In those terms I was informed of what my personal concern was with the matter of the Diamond.  If you are curious to know what course I took under the circumstances, I beg to inform you that I did what you would probably have done in my place.  I modestly declared myself to be quite unequal to the task imposed upon me—­and I privately felt, all the time, that I was quite clever enough to perform it, if I only gave my own abilities a fair chance.  Mr. Franklin, I imagine, must have seen my private sentiments in my face.  He declined to believe in my modesty; and he insisted on giving my abilities a fair chance.

Two hours have passed since Mr. Franklin left me.  As soon as his back was turned, I went to my writing desk to start the story.  There I have sat helpless (in spite of my abilities) ever since; seeing what Robinson Crusoe saw, as quoted above—­namely, the folly of beginning a work before we count the cost, and before we judge rightly of our own strength to go through with it.  Please to remember, I opened the book by accident, at that bit, only the day before I rashly undertook the business now in hand; and, allow me to ask—­if that isn’t prophecy, what is?

I am not superstitious; I have read a heap of books in my time; I am a scholar in my own way.  Though turned seventy, I possess an active memory, and legs to correspond.  You are not to take it, if you please, as the saying of an ignorant man, when I express my opinion that such a book as Robinson Crusoe never was written, and never will be written again.  I have tried that book for years—­generally in combination with a pipe of tobacco—­and I have found it my friend in need in all the necessities of this mortal life.  When my spirits are bad—­Robinson Crusoe.  When I want advice—­Robinson Crusoe.  In past times when my wife plagued me; in present times when I have had a drop too much—­Robinson Crusoe.  I have worn out six stout Robinson CRUSOES with hard work in my service.  On my lady’s last birthday she gave me a seventh.  I took a drop too much on the strength of it; and Robinson Crusoe put me right again.  Price four shillings and sixpence, bound in blue, with a picture into the bargain.

Still, this don’t look much like starting the story of the Diamond—­does it?  I seem to be wandering off in search of Lord knows what, Lord knows where.  We will take a new sheet of paper, if you please, and begin over again, with my best respects to you.

CHAPTER II

I spoke of my lady a line or two back.  Now the Diamond could never have been in our house, where it was lost, if it had not been made a present of to my lady’s daughter; and my lady’s daughter would never have been in existence to have the present, if it had not been for my lady who (with pain and travail) produced her into the world.  Consequently, if we begin with my lady, we are pretty sure of beginning far enough back.  And that, let me tell you, when you have got such a job as mine in hand, is a real comfort at starting.