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“I presume it is for a young lady?”
“That’s right.”
“Oh well, we’re only young once. Have you a finger fitting?”
“No. I never thought of that.”
The man shrugged his shoulders. “It’s usual. Perhaps your young
lady would like to come in and try some of these on for herself.”
“She can’t. She doesn’t even know I’m taking her this.”
The man looked shrewdly at his hard young face, lined too
deeply for his years. “In that case would you like to take one of these
cards and try it on first so there’ll be no mistake? You’ll get an idea of
the size that way.”
“No.” Bart took up one of the rings and examined it closely in
the light on the counter. “How much are they?”
“This one is twenty-five pounds and that one thirty-five pounds
and that one fifteen pounds, and this one here is fifty-five pounds.”
Bart stared at the tray wishing to God he knew something about
values.
“Are they dinkum?”
“The diamonds, you mean?”
“Yes.” The man gave a soft almost soundless chuckle. “My dear
young fellow, do you think any jeweller is going to answer that any other
way?”
Bart stared at the rings miserably. The fifty-five pounds one
looked much the same as the twenty-five pounds one, except for a bit of
decoration on the sides. He picked it up and twiddled it between his
fingers.
“Don’t you know anything about rings?”
“No.”
“And I take it you want this for an engagement ring?’
“Yes.”
“How much do you want to spend on it?”
“I’ve got thirty-five pounds between me and next pay-day and I
don’t want to spend more than thirty pounds.”
The man chuckled again. “You’re honest.”
“I don’t know whether I’m honest or not, but it’s all I’ve got,
and I want to get something decent.” He halted and went on twiddling
the ring between his fingers, trying to imagine it on Jan’s hand, trying to
guess whether it would fit her or not.
“Listen,” he said at last, “my girl’s sick in hospital – damn sick.
I’m catching the first train to the mountains in the morning to visit her,
see …?”

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