the richest man in the world."

"Oh," said John politely. He could think of no answer to make to this

confidence. He considered "That's very nice," but it sounded hollow

and was on the point of saying, "Really?" but refrained since it would

seem to question Percy's statement. And such an astounding statement

could scarcely be questioned.

"By far the richest," repeated Percy.

"I was reading in the _World Almanac_," began John, "that there

was one man in America with an income of over five million a years and

four men with incomes of over three million a year, and---"

"Oh, they're nothing." Percy's mouth was a half-moon of scorn.

"Catch-penny capitalists, financial small-fry, petty merchants and

money-lenders. My father could buy them out and not know he'd done

it."

"But how does he---"

"Why haven't they put down _his_ income-tax? Because he doesn't

pay any. At least he pays a little one--but he doesn't pay any on his

_real_ income."

"He must be very rich," said John simply, "I'm glad. I like very rich

people.

"The richer a fella is, the better I like him." There was a look of

passionate frankness upon his dark face. "I visited the

Schnlitzer-Murphys last Easter. Vivian Schnlitzer-Murphy had rubies as

big as hen's eggs, and sapphires that were like globes with lights

inside them---"

"I love jewels," agreed Percy enthusiastically. "Of course I wouldn't

want any one at school to know about it, but I've got quite a

collection myself. I used to collect them instead of stamps."

"And diamonds," continued John eagerly. "The Schnlitzer-Murphys had

diamonds as big as walnuts---"

"That's nothing." Percy had leaned forward and dropped his voice to a

low whisper. "That's nothing at all. My father has a diamond bigger

than the Ritz-Carlton Hotel."

2

The Montana sunset lay between two mountains like a gigantic bruise

from which dark arteries spread themselves over a poisoned sky. An

immense distance under the sky crouched the village of Fish, minute,

dismal, and forgotten. There were twelve men, so it was said, in the

village of Fish, twelve sombre and inexplicable souls who sucked a

lean milk from the almost literally bare rock upon which a mysterious

populatory force had begotten them. They had become a race apart,

these twelve men of Fish, like some species developed by an early whim

of nature, which on second thought had abandoned them to struggle and

extermination.

Out of the blue-black bruise in the distance crept a long line of

moving lights upon the desolation of the land, and the twelve men of

Fish gathered like ghosts at the shanty depot to watch the passing of

the seven o'clock train, the Transcontinental Express from Chicago.

Six times or so a year the Transcontinental Express, through some

inconceivable jurisdiction, stopped at the village of Fish, and when

this occurred a figure or so would disembark, mount into a buggy that

always appeared from out of the dusk, and drive off toward the bruised

sunset. The observation of this pointless and preposterous phenomenon

had become a sort of cult among the men of Fish. To observe, that was

all; there remained in them none of the vital quality of illusion

which would make them wonder or speculate, else a religion might have

grown up around these mysterious visitations. But the men of Fish were

beyond all religion--the barest and most savage tenets of even

Christianity could gain no foothold on that barren rock--so there was

no altar, no priest, no sacrifice; only each night at seven the silent

concourse by the shanty depot, a congregation who lifted up a prayer

of dim, anaemic wonder.

On this June night, the Great Brakeman, whom, had they deified any

one, they might well have chosen as their celestial protagonist, had

ordained that the seven o'clock train should leave its human (or

inhuman) deposit at Fish. At two minutes after seven Percy Washington

and John T. Unger disembarked, hurried past the spellbound, the agape,

the fearsome eyes of the twelve men of Fish, mounted into a buggy

which had obviously appeared from nowhere, and drove away.

After half an hour, when the twilight had coagulated into dark, the

silent n***o who was driving the buggy hailed an opaque body somewhere

ahead of them in the gloom. In response to his cry, it turned upon

them a luminous disc which regarded them like a malignant eye out of

the unfathomable night. As they came closer, John saw that it was the

tail-light of an immense automobile, larger and more magnificent than

any he had ever seen. Its body was of gleaming metal richer than

nickel and lighter than silver, and the hubs of the wheels were

studded with iridescent geometric figures of green and yellow--John

did not dare to guess whether they were glass or jewel.

Two n*****s, dressed in glittering livery such as one sees in pictures

of royal processions in London, were standing at attention beside the

car and, as the two young men dismounted from the buggy, they were

greeted in some language which the guest could not understand, but

which seemed to be an extreme form of the Southern n***o's dialect.

"Get in," said Percy to his friend, as their trunks were tossed to the

ebony roof of the limousine. "Sorry we had to bring you this far in

that buggy, but of course it wouldn't do for the people on the train

or those God-forsaken fellas in Fish to see this automobile."

"Gosh! What a car!" This ejaculation was provoked by its interior.

John saw that the upholstery consisted of a thousand minute and

exquisite tapestries of silk, woven with jewels and embroideries, and

set upon a background of cloth of gold. The two armchair seats in

which the boys luxuriated were covered with stuff that resembled

duvetyn, but seemed woven in numberless colours of the ends of ostrich

feathers.

"What a car!" cried John again, in amazement.

"This thing?" Percy laughed. "Why, it's just an old junk we use for a

station wagon."

By this time they were gliding along through the darkness toward the

break between the two mountains.

"We'll be there in an hour and a half," said Percy, looking at the

clock. "I may as well tell you it's not going to be like anything you

ever saw before."

If the car was any indication of what John would see, he was prepared

to be astonished indeed. The simple piety prevalent in Hades has the

earnest worship of and respect for riches as the first article of its

creed--had John felt otherwise than radiantly humble before them, his

parents would have turned away in horror at the blasphemy.

They had now reached and were entering the break between the two

mountains and almost immediately the way became much rougher.

"If the moon shone down here, you'd see that we're in a big gulch,"

said Percy, trying to peer out of the window. He spoke a few words

into the mouthpiece and immediately the footman turned on a

searchlight and swept the hillsides with an immense beam.

"Rocky, you see. An ordinary car would be knocked to pieces in half an

hour. In fact, it'd take a tank to navigate it unless you knew the

way. You notice we're going uphill now."

They were obviously ascending, and within a few minutes the car was

crossing a high rise, where they caught a glimpse of a pale moon newly

risen in the distance. The car stopped suddenly and several figures

took shape out of the dark beside it--these were n*****s also. Again

the two young men were saluted in the same dimly recognisable dialect;

then the n*****s set to work and four immense cables dangling from

overhead were attached with hooks to the hubs of the great jewelled

wheels. At a resounding "Hey-yah!" John felt the car being lifted

slowly from the ground--up and up--clear of the tallest rocks on both

sides--then higher, until he could see a wavy, moonlit valley

stretched out before him in sharp contrast to the quagmire of rocks

that they had just left. Only on one side was there still rock--and

then suddenly there was no rock beside them or anywhere around.

It was apparent that they had surmounted some immense knife-blade of

stone, projecting perpendicularly into the air. In a moment they were

going down again, and finally with a soft bump they were landed upon

the smooth earth.

"The worst is over," said Percy, squinting out the window. "It's only

five miles from here, and our own road--tapestry brick--all the way.

This belongs to us. This is where the United States ends, father

says."

"Are we in Canada?"

"We are not. We're in the middle of the Montana Rockies. But you are

now on the only five square miles of land in the country that's never

been surveyed."

"Why hasn't it? Did they forget it?"

"No," said Percy, grinning, "they tried to do it three times. The

first time my grandfather corrupted a whole department of the State

survey; the second time he had the official maps of the United States

tinkered with--that held them for fifteen years. The last time was

harder. My father fixed it so that their compasses were in the

strongest magnetic field ever artificially set up. He had a whole set

of surveying instruments made with a slight defection that would allow

for this territory not to appear, and he substituted them for the ones

that were to be used. Then he had a river deflected and he had what

looked like a village up on its banks--so that they'd see it, and

think it was a town ten miles farther up the valley. There's only one

thing my father's afraid of," he concluded, "only one thing in the

world that could be used to find us out."

"What's that?"

Percy sank his voice to a whisper.

"Aeroplanes," he breathed. "We've got half a dozen anti-aircraft guns

and we've arranged it so far--but there've been a few deaths and a

great many prisoners. Not that we mind _that_, you know, father

and I, but it upsets mother and the girls, and there's always the

chance that some time we won't be able to arrange it."

Shreds and tatters of chinchilla, courtesy clouds in the green moon's

heaven, were passing the green moon like precious Eastern stuffs

paraded for the inspection of some Tartar Khan. It seemed to John that

it was day, and that he was looking at some lads sailing above him in

the air, showering down tracts and patent medicine circulars, with

their messages of hope for despairing, rock-bound hamlets. It seemed

to him that he could see them look down out of the clouds and

stare--and stare at whatever there was to stare at in this place

whither he was bound--What then? Were they induced to land by some

insidious device to be immured far from patent medicines and from

tracts until the judgment day--or, should they fail to fall into the

trap, did a quick puff of smoke and the sharp round of a splitting

shell bring them drooping to earth--and "upset" Percy's mother and

sisters. John shook his head and the wraith of a hollow laugh issued

silently from his parted lips. What desperate transaction lay hidden

here? What a moral expedient of a bizarre Croesus? What terrible and

golden mystery?...

