The Iron box

The feeble, frail and old diamond merchants’ gaze was fixed on the old and rusted Iron box in the attic as he lay dying on the bed surrounded by his remorseful son Stephen, crying daughters and surprised grand children.

‘Grandpa wants his old box’ said the five year old, Stephen’s only son.
‘Shut up’ Stephen said, ‘grandpa is not well. Don’t talk about anything else. There is nothing in the box now except for some rusted iron tubes from his old bicycle’ he said with the appearance of a know all.

The old man opened his mouth twice and then lay still with his eyes fixed on the attic.

Three days after the funeral, the attic and its contents were dumped into the yard for John the ragpicker to collect. 

For sure, the old iron box contained worn out iron tubes. 

Stephen was pleasantly surprised when John moved in to the next bungalow later that month. 

‘Bought it, Sir’, said John, increasing Stephen’s surprise.

‘Doing lots of business, I believe’, said John.

‘Yes Sir, left the rag picking. Became a diamond merchant last week’.

For sure, the old iron box contained worn out iron tubes, as well.

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