ere are three heads, Henry H. Rogers,
William Rockefeller, and John D. Rockefeller. All the other members are
distinctively lieutenants, or subordinate workers, unless possibly I
except James Stillman, who, from his peculiar connection with "Standard
Oil" and his individually independent position, should perhaps be placed
in the category of heads.

Some one has said: "If you would know who is the head of a family, slip
into the home." The world, the big, arbitrary, hit-or-miss,
too-much-in-a-hurry-to-correct-its-mistakes world, has decided that the
master of "Standard Oil" is John D. Rockefeller, and John D. Rockefeller
it is to all but those who have a pass-key to the "Standard Oil" home.
To those the head of "Standard Oil"--the "Standard Oil" the world knows
as it knows St. Paul, Shakespeare, or Jack the Giant-killer, or any of
the things it knows well but not at all--is Henry H. Rogers. John D.
Rockefeller may have more money, more actual dollars, than Henry H.
Rogers, or all other members of the "Standard Oil" family, and in the
early days of "Standard Oil" may have been looked up to as the big gun
by his partners, and allowed to take the hugest hunks of the profits,
and may have so handled and judiciously invested these as to be at the
beginning of the twentieth century the richest man on earth, but none of
these things alters the fact that the big brain, the big body, the head
of "Standard Oil," is Henry H. Rogers.

Take station at the entrance of 26 Broadway and watch the different
members of the "Standard Oil" family as they enter the building: you
will exclaim once and only once: "There goes the Master!" And the man
who calls forth the cry will be Henry H. Rogers.

The big, jovial detective who stands all day long with one foot resting
on the sidewalk and one on the first stone step of the home of "Standard
Oil" will make oath he shows no different sign to Henry H. Rogers than
to a Rockefeller, a Payne, a Flagler, a Pratt, or an O'Day; yet watch
him when Mr. Rogers passes up the steps--an unconscious deference marks
his salutation--the tribute of the soldier to the commanding general.

Follow through the door bearing the sign, "Henry H. Rogers, President of
the National Transit Co.," on the eleventh floor, and pass from the
outer office into the beautiful, spacious mahogany apartment beyond,
with its decorations of bronze bulls and bears and yacht-models, its
walls covered with neatly framed autograph letter