The chinchilla clouds had drifted past now and, outside the Montana

night was bright as day the tapestry brick of the road was smooth to

the tread of the great tyres as they rounded a still, moonlit lake;

they passed into darkness for a moment, a pine grove, pungent and

cool, then they came out into a broad avenue of lawn, and John's

exclamation of pleasure was simultaneous with Percy's taciturn "We're

home."

Full in the light of the stars, an exquisite ch**** rose from the

borders of the lake, climbed in marble radiance half the height of an

adjoining mountain, then melted in grace, in perfect symmetry, in

translucent feminine languor, into the massed darkness of a forest of

pine. The many towers, the slender tracery of the sloping parapets,

the chiselled wonder of a thousand yellow windows with their oblongs

and hectagons and triangles of golden light, the shattered softness of

the intersecting planes of star-shine and blue shade, all trembled on

John's spirit like a chord of music. On one of the towers, the

tallest, the blackest at its base, an arrangement of exterior lights

at the top made a sort of floating fairyland--and as John gazed up in

warm enchantment the faint acciaccare sound of violins drifted down in

a rococo harmony that was like nothing he had ever beard before. Then

in a moment the car stepped before wide, high marble steps around

which the night air was fragrant with a host of flowers. At the top of

the steps two great doors swung silently open and amber light flooded

out upon the darkness, silhouetting the figure of an exquisite lady

with black, high-piled hair, who held out her arms toward them.

"Mother," Percy was saying, "this is my friend, John Unger, from

Hades."

Afterward John remembered that first night as a daze of many colours,

of quick sensory impressions, of music soft as a voice in love, and of

the beauty of things, lights and shadows, and motions and faces. There

was a white-haired man who stood drinking a many-hued cordial from a

crystal thimble set on a golden stem. There was a girl with a flowery

face, dressed like Titania with braided sapphires in her hair. There

was a room where the solid, soft gold of the walls yielded to the

pressure of his hand, and a room that was like a platonic conception

of the ultimate prison--ceiling, floor, and all, it was lined with an

unbroken mass of diamonds, diamonds of every size and shape, until,

lit with tail violet lamps in the corners, it dazzled the eyes with a

whiteness that could be compared only with itself, beyond human wish,

or dream.

Through a maze of these rooms the two boys wandered. Sometimes the

floor under their feet would flame in brilliant patterns from lighting

below, patterns of barbaric clashing colours, of pastel delicacy, of

sheer whiteness, or of subtle and intricate mosaic, surely from some

mosque on the Adriatic Sea. Sometimes beneath layers of thick crystal

he would see blue or green water swirling, inhabited by vivid fish and

growths of rainbow foliage. Then they would be treading on furs of

every texture and colour or along corridors of palest ivory, unbroken

as though carved complete from the gigantic tusks of dinosaurs extinct

before the age of man ....

Then a hazily remembered transition, and they were at dinner--where

each plate was of two almost imperceptible layers of solid diamond

between which was curiously worked a filigree of emerald design, a

shaving sliced from green air. Music, plangent and unobtrusive,

drifted down through far corridors--his chair, feathered and curved

insidiously to his back, seemed to engulf and overpower him as he

drank his first glass of port. He tried drowsily to answer a question

that had been asked him, but the honeyed luxury that clasped his body

added to the illusion of sleep--jewels, fabrics, wines, and metals

blurred before his eyes into a sweet mist ....

"Yes," he replied with a polite effort, "it certainly is hot enough

for me down there."

He managed to add a ghostly laugh; then, without movement, without

resistance, he seemed to float off and away, leaving an iced dessert

that was pink as a dream .... He fell asleep.

When he awoke he knew that several hours had passed. He was in a great

quiet room with ebony walls and a dull illumination that was too

faint, too subtle, to be called a light. His young host was standing

over him.

"You fell asleep at dinner," Percy was saying. "I nearly did, too--it

was such a treat to be comfortable again after this year of school.

Servants undressed and bathed you while you were sleeping."

"Is this a bed or a cloud?" sighed John. "Percy, Percy--before you go,

I want to apologise."

"For what?"

"For doubting you when you said you had a diamond as big as the

Ritz-Carlton Hotel."

Percy smiled.

"I thought you didn't believe me. It's that mountain, you know."

"What mountain?"

"The mountain the chateau rests on. It's not very big, for a mountain.

But except about fifty feet of sod and gravel on top it's solid

diamond. _One_ diamond, one cubic mile without a flaw. Aren't you

listening? Say----"

But John T. Unger had again fallen asleep.

3

Morning. As he awoke he perceived drowsily that the room had at the

same moment become dense with sunlight. The ebony panels of one wall

had slid aside on a sort of track, leaving his chamber half open to

the day. A large n***o in a white uniform stood beside his bed.

"Good-evening," muttered John, summoning his brains from the wild

places.

"Good-morning, sir. Are you ready for your bath, sir? Oh, don't get

up--I'll put you in, if you'll just unbutton your pyjamas--there.

Thank you, sir."

John lay quietly as his pyjamas were removed--he was amused and

delighted; he expected to be lifted like a child by this black

Gargantua who was tending him, but nothing of the sort happened;

instead he felt the bed tilt up slowly on its side--he began to roll,

startled at first, in the direction of the wall, but when he reached

the wall its drapery gave way, and sliding two yards farther down a

fleecy incline he plumped gently into water the same temperature as

his body.

He looked about him. The runway or rollway on which he had arrived had

folded gently back into place. He had been projected into another

chamber and was sitting in a sunken bath with his head just above the

level of the floor. All about him, lining the walls of the room and

the sides and bottom of the bath itself, was a blue aquarium, and

gazing through the crystal surface on which he sat, he could see fish

swimming among amber lights and even gliding without curiosity past

his outstretched toes, which were separated from them only by the

thickness of the crystal. From overhead, sunlight came down through

sea-green glass.

"I suppose, sir, that you'd like hot rosewater and soapsuds this

morning, sir--and perhaps cold salt water to finish."

The n***o was standing beside him.

"Yes," agreed John, smiling inanely, "as you please." Any idea of

ordering this bath according to his own meagre standards of living

would have been priggish and not a little wicked.

The n***o pressed a button and a warm rain began to fall, apparently

from overhead, but really, so John. discovered after a moment, from a

fountain arrangement near by. The water turned to a pale rose colour

and jets of liquid soap spurted into it from four miniature walrus

heads at the corners of the bath. In a moment a dozen little

paddle-wheels, fixed to the sides, had churned the mixture into a

radiant rainbow of pink foam which enveloped him softly with its

delicious lightness, and burst in shining, rosy bubbles here and there

about him.

"Shall I turn on the moving-picture machine, sir?" suggested the negro

deferentially. "There's a good one-reel comedy in this machine to-day,

or I can put in a serious piece in a moment, if you prefer it.

"No, thanks," answered John, politely but firmly. He was enjoying his

bath too much to desire any distraction. But distraction came. In a

moment he was listening intently to the sound of flutes from just

outside, flutes dripping a melody that was like a waterfall, cool and

green as the room itself, accompanying a frothy piccolo, in play more

fragile than the lace of suds that covered and charmed him.

After a cold salt-water bracer and a cold fresh finish, he stepped out

and into a fleecy robe, and upon a couch covered with the same

material he was rubbed with oil, alcohol, and spice. Later he sat in a

voluptuous while he was shaved and his hair was trimmed.

"Mr. Percy is waiting in your sitting-room," said the n***o, when

these operations were finished. "My name is Gygsum, Mr. Unger, sir. I

am to see to Mr. Unger every morning."

John walked out into the brisk sunshine of his living-room, where he

found breakfast waiting for him and Percy, gorgeous in white kid

knickerbockers, smoking in an easy chair.

4

This is a story of the Washington family as Percy sketched it for John

during breakfast.

The father of the present Mr. Washington had been a Virginian, a

direct descendant of George Washington, and Lord Baltimore. At the

close of the Civil War he was a twenty-five-year-old Colonel with a

played-out plantation and about a thousand dollars in gold.

Fitz-Norman Culpepper Washington, for that was the young Colonel's

name, decided to present the Virginia estate to his younger brother

and go West. He selected two dozen of the most faithful blacks, who,

of course, worshipped him, and bought twenty-five tickets to the West,

where he intended to take out land in their names and start a sheep

and cattle ranch.

