All this was patent to the eyes of David Boone, but he was so overwhelmed with a sense of the guilt he was about to incur, and the deception he was even then practising, that he regarded the whole affair as a hollow bubble, which would soon burst and leave nothing behind. Even the rapid increase of the credit-balance in his bank-book did not affect his opinion, for he was not much of a financier, and, knowing that his transactions were founded on deception, he looked on the balance as being deceptive also.
Not so thought Gorman. That wily individual perceived, to his amazement, that things were taking a turn which had never been contemplated, so he silently looked on and wondered, and chuckled and resolved to abide his time.
As prosperity flowed in upon him, David Boone became more insane—for his condition of mind was little, if at all, short of temporary insanity—and his proceedings became more eccentric than ever. Among other things, he became suddenly smitten with a desire to advertise, and immediately in the columns of the tapers appeared advertisements to the effect that “The Celebrated Toy Emporium” was to be found in Poorthing Lane. Finding that this increased his business considerably, he hit upon a plan of advertising which has been practised rather extensively of late years in London. He sent out an army of boys with pots of whitewash and brushes, with directions to print in rough but large legible letters the words, “Who’s Boone?” on all the blank walls of the metropolis, and in the papers he answered the question by having printed under the same title, “Why, the manager of the Toy Emporium, to be sure, in Poorthing Lane.” He also advertised specially that he had in stock, “an assortment of 500 golden-haired dolls from Germany, full-dressed, half-dressed, and naked.”
This last was irresistible. Thousands of young hearts beat high at the mere thought of such numbers—“with golden hair too!” and dozens of mammas, and papas too, visited Poorthing Lane in consequence.
In course of time David Boone’s eyes began to open to the fact that he was rapidly making a fortune.
It was after the bustle of the Christmas season was over that he made this discovery. One of his new assistants, a young man named Lyall, was the means of opening his employer’s eyes to the truth. Lyall was a clever accountant, and had been much surprised from the first that Boone kept no regular system of books. At the end of the year he suggested that it would be well to take stock and find out the state of the business. Boone agreed. Lyall went to work, and in a short time the result of his labours showed, that after all debts were paid, there would remain a satisfactory credit-balance at the bank.
On the evening of the day on which this marvellous fact was impressed on Boone’s mind, Gorman called, and found his friend rubbing his hands, and smiling benignantly in the back room.
“You seem jolly,” said Gorman, sitting down, as usual, by the fire, and pulling out, as usual, the short pipe. “Business gittin’ on well?”
“It is,” said Boone, standing with his back to the fire, and swaying himself gently to and fro; “things don’t look so bad. I can pay you the arrears of rent now.”
“Oh, can you?” said Gorman. “Ah!”