Master of the Game. Sidney Sheldon
MILLER, WARM AND COLD BATHS.
OPEN DAILY FROM 6 A.M. TO 8 P.M., WITH THE COMFORTS OF A NEAT DRESSING ROOM
Jamie thought, When did I have my last bath? Well, I took a bucket bath on the boat. That was – He was suddenly aware of how he must smell. He thought of the weekly tub baths in the kitchen at home, and he could hear his mother’s voice calling, ‘Be sure to wash down below, Jamie.’
He turned and entered the baths. There were two doors inside, one for women and one for men. Jamie entered the men’s section and walked up to the aged attendant. ‘How much is a bath?’
‘Ten shillings for a cold bath, fifteen for a hot.’
Jamie hesitated. The idea of a hot bath after his long journey was almost irresistible. ‘Cold,’ he said. He could not afford to throw away his money on luxuries. He had mining equipment to buy.
The attendant handed him a small bar of yellow lye soap and a threadbare hand towel and pointed. ‘In there, mate.’
Jamie stepped into a small room that contained nothing except a large galvanized-iron bathtub in the centre and a few pegs on the wall. The attendant began filling the tub from a large wooden bucket.
‘All ready for you, mister. Just hang your clothes on those pegs.’
Jamie waited until the attendant left and then undressed. He looked down at his grime-covered body and put one foot in the tub. The water was cold, as advertised. He gritted his teeth and plunged in, soaping himself furiously from head to foot. When he finally stepped out of the tub, the water was black. He dried himself as best he could with the worn linen towel and started to get dressed. His pants and shirt were stiff with dirt, and he hated to put them back on. He would have to buy a change of clothes, and this reminded him once more of how little money he had. And he was hungry again.
Jamie left the bathhouse and pushed his way down the crowded street to a saloon called the Sundowner. He ordered a beer and lunch. Lamb cutlets with tomatoes, and sausage and potato salad and pickles. While he ate, he listened to the hopeful conversations around him.
‘… I hear they found a stone near Colesberg weighin’ twenty-one carats. Mark you, if there’s one diamond up there, there’s plenty more …’
‘… There’s a new diamond find up in Hebron. I’m thinkin’ of goin’ there …’
‘You’re a fool. The big diamonds are in the Orange River …’
At the bar, a bearded customer in a collarless, striped-flannel shirt and corduroy trousers was nursing a shandygaff in a large glass. ‘I got cleaned out in Hebron,’ he confided to the bartender. ‘I need me a grubstake.’
The bartender was a large, fleshy, bald-headed man with a broken, twisted nose and ferret eyes. He laughed. ‘Hell, man, who doesn’t? Why do you think I’m tendin’ bar? As soon as I have enough money, I’m gonna hightail it up the Orange myself.’ He wiped the bar with a dirty rag. ‘But I’ll tell you what you might do, mister. See Salomon van der Merwe. He owns the general store and half the town.
‘What good’ll that do me?’
‘If he likes you, he might stake you.’
The customer looked at him. ‘Yeah? You really think he might?’
‘He’s done it for a few fellows I know of. You put up your labour, he puts up the money. You split fifty-fifty.’
Jamie McGregor’s thoughts leaped ahead. He had been confident that the hundred and twenty pounds he had left would be enough to buy the equipment and food he would need to survive, but the prices in Klipdrift were astonishing. He had noticed in Van der Merwe’s store that a hundred-pound sack of Australian flour cost five pounds. One pound of sugar cost a shilling. A bottle of beer cost five shillings. Biscuits were three shillings a pound, and fresh eggs sold for seven shillings a dozen. At that rate, his money would not last long. My God, Jamie thought, at home we could live for a year on what three meals cost here. But if he could get the backing of someone really wealthy, like Mr van der Merwe … Jamie hastily paid for his food and hurried back to the general store.
Salomon van der Merwe was behind the counter, removing the rifles from a wooden crate. He was a small thin man, with a thin, pinched face framed by Dundreary whiskers. He had sandy hair, tiny black eyes, a bulbous nose and pursed lips. His daughter must take after her mother, Jamie thought. ‘Excuse me, sir …’
Van der Merwe looked up. ‘Ja?’
‘Mr van der Merwe? My name is Jamie McGregor, sir, I’m from Scotland. I came here to find diamonds.’
‘Ja? So?’
‘I hear you sometimes back prospectors.’
Van der Merwe grumbled, ‘Myn magtig! Who spreads these stories? I help out a few diggers, and everyone thinks I’m Santa Claus.’
‘I’ve saved a hundred and twenty pounds,’ Jamie said earnestly. ‘But I see that it’s not going to buy me much here. I’ll go out to the bush with just a shovel if I have to, but I figure my chances would be a lot better if I had a mule and some proper equipment.’
Van der Merwe was studying him with those small, black eyes. ‘Wat denk ye? What makes you think you can find diamonds?’
‘I’ve come halfway around the world, Mr van der Merwe, and I’m not going to leave here until I’m rich. If the diamonds are out there, I’ll find them. If you help me, I’ll make us both rich.’
Van der Merwe grunted, turned his back on Jamie and continued unloading the rifles. Jamie stood there awkwardly, not knowing what more to say. When Van der Merwe spoke again, his question caught Jamie off guard. ‘You travel here by bullock wagon, ja?’
‘No. Post cart.’
The old man turned to study the boy again. He said, finally, ‘We talk about it.’
They talked about it at dinner that evening in the room in the back of the store that was the Van der Merwe living quarters. It was a small room that served as a kitchen, dining room and sleeping quarters, with a curtain separating two cots. The lower half of the walls was built of mud and stone, and the upper half was faced with cardboard boxes that had once contained provisions. A square hole, where a piece of the wall had been cut out, served as window. In wet weather it could be closed by placing a board in front of it. The dining table consisted of a long plank stretched across two wooden crates. A large box, turned on its side, served as a cupboard. Jamie guessed that Van der Merwe was not a man who parted easily with his money.
Van der Merwe’s daughter moved silently about, preparing dinner. From time to time she cast quick glances at her father, but she never once looked at Jamie. Why is she so frightened? Jamie wondered.
When they were seated at the table, Van der Merwe began. ‘Let us have a blessing. We Thank Thee, O Lord, for the bounty we receive at Thy hands. We thank Thee for forgiving us our sins and showing us the path of righteousness and delivering us from life’s temptations. We thank Thee for a long and fruitful life, and for smiting dead all those who offend Thee. Amen.’ And without a breath between, ‘Pass me the meat,’ he said to his daughter.
The dinner was frugal: a small roast pork, three boiled potatoes and a dish of turnip greens. The portions he served to Jamie were small. The two men talked little during the meal, and Margaret did not speak at all.
When they had finished eating, Van der Merwe said, ‘That was fine, Daughter,’ and there was pride in his voice. He turned to Jamie. ‘We get down to business, ja?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Van der Merwe picked up a long clay pipe from the top of the wooden cabinet. He filled it with a sweet-smelling tobacco from a small pouch and lighted the pipe. His sharp eyes peered intently at Jamie through the wreaths of smoke.
‘The