When he had been in Montana for less than a month and things were

going very poorly indeed, he stumbled on his great discovery. He had

lost his way when riding the room and the sides and bottom of the bath

itself was a blue aquarium, and gazing through the crystal surface on

which he sat, he could see fish swimming among amber lights and even

gliding without curiosity past his outstretched toes, which were

separated from them only by the thickness of the crystal. From

overhead, sunlight came down through sea-green glass.

"I suppose, sir, that you'd like hot rosewater and soapsuds this

morning, sir--and perhaps cold salt water to finish."

The n***o was standing beside him.

"Yes," agreed John, smiling inanely, "as you please,"; Any idea of

ordering this bath according to his own meagre standards of living

would have been priggish and not a little wicked.

The n***o pressed a button and a warm rain began to fall, apparently

from overhead, but really, so John discovered after a moment, from a

fountain arrangement near by. The water turned to a pale rose colour

and jets of liquid soap spurted into it from four miniature walrus

heads at the corners of the bath. In a moment a dozen little

paddle-wheels, fixed to the sides, had churned the mixture into a

radiant rainbow of pink foam which enveloped him softly with its

delicious lightness, and burst in shining, rosy bubbles here and there

about him.

"Shall I turn on the moving-picture machine, sir?" suggested the negro

deferentially. "There's a good one-reel comedy in this machine to-day,

or I can put in a serious piece in a moment, if you prefer it."

"No, thanks," answered John, politely but firmly, He was enjoying his

bath too much to desire any distraction. But distraction came. In a

moment he was listening intently to the sound of flutes from just

outside, flutes dripping a melody that was like a waterfall, cool and

green as the room itself, accompanying a frothy piccolo, in play more

fragile than the lace of suds that covered and charmed him.

After a cold salt-water bracer and a cold fresh finish, he stepped out

and into a fleecy robe, and upon a couch covered with the same

material he was rubbed with oil, alcohol, and spice. Later he sat in a

voluptuous chair while he was shaved and his hair was trimmed.

"Mr. Percy is waiting in your sitting-room," said the n***o, when

these operations were finished. "My name is Gygsum, Mr. Unger, sir. I

am to see to Mr. Unger every morning."

John walked out into the brisk sunshine of his living-room, where he

found breakfast waiting for him and Percy, gorgeous in white kid

knickerbockers, smoking in an easy chair.

4

This is a story of the Washington family as Percy sketched it for John

during breakfast.

The father of the present Mr. Washington had been a Virginian, a

direct descendant of George Washington, and Lord Baltimore. At the

close of the Civil War he was a twenty-five-year-old Colonel with a

played-out plantation and about a thousand dollars in gold.

Fitz-Norman Culpepper Washington, for that was the young Colonel's

name, decided to present the Virginia estate to his younger brother

and go West, He selected two dozen of the most faithful blacks, who,

of course, worshipped him, and bought twenty-five tickets to the West,

where he intended to take out land in their names and start a sheep

and cattle ranch.

When he had been in Montana for less than a month and things were

going very poorly indeed, he stumbled on his great discovery. He had

lost his way when riding in the hills, and after a day without food he

began to grow hungry. As he was without his rifle, he was forced to

pursue a squirrel, and, in the course of the pursuit, he noticed that

it was carrying something shiny in its mouth. Just before it vanished

into its hole--for Providence did not intend that this squirrel should

alleviate his hunger--it dropped its burden. Sitting down to consider

the situation Fitz-Norman's eye was caught by a gleam in the grass

beside him. In ten seconds he had completely lost his appetite and

gained one hundred thousand dollars. The squirrel, which had refused

with annoying persistence to become food, had made him a present of a

large and perfect diamond.

Late that night he found his way to camp and twelve hours later all

the males among his darkies were back by the squirrel hole digging

furiously at the side of the mountain. He told them he had discovered

a rhinestone mine, and, as only one or two of them had ever seen even

a small diamond before, they believed him, without question. When the

magnitude of his discovery became apparent to him, he found himself in

a quandary. The mountain was _a_ diamond--it was literally

nothing else but solid diamond. He filled four saddle bags full of

glittering samples and started on horseback for St. Paul. There he

managed to dispose of half a dozen small stones--when he tried a

larger one a storekeeper fainted and Fitz-Norman was arrested as a

public disturber. He escaped from jail and caught the train for New

York, where he sold a few medium-sized diamonds and received in

exchange about two hundred thousand dollars in gold. But he did not

dare to produce any exceptional gems--in fact, he left New York just

in time. Tremendous excitement had been created in jewellery circles,

not so much by the size of his diamonds as by their appearance in the

city from mysterious sources. Wild rumours became current that a

diamond mine had been discovered in the Catskills, on the Jersey

coast, on Long Island, beneath Washington Square. Excursion trains,

packed with men carrying picks and shovels, began to leave New York

hourly, bound for various neighbouring El Dorados. But by that time

young Fitz-Norman was on his way back to Montana.

By the end of a fortnight he had estimated that the diamond in the

mountain was approximately equal in quantity to all the rest of the

diamonds known to exist in the world. There was no valuing it by any

regular computation, however, for it was _one solid diamond_--and

if it were offered for sale not only would the bottom fall out of the

market, but also, if the value should vary with its size in the usual

arithmetical progression, there would not be enough gold in the world

to buy a tenth part of it. And what could any one do with a diamond

that size?

It was an amazing predicament. He was, in one sense, the richest man

that ever lived--and yet was he worth anything at all? If his secret

should transpire there was no telling to what measures the Government

might resort in order to prevent a panic, in gold as well as in

jewels. They might take over the claim immediately and institute a

monopoly.

There was no alternative--he must market his mountain in secret. He

sent South for his younger brother and put him in charge of his

coloured following, darkies who had never realised that slavery was

abolished. To make sure of this, he read them a proclamation that he

had composed, which announced that General Forrest had reorganised the

shattered Southern armies and defeated the North in one pitched

battle. The n*****s believed him implicitly. They passed a vote

declaring it a good thing and held revival services immediately.

Fitz-Norman himself set out for foreign parts with one hundred

thousand dollars and two trunks filled with rough diamonds of all

sizes. He sailed for Russia in a Chinese junk, and six months after

his departure from Montana he was in St. Petersburg. He took obscure

lodgings and called immediately upon the court jeweller, announcing

that he had a diamond for the Czar. He remained in St. Petersburg for

two weeks, in constant danger of being murdered, living from lodging

to lodging, and afraid to visit his trunks more than three or four

times during the whole fortnight.

On his promise to return in a year with larger and finer stones, he

was allowed to leave for India. Before he left, however, the Court

Treasurers had deposited to his credit, in American banks, the sum of

fifteen million dollars--under four different aliases.

He returned to America in 1868, having been gone a little over two

years. He had visited the capitals of twenty-two countries and talked

with five emperors, eleven kings, three princes, a shah, a khan, and a

sultan. At that time Fitz-Norman estimated his own wealth at one

billion dollars. One fact worked consistently against the disclosure

of his secret. No one of his larger diamonds remained in the public

eye for a week before being invested with a history of enough

fatalities, amours, revolutions, and wars to have occupied it from the

days of the first Babylonian Empire.

From 1870 until his death in 1900, the history of Fitz-Norman

Washington was a long epic in gold. There were side issues, of

course--he evaded the surveys, he married a Virginia lady, by whom he

had a single son, and he was compelled, due to a series of unfortunate

complications, to murder his brother, whose unfortunate habit of

drinking himself into an indiscreet stupor had several times

endangered their safety. But very other murders stained these happy

years of progress and exspansion.

Just before he died he changed his policy, and with all but a few

million dollars of his outside wealth bought up rare minerals in bulk,

which he deposited in the safety vaults of banks all over the world,

marked as bric-a-brac. His son, Braddock Tarleton Washington, followed

this policy on an even more tensive scale. The minerals were converted

into the rarest of all elements--radium--so that the equivalent of a

billion dollars in gold could be placed in a receptacle no bigger than

a cigar box.

When Fitz-Norman had been dead three years his son, Braddock, decided

that the business had gone far enough. The amount of wealth that he

and his father had taken out of the mountain was beyond all exact

computation. He kept a note-book in cipher in which he set down the

approximate quantity of radium in each of the thousand banks he

patronised, and recorded the alias under which it was held. Then he

did a very simple thing--he sealed up the mine.

He sealed up the mine. What had been taken out of it would support all

the Washingtons yet to be born in unparalleled luxury for generations.

His one care must be the protection of his secret, lest in the

possible panic attendant on its discovery he should be reduced with

all the property-holders in the world to utter poverty.

This was the family among whom John T. Unger was staying. This was the

story he heard in his silver-walled living-room the morning after his

arrival.

