leaving a clear space only round the rickety deal table, where Lurgan Sahib worked.
“Those things are nothing,” said his host, following Kim’s glance. “I buy them because they are pretty, and sometimes I sell—if I like the buyer’s look. My work is on the table—some of it.”
It blazed in the morning light—all red and blue and green flashes, picked out with the vicious blue-white spurt of a diamond here and there. Kim opened his eyes.
“Oh, they are quite well, those stones. It will not hurt them to take the sun. Besides, they are cheap. But with sick stones it is very different.” He piled Kim’s plate anew. “There is no one but me can doctor a sick pearl and re-blue turquoises. I grant you opals—any fool can cure an opal—but for a sick pearl there is only me. Suppose I were to die! Then there would be no one … Oh no! You cannot do anything with jewels. It will be quite enough if you understand a little about the Turquoise—some day.”