Fighting the Flames by Robert Michael Ballantyne (suggested reading TXT) 📕

Gorman, and thus got credit for being a capitalist. Others he deferred payment of until a more convenient season.

His friend Gorman, who would not have bent the joint of his little finger to have saved him from destruction, was so anxious to get up a good appearance, for the sake of getting the insurance effected advantageously, that he did his best to carry out his part of the plan, and, being a man of energy who in the paths of virtue might have risen to a high position among men, he succeeded beyond his expectation. Crowds of purchasers were sent by him to the shop of "the celebrated toy-man." Some were mere decoy-ducks, who came and went (for a consideration) pretty frequently, and only "priced" the goods. Others were genuine purchasers, and between the two they created so much traffic in the toy-shop, that the multitude--so difficult to move by mere suasion, but so prone to follow blindly in the wake of a senseless rush, when once the rush takes place--began to move in the direction of the toyshop, and shortly before Christmas the demand for toys was so great, that Boone had to engage two assistants to carry on the business, and even the lane itself began to feel the benefit of the sudden increase of traffic.

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!"

"Yes, and I'm in a position to pay you fifty pounds of the debt I owe you besides," said Boone.

"And a bill at three months for the balance?" inquired Gorman.

No, he could not venture to do that exactly, but he hoped to pay a further instalment before the end of three months.

"Humph! How much may the profits be?"

Boone could not say precisely, not having had all his accounts squared, but he believed they were considerable.

"I'll be bound they are," said Gorman with a growl; "you won't want to set things alight now, I daresay."

"Well, I think it'll be as well to wait a bit, and let us make hay while this sunshine goes on."

"Let _you_ make hay, you mean?"

"Oh, as to that, the most of it will go to your stack for some time to come, Gorman."

"H'm! and what about the insurance?"

"Well, you know," observed Boone, "it's of no use paying the premium for nothing. As we don't mean to set the place alight, you know."

"Ay, but the life insurance, I mean," said Gorman.

Boone laughed, and observed that he thought it best not to die just at that particular time, whereupon Gorman laughed, too, and said he was about right, and that it would be as well to delay both events in the meantime; after saying which, he took his leave in better humour than usual, for Gorman was what men of his own stamp termed a "deep file." He saw into futurity--so he thought--a considerable way farther than most men, and in the future of his own imagination he saw such a pleasant picture that his amiable spirit was quite cheered by it. He saw David Boone making money so fast, that his goods might be insured at a much larger amount; he saw him getting into fresh difficulties, of course, because such a business, on such a foundation, could not go on prosperously except under the most able management, and, even though it did prosper in spite of improbabilities, he foresaw that there was an amiable gentleman, much like himself, who would induce Boone to traffic beyond his means, and when money was wanted, the same kind gentleman (he saw that quite clearly) would come forward generously with a loan, for which he would only ask Boone to make over to him in security his two policies of insurance--fire and life; after which--well, we need not go on revealing the future as it appeared to Gorman's mental vision; suffice it to say, that he saw upon the whole a prospect which gave him great satisfaction.

There were one or two things which he did not see, however, and which might have modified his feelings considerably if he had seen them. Of these we shall say nothing at present.

As for David Boone; his heart rejoiced, for he, too, had visions of the future which charmed him. He saw his debt to Gorman paid, and himself set free from the power of that amiable friend. He saw a toyshop change its locality and its aspect. He saw it transplanted into Regent Street, with plate-glass windows, in which were displayed objects of marvellous ingenuity and transcendent beauty. One window especially exhibiting, not a crowd, but, a very nation of wax-dolls with blue eyes and golden hair! He saw, moreover, a very little old woman, lying in a bed, in an elegant and comfortable apartment, with a Bible beside her, and a contented smile on her face. This old lady resembled his own mother so strongly, that all other prospects of the future faded from his view, and in the fulness of his heart and his success, he resolved then and there to go home and present her with a gift on the strength of the prosperity at that time attained to.

David was sorely perplexed as to what this gift ought to be. He thought of a new silk gown at first; but the remembrance of the fact that his mother was bedridden banished this idea. Owing to the same fact, new boots and gloves were inadmissible; but caps were not--happy thought! He started off at once, and returned home with a cap so gay, voluminous, and imposing, that the old lady, unused though she was to mirth, laughed with amusement, while she cried with joy, at this (not the first) evidence of her son's affection.


CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.


CHANGES AND MYSTERIES.

Seven years passed away. During that period London revolved in its usual course, reproducing its annual number of events--its births, deaths, and marriages; its plans, plots, and pleasures; its business, bustle, and bungle; its successes, sentiments, and sensations; its facts, fancies, and failures--also its fires; which last had increased steadily, until they reached the imposing number of about twelve hundred in the year.

But although that time elapsed, and many changes took place, for better or for worse, in all circles of society, there had not been much change in the relative positions of the actors in our tale; at least, not much that was apparent. Great alterations, however, had taken place in the physical condition of some of them, as the sequel will show.

One bright morning in the spring-time of the year, a youth with the soft down of early manhood on his lips and cheeks, paced slowly to and fro near the margin of the pond in Kensington Gardens.

Being early, the spot was as complete a solitude as the backwoods of North America, and so thick was the foliage on the noble trees, that no glimpse of the surrounding city could be obtained in any direction. Everything that greeted eye and ear was characteristic of "the woods," even to the swans, geese, ducks, and other water-fowl which sported on the clear surface of the pond; while the noise of traffic in the mighty metropolis was so subdued by distance as to resemble the deep-toned roar of a great cataract. A stranger, rambling there for the first time would have found it difficult to believe that he was surrounded on all sides by London!

It was one of those soul-stirring mornings in which Nature seems to smile. There was just enough of motion in the air to relieve the effect of what is called a dead calm. The ripple on the water caught the sun's rays, and, breaking them up, scattered them about in a shower of fragmentary diamonds. Fleecy-white clouds floated in the blue sky, suggesting dreams of fairy-land, and scents of sprouting herbage filled the nostrils, reminding one of the fast-approaching summer.

The youth who sauntered alone by the margin of the pond was broad of shoulder and stout of limb, though not unusually tall--not much above the middle height. His gait was easy, free--almost reckless--as though he cared not a