5

After breakfast, John found his way out the great marble entrance, and

looked curiously at the scene before him. The whole valley, from the

diamond mountain to the steep granite cliff five miles away, still

gave off a breath of golden haze which hovered idly above the fine

sweep of lawns and lakes and gardens. Here and there clusters of elms

made delicate groves of shade, contrasting strangely with the tough

masses of pine forest that held the hills in a grip of dark-blue

green. Even as John looked he saw three fawns in single file patter

out from one clump about a half-mile away and disappear with awkward

gaiety into the black-ribbed half-light of another. John would not

have been surprised to see a goat-foot piping his way among the trees

or to catch a glimpse of pink nymph-skin and flying yellow hair

between the greenest of the green leaves.

In some such cool hope he descended the marble steps, disturbing

faintly the sleep of two silky Russian wolfhounds at the bottom, and

set off along a walk of white and blue brick that seemed to lead in no

particular direction.

He was enjoying himself as much as he was able. It is youth's felicity

as well as its insufficiency that it can never live in the present,

but must always be measuring up the day against its own radiantly

imagined future--flowers and gold, girls and stars, they are only

prefigurations and prophecies of that incomparable, unattainable young

dream.

John rounded a soft corner where the massed rosebushes filled the air

with heavy scent, and struck off across a park toward a patch of moss

under some trees. He had never lain upon moss, and he wanted to see

whether it was really soft enough to justify the use of its name as an

adjective. Then he saw a girl coming toward him over the grass. She

was the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

She was dressed in a white little gown that came just below her knees,

and a wreath of mignonettes clasped with blue slices of sapphire bound

up her hair. Her pink bare feet scattered the dew before them as she

came. She was younger than John--not more than sixteen.

"Hallo," she cried softly, "I'm Kismine."

She was much more than that to John already. He advanced toward her,

scarcely moving as he drew near lest he should tread on her bare toes.

"You haven't met me," said her soft voice. Her blue eyes added, "Oh,

but you've missed a great deal!"... "You met my sister, Jasmine, last

night. I was sick with lettuce poisoning," went on her soft voice, and

her eye continued, "and when I'm sick I'm sweet--and when I'm well."

"You have made an enormous impression on me," said John's eyes, "and

I'm not so slow myself"--"How do you do?" said his voice. "I hope

you're better this morning."--"You darling," added his eyes

tremulously.

John observed that they had been walking along the path. On her

suggestion they sat down together upon the moss, the softness of which

he failed to determine.

He was critical about women. A single defect--a thick ankle, a hoarse

voice, a glass eye--was enough to make him utterly indifferent. And

here for the first time in his life he was beside a girl who seemed to

him the incarnation of physical perfection.

"Are you from the East?" asked Kismine with charming interest.

"No," answered John simply. "I'm from Hades."

Either she had never heard of Hades, or she could think of no pleasant

comment to make upon it, for she did not discuss it further.

"I'm going East to school this fall" she said. "D'you think I'll like

it? I'm going to New York to Miss Bulge's. It's very strict, but you

see over the weekends I'm going to live at home with the family in our

New York house, because father heard that the girls had to go walking

two by two."

"Your father wants you to be proud," observed John.

"We are," she answered, her eyes shining with dignity. "None of us has

ever been punished. Father said we never should be. Once when my

sister Jasmine was a little girl she pushed him downstairs and he just

got up and limped away.

"Mother was--well, a little startled," continued Kismine, "when she

heard that you were from--from where you _are_ from, you know.

She said that when she was a young girl--but then, you see, she's a

Spaniard and old-fashioned."

"Do you spend much time out here?" asked John, to conceal the fact

that he was somewhat hurt by this remark. It seemed an unkind allusion

to his provincialism.

"Percy and Jasmine and I are here every summer, but next summer

Jasmine is going to Newport. She's coming out in London a year from

this fall. She'll be presented at court."

"Do you know," began John hesitantly, "you're much more sophisticated

than I thought you were when I first saw you?"

"Oh, no, I'm not," she exclaimed hurriedly. "Oh, I wouldn't think of

being. I think that sophisticated young people are _terribly_

common, don't you? I'm not all, really. If you say I am, I'm going to

cry."

She was so distressed that her lip was trembling. John was impelled to

protest:

"I didn't mean that; I only said it to tease you."

"Because I wouldn't mind if I _were_," she persisted, "but I'm

not. I'm very innocent and girlish. I never smoke, or drink, or read

anything except poetry. I know scarcely any mathematics or chemistry.

I dress _very_ simply--in fact, I scarcely dress at all. I think

sophisticated is the last thing you can say about me. I believe that

girls ought to enjoy their youths in a wholesome way."

"I do, too," said John, heartily,

Kismine was cheerful again. She smiled at him, and a still-born tear

dripped from the comer of one blue eye.

"I like you," she whispered intimately. "Are you going to spend all

your time with Percy while you're here, or will you be nice to me?

Just think--I'm absolutely fresh ground. I've never had a boy in love

with me in all my life. I've never been allowed even to _see_

boys alone--except Percy. I came all the way out here into this grove

hoping to run into you, where the family wouldn't be around."

Deeply flattered, John bowed from the hips as he had been taught at

dancing school in Hades.

"We'd better go now," said Kismine sweetly. "I have to be with mother

at eleven. You haven't asked me to kiss you once. I thought boys

always did that nowadays"

John drew himself up proudly.

"Some of them do," he answered, "but not me. Girls don't do that sort

of thing--in Hades."

Side by side they walked back toward the house.

6

John stood facing Mr. Braddock Washington in the full sunlight. The

elder man was about forty, with a proud, vacuous face, intelligent

eyes, and a robust figure. In the mornings he smelt of horses--the

best horses. He carried a plain walking-stick of gray birch with a

single large opal for a grip. He and Percy were showing John around.

"The slaves' quarters are there." His walking-stick indicated a

cloister of marble on their left that ran in graceful Gothic along the

side of the mountain. "In my youth I was distracted for a while from

the business of life by a period of absurd idealism. During that time

they lived in luxury. For instance, I equipped every one of their

rooms with a tile bath."

"I suppose," ventured John, with an ingratiating laugh, "that they

used the bathtubs to keep coal in. Mr. Schnlitzer-Murphy told me that

once he---"

"The opinions of Mr. Schnlitzer-Murphy are of little importance, I

should imagine," interrupted Braddock Washington coldly. "My slaves

did not keep coal in their bathtubs. They had orders to bathe every

day, and they did. If they hadn't I might have ordered a sulphuric

acid shampoo. I discontinued the baths for quite another reason.

Several of them caught cold and died. Water is not good for certain

races--except as a beverage."

John laughed, and then decided to nod his head in sober agreement.

Braddock Washington made him uncomfortable.

"All these n*****s are descendants of the ones my father brought North

with him. There are about two hundred and fifty now. You notice that

they've lived so long apart from the world that their original dialect

has become an almost indistinguishable patois. We bring a few of them

up to speak English--my secretary and two or three of the house

servants.

"This is the golf course," he continued, as they strolled along the

velvet winter grass. "It's all a green, you see--no fairway, no rough,

no hazards."

He smiled pleasantly at John.

"Many men in the cage, father?" asked Percy suddenly.

Braddock Washington stumbled, and let forth an involuntary curse.

"One less than there should be," he ejaculated darkly--and then added

after a moment, "We've had difficulties."

"Mother was telling me," exclaimed Percy, "that Italian teacher---"

"A ghastly error," said Braddock Washington angrily. "But of course

there's a good chance that we may have got him. Perhaps he fell

somewhere in the woods or stumbled over a cliff. And then there's

always the probability that if he did get away his story wouldn't be

believed. Nevertheless, I've had two dozen men looking for him in

different towns around here."

"And no luck?"

"Some. Fourteen of them reported to my agent they'd each killed a man

answering to that description, but of course it was probably only the

reward they were after---"

He broke off. They had come to a large cavity in the earth about the

circumference of a merry-go-round, and covered by a strong iron

grating. Braddock Washington beckoned to John, and pointed his cane

down through the grating. John stepped to the edge and gazed.

Immediately his ears were assailed by a wild clamor from below.

"Come on down to Hell!"

"Hallo, kiddo, how's the air up there?"

"Hey! Throw us a rope!"

"Got an old doughnut, Buddy, or a couple of second-hand sandwiches?"

"Say, fella, if you'll push down that guy you're with, we'll show you

a quick disappearance scene."

"Paste him one for me, will you?"

It was too dark to see clearly into the pit below, but John could tell

from the coarse optimism and rugged vitality of the remarks and voices

that they proceeded from middle-class Americans of the more spirited

type. Then Mr. Washington put out his cane and touched a button in the

grass, and the scene below sprang into light.

"These are some adventurous mariners who had the misfortune to

discover El Dorado," he remarked.

Below them there had appeared a large hollow in the earth shaped like

the interior of a bowl. The sides were steep and apparently of

polished glass, and on its slightly concave surface stood about two

dozen men clad in the half costume, half uniform, of aviators. Their

upturned faces, lit with wrath, with malice, with despair, with

cynical humour, were covered by long growths of beard, but with the

exception of a few who had pined perceptibly away, they seemed to be a

well-fed, healthy lot.

