Yes, Kimberley and the diamond business had changed, but not Fay. She still seemed to remain the same. She still seemed unable to find someone to settle down with, and she had to be approaching twenty now, and certainly more than old enough to get married. And she still remained with her father, who in addition to getting older seemed to be getting more and more odd with each passing day. And, Barney thought, Fay seemed to get more and more beautiful as time passed. And still as distant and unattainable for him as the moon.
It was a sad thought but one that remained with him constantly, and as he led old Rhodes to the stable and then walked over to the Paris Hotel, where he and Harry now shared a room, he wondered at the rut into which he seemed to have fallen. As far as Harry was concerned, Barney knew, it was a comfortable rut and one that gave a very decent profit to add to their relatively large and growing account in the Kimberley Bank; but then Harry was planning on taking his share of the money and going to London very soon, intending to settle down and get married. But that was not at all what Barney wanted. He didn’t know exactly what he did want, but he knew it was different from what he had.
He paused to scrape the mud from his boots before entering the hotel, and noticed a poster nailed to one side of the door. It was advertising a circus. Barney smiled faintly. At one time, as a boy in Petticoat Lane, he had hoped to join a circus, use his acrobatic talents there; he wondered where he would have been now had he done so instead of taking off to join Harry in Africa. It was a pointless thought, he knew. For one thing he would never have met Fay, although in all honesty that probably would have been better. Had he not met her he might have been happily married to someone else, although he could not picture any other girl he would have wanted. He put the thought away almost forcibly and was about to abandon the poster when he noticed an additional statement at the bottom of the printed sheet. It stated that the Man Mountain of Angola, the Strongest Man in the World, would take on any challenger in the world for six rounds of boxing, the challenger to receive the sum of Five Pounds should he best the champion. Barney grinned broadly at the ridiculous thought that anyone in Kimberley would chance getting his head beat off for the paltry sum of five pounds, the price of a few meals in that highly inflationary area. And then he suddenly stopped short as an idea struck him. It was so simple, as all truly great ideas always are, that he wondered it had taken him all of several seconds to have thought of it! Five pounds, of course, was absurd. It was even completely inconsequential. There was real money to be gained, enough money, in fact, to allow him to realize his ambitions! And the more he examined his idea, standing staring at the poster, the better he liked it. He checked the data on the colorful poster once again, and saw the circus would remain in Kimberley a full week. More than ample time to put his scheme in operation!
With his idea bubbling in his head like champagne, Barney walked into the hotel and went to the bar, looking for Harry. His brother was at the far end of the bar, surrounded by a group as he told them a story. There was a burst of laughter as Harry ended. He noticed Barney and waved him over, but Barney motioned to his brother to come to him instead. The two made their way into the dining area and sat at a table that allowed privacy for their conversation. Barney waved away a waitress as Harry studied his brother’s face, noting the inner excitement. He frowned slightly. He hadn’t seen Barney in this mood for a very long time.
“All right, Barney,” he said. “What’s on your mind?”
Barney was barely able to hold back a grin. “Harry, how much money do we have in the Kimberley Bank?”
Harry held up a hand. “Hold it! Whatever brainstorm you have, remember that half of that money is mine. And the boys also each have a share; they’ve contributed.”
Barney waved that aside as being totally unimportant. “How much do we have there?”
Harry considered him for several seconds before answering. “A little more than four thousand pounds.”
“Fine!” Barney said with evident satisfaction. “We’re going to multiply that by ten to twenty times. Inside of a week!”
“Oh? And just how do we perform this miracle? Rob the bank? Or buy a printing press and print our own?”
“No. We’re going to let people give it to us. Force it on us, practically.” Barney leaned forward, unconsciously dropping his voice although there was nobody near them. “Harry, when you came in, did you see that poster outside advertisin’ a circus?”
“I know all about it. They’re staying at the Queen’s Hotel and I saw them there when I went to lunch. So what does the circus have to do with us? What do we do to get rich — open a fish-and-chips stand next to them? Or cotton candy?”
Barney paid no attention to the sarcasm, waving it away impatiently. “Did you see where they have someone they call the Man Mountain of Angola, or somethin’ like that? Who will fight anyone six rounds any rules, and if the challenger wins, he gets five quid?”
“So? Who in his right mind is going to fight some giant for a mere five pounds?”
“Me,” Barney said quietly, and leaned back in triumph.
“You?” Harry stared across the table. “You’ve been out in the sun too much! Among other things, I saw the man they call the Man Mountain at the Queen’s this noon, and that’s just what he is. He’s roughly — not roughly, more than — twice as big as you are. And he has to weigh a good ten stone more than you. His fist is bigger than your head, and that’s even when your head is swelled, like now.”
“All the better, his size. I figured on him being twice me size.”
Harry shook his head. “What do you mean, all the better? And did you figure on a trip to the hospital when you figured he was twice your size? Anyway,” Harry added, frowning, “how will your being battered to death by this monster make us rich?”
“I ain’t goin’ to be battered,” Barney said half angrily. “And we’re goin’ to get rich real simple.” He leaned forward again. “Harry, when they see the size o’ this bloke, and then they think o’ me — with me specs and me toff clothes — which I’ll wear this week” — Barney had automatically gone back to his East End accent in his excitement — “what odds you think any bloke in the street’ll give I don’t even walk out o’ the ring, but they gotta carry me?”
“Same odds I’d give,” Harry said coldly. “A hundred to one.”
“You see?” Barney shrugged happily. “There you are. I was thinkin’ you could get ten or twenty to one as easy as falling down the reef. If you can get more, all the better.”
Harry was staring at him almost in shock. “Are you serious?”
“O’ course I’m serious!”
“You honestly expect me to put our money on a dumb wager like that? Against a man who could break you in two with one finger?”
“He’s gotta get that one finger on me first,” Barney said confidently. “Look, Harry, you and me’s been sparrin’ almost every mornin’ just to keep in shape, ain’t we? And yer bigger and stronger than me, ain’t you? Well, how many times you been able to floor me?”