The Orange-Yellow Diamond | Page 4

his hands in his pockets and looked at the girl in sheer
perplexity. She was a very pretty, dark girl, nearly as tall as himself,
slender and lissom of figure, and decidedly attractive. There was
evident sense of fun and humour in her eyes, and about the corners of
her lips: he suddenly got an idea that she was amused at his
embarrassment.
"How much can you lend me?" he asked. "What--what's it worth?"
"No, that's not it!" she answered. "It's--what do you want to borrow?
You're not used to pledging things, are you?"
"No," replied Lauriston. "This is the first time. Can--can you lend me a
few pounds?"
The girl picked up the watch again, and again, examined it.
"I'll lend you three pounds fifteen on it," she said suddenly, in
business-like tones. "That do?"
"Thank you," replied Lauriston. "That'll do very well--I'm much

obliged. I suppose I can have it back any time."
"Any time you bring the money, and pay the interest," replied the girl.
"Within twelve calendar months and seven days." She picked up a pen
and began to fill out a ticket. "Got any copper?" she asked presently.
"Copper?" exclaimed Lauriston. "What for?"
"The ticket," she answered. Then she gave him a quick glance and just
as quickly looked down again. "Never mind!" she said. "I'll take it out
of the loan. Your name and address, please."
Lauriston presently took the ticket and the little pile of gold, silver, and
copper which she handed him. And he lingered.
"You'll take care of that watch," he said, suddenly. "It was my father's,
you see."
The girl smiled, reassuringly, and pointed to a heavily-built safe in the
rear.
"We've all sorts of family heirlooms in there," she observed. "Make
yourself easy."
Lauriston thanked her, raised his hat, and turned away--unwillingly. He
would have liked an excuse to stop longer--and he did not quite know
why. But he could think of none, so he went--with a backward look
when he got to the door. The pretty pawnbroker smiled and nodded.
And the next moment he was out in the street, with money in his pocket,
and a strange sense of relief, which was mingled with one of surprise.
For he had lived for the previous four days on a two-shilling piece--and
there, all the time, close by him, had been a place where you could
borrow money, easily and very pleasantly.
His first thought was to hurry to his lodgings and pay his landlady. He
owed her six weeks' rent, at ten shillings a week--that would take three
pounds out of the money he had just received. But he would still have
over fourteen shillings to be going on with--and surely those expected

letters would come within the next few postal deliveries. He had asked
the editor who had taken two short stories from him to let him have a
cheque for them, and in his inexperience had expected to see it arrive
by return of post. Also he had put his pride in his pocket, and had
written a long letter to his old schoolmate, John Purdie, in far-away
Scotland, explaining his present circumstances, and asking him, for old
times' sake, to lend him some money until he had finished and sold a
novel, which, he was sure, would turn out to be a small gold-mine.
John Purdie, he knew, was now a wealthy young man--successor to his
father in a fine business; Lauriston felt no doubt that he would respond.
And meantime, till the expected letters came, he had money--and when
you have lived for four days on two shillings, fourteen shillings seems
a small fortune. Certainly, within the last half-hour, life had taken on a
roseate tinge--all due to a visit to the pawnshop.
Hurrying back along Praed Street, Lauriston's steps were suddenly
arrested. He found himself unconsciously hurrying by an old-fashioned
eating-house, from whence came an appetizing odour of cooking food.
He remembered then that he had eaten nothing for four-and-twenty
hours. His landlady supplied him with nothing: ever since he had gone
to her he had done his own catering, going out for his meals. The last
meal, on the previous evening, had been a glass of milk and a stale,
though sizable bun, and now he felt literally ravenous. It was only by
an effort that he could force himself to pass the eating-house; once
beyond its door, he ran, ran until he reached his lodgings and slipped
three sovereigns into Mrs. Flitwick's hands.
"That'll make us right to this week end, Mrs. Flitwick," he said. "Put
the receipt in my room."
"And greatly obliged I am to you, Mr. Lauriston," answered the
landlady. "And sorry, indeed, you should have had to put yourself to
the trouble, but--"
"All right, all right--no trouble--no trouble