Braddock Washington drew a garden chair to the edge of the pit and sat

down.

"Well, how are you, boys?" he inquired genially.

A chorus of execration, in which all joined except a few too

dispirited to cry out, rose up into the sunny air, but Braddock

Washington heard it with unruffled composure. When its last echo had

died away he spoke again.

"Have you thought up a way out of your difficulty?"

From here and there among them a remark floated up.

"We decided to stay here for love!"

"Bring us up there and we'll find us a way!"

Braddock Washington waited until they were again quiet. Then he said:

"I've told you the situation. I don't want you here, I wish to heaven

I'd never seen you. Your own curiosity got you here, and any time that

you can think of a way out which protects me and my interests I'll be

glad to consider it. But so long as you confine your efforts to

digging tunnels--yes, I know about the new one you've started--you

won't get very far. This isn't as hard on you as you make it out, with

all your howling for the loved ones at home. If you were the type who

worried much about the loved ones at home, you'd never have taken up

aviation."

A tall man moved apart from the others, and held up his hand to call

his captor's attention to what he was about to say.

"Let me ask you a few questions!" he cried. "You pretend to be a

fair-minded man."

"How absurd. How could a man of _my_ position be fair-minded

toward you? You might as well speak of a Spaniard being fair-minded

toward a piece of steak."

At this harsh observation the faces of the two dozen fell, but the

tall man continued:

"All right!" he cried. "We've argued this out before. You're not a

humanitarian and you're not fair-minded, but you're human--at least

you say you are--and you ought to be able to put yourself in our place

for long enough to think how--how--how--"

"How what?" demanded Washington, coldly.

"--how unnecessary--"

"Not to me."

"Well--how cruel--"

"We've covered that. Cruelty doesn't exist where self-preservation is

involved. You've been soldiers; you know that. Try another."

"Well, then, how stupid."

"There," admitted Washington, "I grant you that. But try to think of

an alternative. I've offered to have all or any of you painlessly

executed if you wish. I've offered to have your wives, sweethearts,

children, and mothers kidnapped and brought out here. I'll enlarge

your place down there and feed and clothe you the rest of your lives.

If there was some method of producing permanent amnesia I'd have all

of you operated on and released immediately, somewhere outside of my

preserves. But that's as far as my ideas go."

"How about trusting us not to peach on you?" cried some one.

"You don't proffer that suggestion seriously," said Washington, with

an expression of scorn. "I did take out one man to teach my daughter

Italian. Last week he got away."

A wild yell of jubilation went up suddenly from two dozen throats and

a pandemonium of joy ensued. The prisoners clog-danced and cheered and

yodled and wrestled with one another in a sudden uprush of animal

spirits. They even ran up the glass sides of the bowl as far as they

could, and slid back to the bottom upon the natural cushions of their

bodies. The tall man started a song in which they all joined--

"_Oh, we'll hang the kaiser

On a sour apple-tree_--"

Braddock Washington sat in inscrutable silence until the song was

over.

"You see," he remarked, when he could gain a modicum of attention. "I

bear you no ill-will. I like to see you enjoying yourselves. That's

why I didn't tell you the whole story at once. The man--what was his

name? Critchtichiello?--was shot by some of my agents in fourteen

different places."

Not guessing that the places referred to were cities, the tumult of

rejoicing subsided immediately.

"Nevertheless," cried Washington with a touch of anger, "he tried to

run away. Do you expect me to take chances with any of you after an

experience like that?"

Again a series of ejaculations went up.

"Sure!"

"Would your daughter like to learn Chinese?"

"Hey, I can speak Italian! My mother was a wop."

"Maybe she'd like t'learna speak N'Yawk!"

"If she's the little one with the big blue eyes I can teach her a lot

of things better than Italian."

"I know some Irish songs--and I could hammer brass once't."

Mr. Washington reached forward suddenly with his cane and pushed the

button in the grass so that the picture below went out instantly, and

there remained only that great dark mouth covered dismally with the

black teeth of the grating.

"Hey!" called a single voice from below, "you ain't goin' away without

givin' us your blessing?"

But Mr. Washington, followed by the two boys, was already strolling on

toward the ninth hole of the golf course, as though the pit and its

contents were no more than a hazard over which his facile iron had

triumphed with ease.

7

July under the lee of the diamond mountain was a month of blanket

nights and of warm, glowing days. John and Kismine were in love. He

did not know that the little gold football (inscribed with the legend

_Pro deo et patria et St. Mida_) which he had given her rested on

a platinum chain next to her bosom. But it did. And she for her part

was not aware that a large sapphire which had dropped one day from her

simple coiffure was stowed away tenderly in John's jewel box.

Late one afternoon when the ruby and ermine music room was quiet, they

spent an hour there together. He held her hand and she gave him such a

look that he whispered her name aloud. She bent toward him--then

hesitated.

"Did you say 'Kismine'?" she asked softly, "or--"

She had wanted to be sure. She thought she might have misunderstood.

Neither of them had ever kissed before, but in the course of an hour

it seemed to make little difference.

The afternoon drifted away. That night, when a last breath of music

drifted down from the highest tower, they each lay awake, happily

dreaming over the separate minutes of the day. They had decided to be

married as soon as possible.

8

Every day Mr. Washington and the two young men went hunting or fishing

in the deep forests or played golf around the somnolent course--games

which John diplomatically allowed his host to win--or swam in the

mountain coolness of the lake. John found Mr. Washington a somewhat

exacting personality--utterly uninterested in any ideas or opinions

except his own. Mrs. Washington was aloof and reserved at all times.

She was apparently indifferent to her two daughters, and entirely

absorbed in her son Percy, with whom she held interminable

conversations in rapid Spanish at dinner.

Jasmine, the elder daughter, resembled Kismine in appearance--except

that she was somewhat bow-legged, and terminated in large hands and

feet--but was utterly unlike her in temperament. Her favourite books

had to do with poor girls who kept house for widowed fathers. John

learned from Kismine that Jasmine had never recovered from the shock

and disappointment caused her by the termination of the World War,

just as she was about to start for Europe as a canteen expert. She had

even pined away for a time, and Braddock Washington had taken steps to

promote a new war in the Balkans--but she had seen a photograph of

some wounded Serbian soldiers and lost interest in the whole

proceedings. But Percy and Kismine seemed to have inherited the

arrogant attitude in all its harsh magnificence from their father. A

chaste and consistent selfishness ran like a pattern through their

every idea.

John was enchanted by the wonders of the ch**** and the valley.

Braddock Washington, so Percy told him, had caused to be kidnapped a

landscape gardener, an architect, a designer of state settings, and a

French decadent poet left over from the last century. He had put his

entire force of n*****s at their disposal, guaranteed to supply them

with any materials that the world could offer, and left them to work

out some ideas of their own. But one by one they had shown their

uselessness. The decadent poet had at once begun bewailing his

separation, from the boulevards in spring--he made some vague remarks

about spices, apes, and ivories, but said nothing that was of any

practical value. The stage designer on his part wanted to make the

whole valley a series of tricks and sensational effects--a state of

things that the Washingtons would soon have grown tired of. And as for

the architect and the landscape gardener, they thought only in terms

of convention. They must make this like this and that like that.

But they had, at least, solved the problem of what was to be done with

them--they all went mad early one morning after spending the night in

a single room trying to agree upon the location of a fountain, and

were now confined comfortably in an insane asylum at Westport,

Connecticut.

"But," inquired John curiously, "who did plan all your wonderful

reception rooms and halls, and approaches and bathrooms---?"

"Well," answered Percy, "I blush to tell you, but it was a

moving-picture fella. He was the only man we found who was used to

playing with an unlimited amount of money, though he did tuck his

napkin in his collar and couldn't read or write."

As August drew to a close John began to regret that he must soon go

back to school. He and Kismine had decided to elope the following

June.

"It would be nicer to be married here," Kismine confessed, "but of

course I could never get father's permission to marry you at all. Next

to that I'd rather elope. It's terrible for wealthy people to be

married in America at present--they always have to send out bulletins

to the press saying that they're going to be married in remnants, when

what they mean is just a peck of old second-hand pearls and some used

lace worn once by the Empress Eugenie."

"I know," agreed John fervently. "When I was visiting the

Schnlitzer-Murphys, the eldest daughter, Gwendolyn, married a man

whose father owns half of West Virginia. She wrote home saying what a

tough struggle she was carrying on on his salary as a bank clerk--and

then she ended up by saying that 'Thank God, I have four good maids

anyhow, and that helps a little.'"

"It's absurd," commented Kismine--"Think of the millions and millions

of people in the world, labourers and all, who get along with only two

maids."

