"No," cried Gorman, "I'll not wait. I have waited long enough. How long would you have me wait--eh? Moreover, I'm not hard on you. I show you an easy way to make a good thing of it, and you're so chicken-hearted that you're afraid to do it." "It's such a mean thing to do," said Boone. "Mean! Why, what do you call the style of carrying on business that you started with seven years ago, and have practised more or less ever since?" "That is mean, too," said Boone; "I'm ashamed of it; sorry for it. It was for a time successful no doubt, and I have actually paid off all my creditors except yourself, but I don't think it the less mean on that account, and I'm thoroughly ashamed of it." There was a good deal of firmness in Boone's tone as he said this, and his companion was silent for a few minutes. "I have arranged," he said at last, "about your making over your policies of insurance to me as security for the debt you owe me. You won't have to pay them next half-year, I'll do that for you _if necessary_." He laughed as he said this. "I have now come to ask you to set the house alight, and have the plan carried out, and the whole affair comfortably settled." Gorman said this in an encouraging voice, assuming that his dupe was ready to act. "B-but it's awful to think of," said Boone; "suppose it's found out?" "How can it be found out?" "Well, I don't know. It's wonderful how crime is discovered," said Boone despondingly; "besides, think of the risk we run of burning the people who live above, as well as my two clerks who sleep in the room below us; that would be murder, you know. I'm sure I have tried my very best to get Miss Tippet to go from home for a short time, I've almost let the cat out of the bag in my anxiety, but she won't take the hint." "Oho!" exclaimed Gorman, with a laugh. "Well, have you made the arrangements as I directed you last night?" "Yes, I've got a lot of tarry oakum scattered about, and there is a pile of shavings," he added, pointing to a corner of the room; "the only thing I'm anxious about is that my young man Robert Roddy caught me pouring turpentine on the walls and floor of the shop. I pretended that it was water I had in the can, and that I was sprinkling it to lay the dust before sweeping up. Roddy is a slow, stupid youth; he always was, and, I daresay, did not notice the smell." Gorman was himself filled with anxiety on hearing the first part of this, but at the conclusion he appeared relieved. "It's lucky you turned it off so," said he, "and Roddy _is_ a stupid fellow. I daresay he has no suspicion. In fact, I am sure of it." "It's not of much importance _now_, however," said Boone, rising and confronting his friend with more firmness than he had ever before exhibited to him, "because I have resolved _not to do it_." Gorman lit his pipe at the fire, looking at the bowl of it with a scornful smile as he replied-- "Oh! you have made up your mind, have you?"