bench—enabling
him to bring the greatest pressure to bear on both diamonds. The shaft
makes about 1000 revolutions a minute and the operation has to be
stopped frequently to prevent the shellac from melting in the dops.
When
that operation is finished the stone, still an unpolished, filmy
thing, has taken on a little semblance of beauty in form: You can see
that it is rounded, that it has the outlines of a table and a girdle
and a culet. Not very distinct, yet, but the polishers (who also are
known as loppers and brilliandeerers, and whose duties are known
variously as polishing, lopping, brilliandeering, and faceting
—virtually one and the same operation) will see to it that the stone
takes on its real hidden beauty.
In
the polishing room, behind roaring machines, covered in the front with
large screens to prevent diamonds from popping out all over the place,
are grimy, overalled men. They are men who sing and shout while, they
work, not for the pleasure of it but because they are under a severe
tension. All day, for seven hours, with a half-hour interval for lunch-
during which they eat in front of their own machines, they are
concentrated upon a wheel that looks like a phonograph record and a
diamond, at which they peer every thirty seconds through a magnifying
glass to ascertain that the facets are shaping up well.
Another
term for this wheel is horizontal lap, but it still looks like a
phonograph record. It is composed of soft iron, soaked in diamond
powder and olive oil and measuring about a foot in diameter and half an
inch thick. It rotates at a speed of about 2500 revolutions a minute,
and when it gets through with work on a diamond its surface has been
worn away, so powerful is the diamond itself.
A
dop is used here, too, similar to the rounding operation. But the heat
developed at the high rate of rotation of the wheel by the friction
between it and the diamonds is
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