One afternoon late in August a chance remark of Kismine's changed the

face of the entire situation, and threw John into a state of terror.

They were in their favourite grove, and between kisses John was

indulging in some romantic forebodings which he fancied added

poignancy to their relations.

"Sometimes I think we'll never marry," he said sadly. "You're too

wealthy, too magnificent. No one as rich as you are can be like other

girls. I should marry the daughter of some well-to-do wholesale

hardware man from Omaha or Sioux City, and be content with her

half-million."

"I knew the daughter of a wholesale hardware man once," remarked

Kismine. "I don't think you'd have been contented with her. She was a

friend of my sister's. She visited here."

"Oh, then you've had other guests?" exclaimed John in surprise.

Kismine seemed to regret her words.

"Oh, yes," she said hurriedly, "we've had a few."

"But aren't you--wasn't your father afraid they'd talk outside?"

"Oh, to some extent, to some extent," she answered, "Let's talk about

something pleasanter."

But John's curiosity was aroused.

"Something pleasanter!" he demanded. "What's unpleasant about that?

Weren't they nice girls?"

To his great surprise Kismine began to weep.

"Yes--th--that's the--the whole t-trouble. I grew qu-quite attached to

some of them. So did Jasmine, but she kept inv-viting them anyway. I

couldn't under_stand_ it."

A dark suspicion was born in John's heart.

"Do you mean that they _told_, and your father had

them--removed?"

"Worse than that," she muttered brokenly. "Father took no chances--and

Jasmine kept writing them to come, and they had _such_ a good

time!"

She was overcome by a paroxysm of grief.

Stunned with the horror of this revelation, John sat there

open-mouthed, feeling the nerves of his body twitter like so many

sparrows perched upon his spinal column.

"Now, I've told you, and I shouldn't have," she said, calming suddenly

and drying her dark blue eyes.

"Do you mean to say that your father had them _murdered_ before

they left?"

She nodded.

"In August usually--or early in September. It's only natural for us to

get all the pleasure out of them that we can first."

"How abominable! How--why, I must be going crazy! Did you really admit

that--"

"I did," interrupted Kismine, shrugging her shoulders. "We can't very

well imprison them like those aviators, where they'd be a continual

reproach to us every day. And it's always been made easier for Jasmine

and me, because father had it done sooner than we expected. In that

way we avoided any farewell scene-"

"So you murdered them! Uh!" cried John.

"It was done very nicely. They were drugged while they were

asleep--and their families were always told that they died of scarlet

fever in Butte."

"But--I fail to understand why you kept on inviting them!"

"I didn't," burst out Kismine. "I never invited one. Jasmine did. And

they always had a very good time. She'd give them the nicest presents

toward the last. I shall probably have visitors too--I'll harden up to

it. We can't let such an inevitable thing as death stand in the way of

enjoying life while we have it. Think of how lonesome it'd be out here

if we never had _any_ one. Why, father and mother have sacrificed

some of their best friends just as we have."

"And so," cried John accusingly, "and so you were letting me make love

to you and pretending to return it, and talking about marriage, all

the time knowing perfectly well that I'd never get out of here

alive---"

"No," she protested passionately. "Not any more. I did at first. You

were here. I couldn't help that, and I thought your last days might as

well be pleasant for both of us. But then I fell in love with you,

and--and I'm honestly sorry you're going to--going to be put

away--though I'd rather you'd be put away than ever kiss another

girl."

"Oh, you would, would you?" cried John ferociously.

"Much rather. Besides, I've always heard that a girl can have more fun

with a man whom she knows she can never marry. Oh, why did I tell you?

I've probably spoiled your whole good time now, and we were really

enjoying things when you didn't know it. I knew it would make things

sort of depressing for you."

"Oh, you did, did you?" John's voice trembled with anger. "I've heard

about enough of this. If you haven't any more pride and decency than

to have an affair with a fellow that you know isn't much better than a

corpse, I don't want to have any more to with you!"

"You're not a corpse!" she protested in horror. "You're not a corpse!

I won't have you saying that I kissed a corpse!"

"I said nothing of the sort!"

"You did! You said I kissed a corpse!"

"I didn't!"

Their voices had risen, but upon a sudden interruption they both

subsided into immediate silence. Footsteps were coming along the path

in their direction, and a moment later the rose bushes were parted

displaying Braddock Washington, whose intelligent eyes set in his

good-looking vacuous face were peering in at them.

"Who kissed a corpse?" he demanded in obvious disapproval.

"Nobody," answered Kismine quickly. "We were just joking."

"What are you two doing here, anyhow?" he demanded gruffly. "Kismine,

you ought to be--to be reading or playing golf with your sister. Go

read! Go play golf! Don't let me find you here when I come back!"

Then he bowed at John and went up the path.

"See?" said Kismine crossly, when he was out of hearing. "You've

spoiled it all. We can never meet any more. He won't let me meet you.

He'd have you poisoned if he thought we were in love."

"We're not, any more!" cried John fiercely, "so he can set his mind at

rest upon that. Moreover, don't fool yourself that I'm going to stay

around here. Inside of six hours I'll be over those mountains, if I

have to gnaw a passage through them, and on my way East." They had

both got to their feet, and at this remark Kismine came close and put

her arm through his.

"I'm going, too."

"You must be crazy--"

"Of course I'm going," she interrupted impatiently.

"You most certainly are not. You--"

"Very well," she said quietly, "we'll catch up with father and talk it

over with him."

Defeated, John mustered a sickly smile.

"Very well, dearest," he agreed, with pale and unconvincing affection,

"we'll go together."

His love for her returned and settled placidly on his heart. She was

his--she would go with him to share his dangers. He put his arms about

her and kissed her fervently. After all she loved him; she had saved

him, in fact.

Discussing the matter, they walked slowly back toward the ch****.

They decided that since Braddock Washington had seen them together

they had best depart the next night. Nevertheless, John's lips were

unusually dry at dinner, and he nervously emptied a great spoonful of

peacock soup into his left lung. He had to be carried into the

turquoise and sable card-room and pounded on the back by one of the

under-butlers, which Percy considered a great joke.

9

Long after midnight John's body gave a nervous jerk, he sat suddenly

upright, staring into the veils of somnolence that draped the room.

Through the squares of blue darkness that were his open windows, he

had heard a faint far-away sound that died upon a bed of wind before

identifying itself on his memory, clouded with uneasy dreams. But the

sharp noise that had succeeded it was nearer, was just outside the

room--the click of a turned knob, a footstep, a whisper, he could not

tell; a hard lump gathered in the pit of his stomach, and his whole

body ached in the moment that he strained agonisingly to hear. Then

one of the veils seemed to dissolve, and he saw a vague figure

standing by the door, a figure only faintly limned and blocked in upon

the darkness, mingled so with the folds of the drapery as to seem

distorted, like a reflection seen in a dirty pane of glass.

With a sudden movement of fright or resolution John pressed the button

by his bedside, and the next moment he was sitting in the green sunken

bath of the adjoining room, waked into alertness by the shock of the

cold water which half filled it.

He sprang out, and, his wet pyjamas scattering a heavy trickle of

water behind him, ran for the aquamarine door which he knew led out on

to the ivory landing of the second floor. The door opened noiselessly.

A single crimson lamp burning in a great dome above lit the

magnificent sweep of the carved stairways with a poignant beauty. For

a moment John hesitated, appalled by the silent splendour massed about

him, seeming to envelop in its gigantic folds and contours the

solitary drenched little figure shivering upon the ivory landing. Then

simultaneously two things happened. The door of his own sitting-room

swung open, precipitating three naked n*****s into the hall--and, as

John swayed in wild terror toward the stairway, another door slid back

in the wall on the other side of the corridor, and John saw Braddock

Washington standing in the lighted lift, wearing a fur coat and a pair

of riding boots which reached to his knees and displayed, above, the

glow of his rose-colored pyjamas.

On the instant the three n*****s--John had never seen any of them

before, and it flashed through his mind that they must be the

professional executioners paused in their movement toward John, and

turned expectantly to the man in the lift, who burst out with an

imperious command:

"Get in here! All three of you! Quick as hell!"

Then, within the instant, the three n*****s darted into the cage, the

oblong of light was blotted out as the lift door slid shut, and John

was again alone in the hall. He slumped weakly down against an ivory

stair.

It was apparent that something portentous had occurred, something

which, for the moment at least, had postponed his own petty disaster.

What was it? Had the n*****s risen in revolt? Had the aviators forced

aside the iron bars of the grating? Or had the men of Fish stumbled

blindly through the hills and gazed with bleak, joyless eyes upon the

gaudy valley? John did not know. He heard a faint whir of air as the

lift whizzed up again, and then, a moment later, as it descended. It

was probable that Percy was hurrying to his father's assistance, and

it occurred to John that this was his opportunity to join Kismine and

plan an immediate escape. He waited until the lift had been silent for

several minutes; shivering a little with the night cool that whipped

in through his wet pyjamas, he returned to his room and dressed

himself quickly. Then he mounted a long flight of stairs and turned

down the corridor carpeted with Russian sable which led to Kismine's

suite.

