My curiosity was inarticulate with a multitude of crowding questions. I
couldn’t make my choice which to ask first. I watched the swans sail
in and out the tethered boats, and racked my brain for words. Then I
blurted out, “What does it all mean, Uncle Obad?”
His eyes filled with tears. “My boy, it means success.”
I mumbled something typically boylike and inadequate about being “jolly
glad.” He slipped his arm through mine with that endearing familiarity
he had, as though I were a man. He was too excited to sit down, so we
strolled along the quays, under the creeper-covered redbrick walls of
the houses, and out of Richmond along the open river-bank.
“No one ever believed that I’d do it, Dante. I don’t think you did
yourself. They all said, ‘Oh, Spreckles! Ha, the fellow who twiddles his
thumbs while his wife works!’ They didn’t say it to my face--they didn’t
dare. But that was what they thought about me. I seemed a failure--a
good-natured incompetent. Even people who liked me felt ashamed of
me--I mean people who were dear to me, living in the same house. Women
want their husbands to measure up to the standards of other men. It’s
natural--I don’t blame ’em. But, you know, I never had a chance, old
chap--never seemed to find my right kind of work. I couldn’t do little
things well. I’m one of those imperial men who need something big to
bring the best out of’ ’em. And now I’ve got it--I’ve got it, Dante.”
I caught his excitement, and begged him to tell me what this wonderful
something was that had so suddenly transformed him from a nobody into
a powerful person. I felt sure he was powerful, apart from anything he
said, for he radiated opulence. He halted in the middle of the tow-path,
gripping me by the shoulders, laughing into my face and bidding me
guess. I guessed everything possible and impossible. Losing patience,
“It’s diamond mines,” he burst out.
“But how did you get ’em, Uncle Obad, and where?”
For an instant I had a wild vision of men with pickaxes, shovels, and
miners’ lamps, digging down into the bowels of the Christian Boarding
House.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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