And, you know, there was no game, no game of any sort, or shape or kind.
It came out plainly at the trial. As I've told you before, he was a
clerk in a bank, like thousands of others. He got that berth as a second
start in life and there he stuck again, giving perfect satisfaction. Then
one day as though a supernatural voice had whispered into his ear or some
invisible fly had stung him, he put on his hat, went out into the street
and began advertising. That's absolutely all that there was to it. He
caught in the street the word of the time and harnessed it to his
preposterous chariot.
One remembers his first modest advertisements headed with the magic word
Thrift, Thrift, Thrift, thrice repeated; promising ten per cent. on all
deposits and giving the address of the Thrift and Independence Aid
Association in Vauxhall Bridge Road. Apparently nothing more was
necessary. He didn't even explain what he meant to do with the money he
asked the public to pour into his lap. Of course he meant to lend it out
at high rates of interest. He did so--but he did it without system,
plan, foresight or judgment. And as he frittered away the sums that
flowed in, he advertised for more--and got it. During a period of
general business prosperity he set up The Orb Bank and The Sceptre Trust,
simply, it seems for advertising purposes. They were mere names. He was
totally unable to organize anything, to promote any sort of enterprise if
it were only for the purpose of juggling with the shares. At that time
he could have had for the asking any number of Dukes, retired Generals,
active M.P.'s, ex-ambassadors and so on as Directors to sit at the
wildest boards of his invention. But he never tried. He had no real
imagination. All he could do was to publish more advertisements and open
more branch offices of the Thrift and Independence, of The Orb, of The
Sceptre, for the receipt of deposits; first in this town, then in that
town, north and south--everywhere where he could find suitable premises
at a moderate rent. For this was the great characteristic of the
management. Modesty, moderation, simplicity. Neither The Orb nor The
Sceptre nor yet their parent the Thrift and Independence had built for
themselves the usual palaces. For this abstention they were praised in
silly public prints as illustrating in their management the principle of
Thrift for which they were founded. The fact is that de Barral simply
didn't think of it. Of course he had soon moved from Vauxhall Bridge
Road. He knew enough for that. What he got hold of next was an old,
enormous, rat-infested brick house in a small street off the Strand.
Strangers were taken in front of the meanest possible, begrimed, yellowy,
flat brick wall, with two rows of unadorned window-holes one above the
other, and were exhorted with bated breath to behold and admire the
simplicity of the head-quarters of the great financial force of the day.
The word THRIFT perched right up on the roof in giant gilt letters, and
two enormous shield-like brass-plates curved round the corners on each
side of the doorway were the only shining spots in de Barral's business
outfit. Nobody knew what operations were carried on inside except
this--that if you walked in and tendered your money over the counter it
would be calmly taken from you by somebody who would give you a printed
receipt. That and no more. It appears that such knowledge is
irresistible. People went in and tendered; and once it was taken from
their hands their money was more irretrievably gone from them than if
they had thrown it into the sea. This then, and nothing else was being
carried on in there . . . "