He had to meet
the train that came at two o'clock in the morning. No other man was
willing to have his sleep broken at such an hour. He hated to lose the
sleep, but he wanted the money. At the end of four years he had saved
a thousand dollars. He wanted to buy a hotel but needed more money. The
banker, knowing he was a stayer, lent him the cash he needed, and so he
became a property owner. He no longer slept in the haymow but had a room
of his own and other rooms to rent to the "high-toned traveling men."

From this I learned that laborers became capitalists when they saved
their money. Right then I made up my mind that some day mother would
own a home. If father couldn't save the money to buy it, I would. Years
afterward a wealthy Pittsburgh man who had just built a fine residence
in the fashionable section of that town found himself in difficulties
and unable to occupy the house. He offered it to me at a bargain. So I
took my parents to this place and told them it was to be theirs. Mother
declared that she certainly never dreamed of having a "magnificent home
like this." She seemed to be greatly pleased. But now I know that
the sparkle in her eyes was for me. Her boy had done all this for his
mother. If I had given her a pair of shoes that pinched her feet, she
would have worn them smiling for my sake. Father looked out the windows
at the neighboring residences. "Who lives there?" he asked. "And who
lives yonder?" I told him the great names of his neighbors.

"Son," he said, "you do not wish to lock your parents up in a prison, do
you?"

Then he explained: "We do not know these people. We are too old to make
new friends. We would never be at ease here, we would be lonely. We like
the little home that we bought with our own savings. It has become a
part of ourselves; it fits us like the wrinkles on our faces. If we
moved here our old friends would never come to see us. This magnificence
would scare them away. No, son. We thank you for offering us this house,
but it is not for us. We will stay in the little cottage where our old
friends will be free to come and light a pipe and chat and drowse away
the evening hours that yet remain."

How wise he was! He knew the fitness of things. His simple comforts, his
old friends, these he valued more than riches, and the valuation that he
put upon them was the right one.

CHAPTER XII. MY HAND TOUCHES IRON

When I was eleven I got a regular job that paid me fifty cents