I must admit I was excited during the rest of that eventful evening. I determined to keep the secret of my good fortune to myself. I thought I would surprise the lady who does me the honour to bear my name, by telling her that I had become a rich man after I had cashed the cheque I was sure to receive. All the following day I made plans for the spending of my fortune. I would have a box in the Highlands, a pied-à-terre in Paris, and a pyramid in Egypt. I would present my Inn with a massive gold snuff-box, and Portington should have a silver-mounted meerschaum. If my age did not bar my progress, I would seek service in the Militia—as a lieutenant-colonel. There was no limit to my ambition.
When I returned, Mr. Wilkins (who is thoroughly conscientious), having finished the rebuilding of the pantry and the whitewashing of the bath-room, had departed. He does not waste his time, and only charges me for the hours he actually expends in honest labour. I hurried to the spot where my Old Boots was temporarily resting before removal to the far-famed auction-rooms in King Street, St. James's. I turned pale.
"Why, what is this?" I asked, trembling with emotion.
"Your commission, dear," said my better seven-eighths. "It looks better than the picture, although I must say the donkey improves on acquaintance. It really was very well painted. I am quite sorry Mr. Wilkins has taken it away."
"Wilkins taken it away?" I gasped out.
"Yes. He said that you didn't seem to care for it, so he went off to try and sell it."
"Why!" I exclaimed, and my voice, through my deep emotion, dropped almost to a whisper, "it is an Old Boots!"
"An Old Boots!" cried my better seven-eighths, becoming as excited as myself. "Why, our fortunes are made! An Old Boots! Oh, why didn't you tell me! An Old Boots! Fancy having an Old Boots!"
"But we haven't," I returned, almost in tears. "The handy-man has gone off with it! What are we to do without our Old Boots!"
"We will get it back!" returned my better and more important fraction, with determination.