The door of her sitting-room was open and the lamps were lighted.

Kismine, in an angora kimono, stood near the window Of the room in a

listening attitude, and as John entered noiselessly she turned toward

him.

"Oh, it's you!" she whispered, crossing the room to him. "Did you hear

them?"

I heard your father's slaves in my---"

"No," she interrupted excitedly. "Aeroplanes!"

"Aeroplanes? Perhaps that was the sound that woke me."

"There're at least a dozen. I saw one a few moments ago dead against

the moon. The guard back by the cliff fired his rifle and that's what

roused father. We're going to open on them right away."

"Are they here on purpose?"

"Yes--it's that Italian who got away---"

Simultaneously with her last word, a succession of sharp cracks

tumbled in through the open window. Kismine uttered a little cry, took

a penny with fumbling fingers from a box on her dresser, and ran to

one of the electric lights. In an instant the entire chateau was in

darkness--she had blown out the fuse.

"Come on!" she cried to him. "We'll go up to the roof garden, and

watch it from there!"

Drawing a cape about her, she took his hand, and they found their way

out the door. It was only a step to the tower lift, and as she pressed

the button that shot them upward he put his arms around her in the

darkness and kissed her mouth. Romance had come to John Unger at last.

A minute later they had stepped out upon the star-white platform.

Above, under the misty moon, sliding in and out of the patches of

cloud that eddied below it, floated a dozen dark-winged bodies in a

constant circling course. From here and there in the valley flashes of

fire leaped toward them, followed by sharp detonations. Kismine

clapped her hands with pleasure, which, a moment later, turned to

dismay as the aeroplanes, at some prearranged signal, began to release

their bombs and the whole of the valley became a panorama of deep

reverberate sound and lurid light.

Before long the aim of the attackers became concentrated upon the

points where the anti-aircraft guns were situated, and one of them was

almost immediately reduced to a giant cinder to lie smouldering in a

park of rose bushes.

"Kismine," begged John, "you'll be glad when I tell you that this

attack came on the eve of my murder. If I hadn't heard that guard

shoot off his gun back by the pass I should now be stone dead---"

"I can't hear you!" cried Kismine, intent on the scene before her.

"You'll have to talk louder!"

"I simply said," shouted John, "that we'd better get out before they

begin to shell the chateau!"

Suddenly the whole portico of the n***o quarters cracked asunder, a

geyser of flame shot up from under the colonnades, and great fragments

of jagged marble were hurled as far as the borders of the lake.

"There go fifty thousand dollars' worth of slaves," cried Kismine, "at

pre-war prices. So few Americans have any respect for property."

John renewed his efforts to compel her to leave. The aim of the

aeroplanes was becoming more precise minute by minute, and only two of

the anti-aircraft guns were still retaliating. It was obvious that the

garrison, encircled with fire, could not hold out much longer.

"Come on!" cried John, pulling Kismine's arm, "we've got to go. Do you

realise that those aviators will kill you without question if they

find you?"

She consented reluctantly.

"We'll have to wake Jasmine!" she said, as they hurried toward the

lift. Then she added in a sort of childish delight: "We'll be poor,

won't we? Like people in books. And I'll be an orphan and utterly

free. Free and poor! What fun!" She stopped and raised her lips to him

in a delighted kiss.

"It's impossible to be both together," said John grimly. "People have

found that out. And I should choose to be free as preferable of the

two. As an extra caution you'd better dump the contents of your jewel

box into your pockets."

Ten minutes later the two girls met John in the dark corridor and they

descended to the main floor of the chateau. Passing for the last time

through the magnificence of the splendid halls, they stood for a

moment out on the terrace, watching the burning n***o quarters and the

flaming embers of two planes which had fallen on the other side of the

lake. A solitary gun was still keeping up a sturdy popping, and the

attackers seemed timorous about descending lower, but sent their

thunderous fireworks in a circle around it, until any chance shot

might annihilate its Ethiopian crew.

John and the two sisters passed down the marble steps, turned sharply

to the left, and began to ascend a narrow path that wound like a

garter about the diamond mountain. Kismine knew a heavily wooded spot

half-way up where they could lie concealed and yet be able to observe

the wild night in the valley--finally to make an escape, when it

should be necessary, along a secret path laid in a rocky gully.

10

It was three o'clock when they attained their destination. The

obliging and phlegmatic Jasmine fell off to sleep immediately, leaning

against the trunk of a large tree, while John and Kismine sat, his arm

around her, and watched the desperate ebb and flow of the dying battle

among the ruins of a vista that had been a garden spot that morning.

Shortly after four o'clock the last remaining gun gave out a clanging

sound, and went out of action in a swift tongue of red smoke. Though

the moon was down, they saw that the flying bodies were circling

closer to the earth. When the planes had made certain that the

beleaguered possessed no further resources they would land and the

dark and glittering reign of the Washingtons would be over.

With the cessation of the firing the valley grew quiet. The embers of

the two aeroplanes glowed like the eyes of some monster crouching in

the grass. The ch**** stood dark and silent, beautiful without light

as it had been beautiful in the sun, while the woody rattles of

Nemesis filled the air above with a growing and receding complaint.

Then John perceived that Kismine, like her sister, had fallen sound

asleep.

It was long after four when he became aware of footsteps along the

path they had lately followed, and he waited in breathless silence

until the persons to whom they belonged had passed the vantage-point

he occupied. There was a faint stir in the air now that was not of

human origin, and the dew was cold; be knew that the dawn would break

soon. John waited until the steps had gone a safe distance up the

mountain and were inaudible. Then he followed. About half-way to the

steep summit the trees fell away and a hard saddle of rock spread

itself over the diamond beneath. Just before he reached this point he

slowed down his pace warned by an animal sense that there was life

just ahead of him. Coming to a high boulder, he lifted his head

gradually above its edge. His curiosity was rewarded; this is what he

saw:

Braddock Washington was standing there motionless, silhouetted against

the gray sky without sound or sign of life. As the dawn came up out of

the east, lending a gold green colour to the earth, it brought the

solitary figure into insignificant contrast with the new day,

While John watched, his host remained for a few moments absorbed in

some inscrutable contemplation; then he signalled to the two negroes

who crouched at his feet to lift the burden which lay between them. As

they struggled upright, the first yellow beam of the sun struck

through the innumerable prisms of an immense and exquisitely chiselled

diamond--and a white radiance was kindled that glowed upon the air

like a fragment of the morning star. The bearers staggered beneath its

weight for a moment--then their rippling muscles caught and hardened

under the wet shine of the skins and the three figures were again

motionless in their defiant impotency before the heavens.

After a while the white man lifted his head and slowly raised his arms

in a gesture of attention, as one who would call a great crowd to

hear--but there was no crowd, only the vast silence of the mountain

and the sky, broken by faint bird voices down among the trees. The

figure on the saddle of rock began to speak ponderously and with an

inextinguishable pride.

"You--out there---!" he cried in a trembling voice.

"You--there-----!" He paused, his arms still uplifted, his head held

attentively as though he were expecting an answer. John strained his

eyes to see whether there might be men coming down the mountain, but

the mountain was bare of human life. There was only sky and a mocking

flute of wind along the treetops. Could Washington be praying? For a

moment John wondered. Then the illusion passed--there was something in

the man's whole attitude antithetical to prayer.

"Oh, you above there!"

The voice was become strong and confident. This was no forlorn

supplication. If anything, there was in it a quality of monstrous

condescension.

"You there---" Words, too quickly uttered to be understood, flowing

one into the other .... John listened breathlessly, catching a phrase

here and there, while the voice broke off, resumed, broke off

again--now strong and argumentative, now coloured with a slow, puzzled

impatience, Then a conviction commenced to dawn on the single

listener, and as realisation crept over him a spray of quick blood

rushed through his arteries. Braddock Washington was offering a bribe

to God!

That was it--there was no doubt. The diamond in the arms of his slaves

was some advance sample, a promise of more to follow.

That, John perceived after a time, was the thread running through his

sentences. Prometheus Enriched was calling to witness forgotten

sacrifices, forgotten rituals, prayers obsolete before the birth of

Christ. For a while his discourse took the farm of reminding God of

this gift or that which Divinity had deigned to accept from men--great

churches if he would rescue cities from the plague, gifts of myrrh and

gold, of human lives and beautiful women and captive armies, of

children and queens, of beasts of the forest and field, sheep and

goats, harvests and cities, whole conquered lands that had been

offered up in lust or blood for His appeasal, buying a meed's worth of

alleviation from the Divine wrath--and now he, Braddock Washington,

Emperor of Diamonds, king and priest of the age of gold, arbiter of

splendour and luxury, would offer up a treasure such as princes before

him had never dreamed of, offer it up not in suppliance, but in pride.

