like a day-laborer."

"Most men who have succeeded have first worked with their hands."

"Not my uncle."

"No, not your uncle--he's an exception--one among a million, and then
again he isn't through."

"But he's worth two million, they say."

"Yes, but he never earned it, and he never worked for it, and he doesn't
now. Do you want to follow in his footsteps?"

"No--not with all his money." This came in a decided tone. "But surely
you wouldn't want me to work with my hands, would you?"

"I certainly should, if necessary."

Jack looked at him, and a shade of disappointment crossed his face.

"But I COULDN'T do anything menial."

"There isn't anything menial in any kind of work from cleaning a stable
up! The menial things are the evasions of work--tricks by which men are
cheated out of their just dues."

"Stock gambling?"

"Yes--sometimes, when the truth is withheld."

"That's what I think; that's what I meant last night when I told
you about the faro-bank. I laughed over it, and yet I can't see much
difference, although I have never seen one."

"So I understood, but you were wrong about it. Your uncle bears a very
good name in the Street. He is not as much to blame as the system.
Perhaps some day the firm will become real bankers, than which there is
no more honorable calling."

"But is it wrong to want to fish and shoot and have time to read."

"No, it is wrong not to do it when you have the time and the money. I
like that side of your nature. My own theory is that every man should
in the twenty-four hours of the day devote eight to work, eight to sleep
and eight to play. But this can only be done when the money to support
the whole twenty-four hours is in sight, either in wages, or salary, or
invested securities. More money than this--that is the surplusage that
men lock up in their tin boxes, is a curse. But with that you have
nothing to do--not yet, anyhow. Now, if I catch your meaning, your idea
is to go back to your life at home. In other words you want to live the
last end of your life first--and without earning the right to it.
And because you cannot do this you give yourself up to criticising
everything about you. Getting only at the faults and missing all the
finer things in life. If you would permit me to advise you--" he still
had his hand on the lad's knee, searching the soft brown eyes--"I would
give up finding fault and first try to better things, and I would begin
right here where you