It's simplicity itself."

"In theory, yes. But I see where it's leading me. If I go on making
money, where will I find the time to give it away? It seems to be a
passion with these men getting more--always more. I don't want to get
like Ballard or Stewardson. And I _won't!"_

He snapped his jaws together and strode with long steps the length of
the room.

"I _won't_, Roger," he repeated. "And I've told 'em so."

I remained silent for a moment, gazing at the portrait of John Benham
on the wall opposite me. He had a jaw like Jerry's, not so well turned
and the lips were thinner, a hard man, a merciless man in business, a
man of mystery and hidden impulses. The boy was keen enough, I knew,
when it came to a question of right and wrong. There was some ancient
history for Jerry to learn. Did Jerry already suspect the kind of man
his father had been?

"You're sure that you're right?" I asked quietly.

"Positive. It's all very well to talk about those my money helps, but
it harms, too. If anything gets in the way of Ballard's interests or
mine, he crushes 'em like egg-shells. My father--"

Jerry hesitated, repeated the word and then paced the floor silently
for a moment. I thought it wise to remain silent.

"Oh, I know what it all means to those men. Power! Always! More power!
And I don't want it if it's going to make me the kind of man that
Henry Ballard is, blind to beauty, deaf to the voice of compassion, a
piece of machinery, as coldly scientific in his charities as he is in
the--"

"But that's necessary, Jerry," I broke in. "A man of Henry Ballard's
wealth must plan to put his money where it will do the most good--"

"Or where it will magnify the name of Henry Ballard," he said quickly.
"Oh, I don't know much yet, but I'm pretty sure that kind of thing
isn't what Christ meant."

He threw out his arms in a wide gesture. "Roger, I've talked to some
of these poor people. There's something wrong with these charity
organizations. They're too cold. They patronize too much. They don't
get under the skin."

"You haven't wasted a great deal of time," I remarked when he paused.

He smiled. "Well, you know, I couldn't sit in a club window and watch
the buses go by."

"Have you declared these revolutionary sentiments to your executors?"
I asked after awhile.

He threw himself in an armchair and sighed.

"I suppose I ought to say that Mr. Ballard has been very patient with
me. He was. I told him that I didn't want