He would give to God, he continued, getting down to specifications,

the greatest diamond in the world. This diamond would be cut with many

more thousand facets than there were leaves on a tree, and yet the

whole diamond would be shaped with the perfection of a stone no bigger

than a fly. Many men would work upon it for many years. It would be

set in a great dome of beaten gold, wonderfully carved and equipped

with gates of opal and crusted sapphire. In the middle would be

hollowed out a chapel presided over by an altar of iridescent,

decomposing, ever-changing radium which would burn out the eyes of any

worshipper who lifted up his head from prayer--and on this altar there

would be slain for the amusement of the Divine Benefactor any victim

He should choose, even though it should be the greatest and most

powerful man alive.

In return he asked only a simple thing, a thing that for God would be

absurdly easy--only that matters should be as they were yesterday at

this hour and that they should so remain. So very simple! Let but the

heavens open, swallowing these men and their aeroplanes--and then

close again. Let him have his slaves once more, restored to life and

well.

There was no one else with whom he had ever needed: to treat or

bargain.

He doubted only whether he had made his bribe big enough. God had His

price, of course. God was made in man's image, so it had been said: He

must have His price. And the price would be rare--no cathedral whose

building consumed many years, no pyramid constructed by ten thousand

workmen, would be like this cathedral, this pyramid.

He paused here. That was his proposition. Everything would be up to

specifications, and there was nothing vulgar in his assertion that it

would be cheap at the price. He implied that Providence could take it

or leave it.

As he approached the end his sentences became broken, became short and

uncertain, and his body seemed tense, seemed strained to catch the

slightest pressure or whisper of life in the spaces around him. His

hair had turned gradually white as he talked, and now he lifted his

head high to the heavens like a prophet of old--magnificently mad.

Then, as John stared in giddy fascination, it seemed to him that a

curious phenomenon took place somewhere around him. It was as though

the sky had darkened for an instant, as though there had been a sudden

murmur in a gust of wind, a sound of far-away trumpets, a sighing like

the rustle of a great silken robe--for a time the whole of nature

round about partook of this darkness; the birds' song ceased; the

trees were still, and far over the mountain there was a mutter of

dull, menacing thunder.

That was all. The wind died along the tall grasses of the valley. The

dawn and the day resumed their place in a time, and the risen sun sent

hot waves of yellow mist that made its path bright before it. The

leaves laughed in the sun, and their laughter shook until each bough

was like a girl's school in fairyland. God had refused to accept the

bribe.

For another moment John, watched the triumph of the day. Then,

turning, he saw a flutter of brown down by the lake, then another

flutter, then another, like the dance of golden angels alighting from

the clouds. The aeroplanes had come to earth.

John slid off the boulder and ran down the side of the mountain to the

clump of trees, where the two girls were awake and waiting for him.

Kismine sprang to her feet, the jewels in her pockets jingling, a

question on her parted lips, but instinct told John that there was no

time for words. They must get off the mountain without losing a

moment. He seized a hand of each, and in silence they threaded the

tree-trunks, washed with light now and with the rising mist. Behind

them from the valley came no sound at all, except the complaint of the

peacocks far away and the pleasant of morning.

When they had gone about half a mile, they avoided the park land and

entered a narrow path that led over the next rise of ground. At the

highest point of this they paused and turned around. Their eyes rested

upon the mountainside they had just left--oppressed by some dark sense

of tragic impendency.

Clear against the sky a broken, white-haired man was slowly descending

the steep slope, followed by two gigantic and emotionless n*****s, who

carried a burden between them which still flashed and glittered in the

sun. Half-way down two other figures joined them--John could see that

they were Mrs. Washington and her son, upon whose arm she leaned. The

aviators had clambered from their machines to the sweeping lawn in

front of the chateau, and with rifles in hand were starting up the

diamond mountain in skirmishing formation.

But the little group of five which had formed farther up and was

engrossing all the watchers' attention had stopped upon a ledge of

rock. The n*****s stooped and pulled up what appeared to be a

trap-door in the side of the mountain. Into this they all disappeared,

the white-haired man first, then his wife and son, finally the two

negroes, the glittering tips of whose jewelled head-dresses caught the

sun for a moment before the trap-door descended and engulfed them all.

Kismine clutched John's arm.

"Oh," she cried wildly, "where are they going? What are they going to

do?"

"It must be some underground way of escape--"

A little scream from the two girls interrupted his sentence.

"Don't you see?" sobbed Kismine hysterically. "The mountain is wired!"

Even as she spoke John put up his hands to shield his sight. Before

their eyes the whole surface of the mountain had changed suddenly to a

dazzling burning yellow, which showed up through the jacket of turf as

light shows through a human hand. For a moment the intolerable glow

continued, and then like an extinguished filament it disappeared,

revealing a black waste from which blue smoke arose slowly, carrying

off with it what remained of vegetation and of human flesh. Of the

aviators there was left neither blood nor bone--they were consumed as

completely as the five souls who had gone inside.

Simultaneously, and with an immense concussion, the ch**** literally

threw itself into the air, bursting into flaming fragments as it rose,

and then tumbling back upon itself in a smoking pile that lay

projecting half into the water of the lake. There was no fire--what

smoke there was drifted off mingling with the sunshine, and for a few

minutes longer a powdery dust of marble drifted from the great

featureless pile that had once been the house of jewels. There was no

more sound and the three people were alone in the valley.

9

At sunset John and his two companions reached the huge cliff which had

marked the boundaries of the Washington's dominion, and looking back

found the valley tranquil and lovely in the dusk. They sat down to

finish the food which Jasmine had brought with her in a basket,

"There!" she said, as she spread the table-cloth and put the

sandwiches in a neat pile upon it. "Don't they look tempting? I always

think that food tastes better outdoors."

"With that remark," remarked Kismine, "Jasmine enters the middle

class."

"Now," said John eagerly, "turn out your pocket and let's see what

jewels you brought along. If you made a good selection we three ought

to live comfortably all the rest of our lives."

Obediently Kismine put her hand in her pocket and tossed two handfuls

of glittering stones before him. "Not so bad," cried John

enthusiastically. "They aren't very big, but-Hallo!" His expression

changed as he held one of them up to the declining sun. "Why, these

aren't diamonds! There's something the matter!

"By golly!" exclaimed Kismine, with a startled look. "What an i***t I

am!"

"Why, these are rhinestones!" cried John.

"I know." She broke into a laugh. "I opened the wrong drawer. They

belonged on the dress of a girl who visited Jasmine. I got her to give

them to me in exchange for diamonds. I'd never seen anything but

precious stones before."

"And this is what you brought?"

"I'm afraid so." She fingered the brilliants wistfully. "I think I

like these better. I'm a little tired of diamonds."

"Very well," said John gloomily. "We'll have to live in Hades. And you

will grow old telling incredulous women that you got the wrong drawer.

Unfortunately, your father's bank-books were consumed with him."

"Well, what's the matter with Hades?"

"If I come home with a wife at my age my father is just as liable as

not to cut me off with a hot coal, as they say down there."

Jasmine spoke up.

"I love washing," she said quietly. "I have always washed my own

handkerchiefs. I'll take in laundry and support you both."

"Do they have washwomen in Hades?" asked Kismine innocently.

"Of course," answered John. "It's just like anywhere else."

"I thought--perhaps it was too hot to wear any clothes."

John laughed.

"Just try it!" he suggested. "They'll run you out before you're half

started."

"Will father be there?" she asked.

John turned to her in astonishment.

"Your father is dead," he replied sombrely. "Why should he go to

Hades? You have it confused with another place that was abolished long

ago."

After supper they folded up the table-cloth and spread their blankets

for the night.

"What a dream it was," Kismine sighed, gazing up at the stars. "How

strange it seems to be here with one dress and a penniless fianc*!

"Under the stars," she repeated. "I never noticed the stars before. I

always thought of them as great big diamonds that belonged to some

one. Now they frighten me. They make me feel that it was all a dream,

all my youth."

"It _was_ a dream," said John quietly. "Everybody's youth is a

dream, a form of chemical madness."

"How pleasant then to be insane!"

"So I'm told," said John gloomily. "I don't know any longer. At any

rate, let us love for a while, for a year or so, you and me. That's a

form of divine drunkenness that we can all try. There are only

diamonds in the whole world, diamonds and perhaps the shabby gift of

disillusion. Well, I have that last and I will make the usual nothing

of it." He shivered. "Turn up your coat collar, little girl, the

night's full of chill and you'll get pneumonia. His was a great sin

who first invented consciousness. Let us lose it for a few hours."

So wrapping himself in his blanket he fell off to sleep.