The Kaffir dutifully piled wood into the box. When the box was filled to his satisfaction, Rudd gave it a brief bath of kerosene, stepped back, and tossed in a lighted taper. There was a whoosh and the wood caught fire. “Meer hout,” he commanded, and moved back to sit on one of the packing crates beside Cecil Rhodes. Rhodes looked at him.
“Will it work?”
“We’ll know when we get up steam. But it should, I think,” Rudd said with more optimism in his tone than he was feeling. He sat back and lit a cheroot, watching the black toss in the hard-to-come-by logs. He took the cigar from his mouth and turned to Rhodes. “We’re going to have to bring in coal if we’re not going to go bankrupt in this venture. Wood costs a bloody fortune—”
“We’ll bring in coal, and we won’t go bankrupt in any event,” Rhodes said, and smiled. “This little machine is going to make us a lot of money. And with the money—” He shrugged.
“We’re not running yet, but you’re already spending the money,” Rudd said cheerfully. “With the money, what?”
“With the money, more claims,” Rhodes said evenly. “In De Beers. And with more claims, more diamonds. And then, of course — more money.”
Rudd considered him with a grin. “And then?”
“More claims, more diamonds, still more money. Endlessly. Until we have control of all the diamonds in all the mines—”
“—in all the world,” Rudd finished for him cheerfully. “And then?”
Rhodes frowned at his partner. “I’m quite serious.”
Rudd considered him for several seconds, his smile fading. “I’m quite sure you are,” he said quietly.
“If your machine works…”
Now it’s my machine, Rudd thought, a trifle resentfully. Then his good nature prevailed as it usually did. “If it works,”he agreed, still sounding cheerful. There was no point in sounding anything but cheerful; there was little to do about it at this stage in any case, except try the machine out and hope for the best. And there was obviously no purpose in discussing Cecil Rhodes’ dream of controlling all the diamonds in all the mines, because when Cecil John Rhodes was in one of his moods it was better to simply agree with him. Besides, it would be nice to be half partner in all the diamonds of Kimberley, insane as the idea was. If it had to be a choice between rich and poor, Rudd was willing to opt for rich. It was what had brought him to the fields in the first place. His eye kept moving between the roaring flame in the firebox and the steam gauge above the boiler. “We’re getting there. Another half hour and we should have enough pressure to try the pump.”
Rhodes said nothing. The two sat in silence watching the machine voraciously devour the expensive wood, Rhodes with no expression at all on his thin, serious face, Rudd nervously gnawing a corner of his bushy blond mustache. At last Rudd grunted; the gauge above the boiler finally showed sufficient pressure to activate the pump. He came to his feet, pleased and slightly surprised that the ancient boiler hadn’t exploded. He closed the firebox, motioning the black laborer away, and then closed his eyes a moment, muttering a little prayer more to himself than to anyone else, since Charley Rudd was in the nature of a nonbeliever. This done, he crossed his fingers in propitiation of any pagan gods possibly about, and pulled the lever directing the steam from the pressure chamber to the pump.
For a moment he thought he must have left a valve closed, or piped the monster incorrectly, since nothing happened; then at last the pistons accepted the sad fact that they were going to have to go to work again after all the years of inactivity, and slowly, reluctantly, began to move. Rudd felt a stirring of excitement, a pride of workmanship. The ridiculous abortion was actually going to work! He put his fingers lightly on the piston packing he had had to fabricate, searching for leaks, but there didn’t seem to be any. To his amazement, everything seemed to be operating normally and properly. The pistons slowly increased in speed until they were moving at their preordained velocity. The long rubber hose that had been run into a barrel of water on the vacuum side of the pump began to heave and twist; the corresponding hose on the pressure side began to jet water in uncontrolled spurts. It lifted itself from the empty barrel where it had been placed, and sprayed the entire assembly area.
Rudd laughed happily as a jet caught him squarely in the face; he ran forward, pushing the lever to cut off the steam. The two hoses obediently slowed their heaving, the pistons slowed down and then stopped. The entire machine stood silent, awaiting further instructions. Rudd wiped his dripping face and grinned at Rhodes.
“There you are, Johnny—” Rudd hated the name Cecil and made no bones about it; he was the only one who ever called Rhodes by his middle name. Everyone else, with few exceptions, referred to the humorless young man as Rhodes, or as Mr. Rhodes, despite the fact that he was only twenty years of age. “Let’s go out and celebrate.”
“Good enough.” Rhodes came off his packing crate. “When will we be able to rig it to the mine?”
“Tomorrow. I want to see to it personally.” Rudd tossed aside the waste he had used to dry his face, picked his hat from a nail on the wall. “Where do you want to go?”
Rhodes frowned. “The club, of course. Where else?”
“I don’t know.” Rudd looked a trifle embarrassed. “I feel like something a little more exciting than a few drinks and supper with the same people we see every night.”
“Such as what?”
“Oh, I don’t know. One of the bars where they have girls—” He was surprised at the look of distaste that suddenly appeared on Rhodes’ face. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. Only I do not frequent such places!”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Johnny! Don’t be such a puritan!” Rudd sighed. “Oh, all right, then. How about the Paris bar, then? No girls there, but there are a couple of fellows there who put on a pretty good show. Clowns, acrobats…”
Rhodes considered a moment and then shrugged, making, for him, a concession. “All right. For a while, anyway.”
“Thanks,” Rudd said, half under his breath. He dismissed the laborers and led the way to the street, looking the shed door after them. In many ways, Rudd thought, Cecil John Rhodes was an excellent partner: he recognized opportunities quickly, did not hesitate in making decisions, the huge majority of which were correct, and Rudd had no doubt that eventually both of them would be wealthy men. Their claims were producing very well and even with the depressed London market for the stones, they were making quite a bit of money. And their contracts for pumping the claims of the Dutoitspan mine would bring them a lot more money. But there was also no doubt in Charles Rudd’s mind that in many ways Cecil John Rhodes was as odd as a three-shilling coin, and at times could also be quite a pain in the arse.