The Remarkable History of Sir Thomas Upmore, bart., M.P., formerly known as "Tommy Upmore"Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
General
The Remarkable History of Sir Thomas Upmore, bart., M.P., formerly known as "Tommy Upmore"
Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
Great Britain -- Politics and government -- 19th century -- Fiction; Satire
"Because I never had such a chance myself;" he answered, with a candid
smile. "And to think of your luck, in escaping all duty! Your Uncle?
Why, let me see--three per cent. They could not have been valued for
probate, or administration, at less than £150,000; and probably I should
have had to appraise them. Since the disappearance of the French blue
diamond, there is nothing in that line to come near them. Each of them
is worth at least two Hope's; that is, if they cut, as I am sure they
will."
"But is there not some ground to fear," I asked, "that when all the
facts become known, our Government might insist upon restoring them?
They seem to exist for the purpose of surrendering every British right,
whether public, or private."
"Undoubtedly they do," he answered sadly; "but your very clever Uncle
has provided against that. You can make oath, with clear conscience,
that you do not know the name of the place they came from; and if they
were there three hundred years, how can they be traced from Borneo? No,
you need not have the smallest apprehension about that. They belong to
you as absolutely, as the watch now in your pocket. And I congratulate
you warmly, upon such a grand possession."
Then I asked him, with some diffidence, what the fee for his opinion
was. But he said, "None. Only when you have them cut, I should like it
to be done through our house, if you think fit. We are proud to say now
that such work can be done in London, as well, or even better than in
Amsterdam. It is a new industry, and deserves to be encouraged. And to
make a good job of such gems as those, would give a fine impetus to the
English art."
This I promised gladly; and after some kind words of caution from him,
and of good advice from Roly--who never left anything unhandled--we took
a cab direct to "Placid Bower," feeling as important, I do believe, as
any two young men in all London.
In the presence of Sir Roland, who dined with us that day, I handed to
my mother that one of the two stones, which the jeweller had pointed
out, as rather the more precious. But she was so amazed, when we had
told her all the story, that it was quite impossible to refrain from
laughing.
"You expect me to believe a single word of that!" she cried, having
scant faith in youthful verity. "No, no, Master Tommy, I was born before
you were. And what would your dear father have said, to hear such
things! Your poor Uncle William was a man of such a nature, that if he
had twelve pockets, there were twenty-four holes in them. He would have
told me, of course, not you; if he had thought them worth speaking of.
He had daily opportunity of testing my discretion. Put them under your
pillow, Tommy, and don't let me hear any more of them." And she marched
away, leaving her blue diamond contemptuously, in the fingerglass.
"Take her at her word, you millionaire of a Tommy;" Sir Roland said to
me, when he had shut the door.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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