lmost despite their own desire, what
would you have them do with their wealth?"

Angus thought a moment.

"It would be difficult to advise," he said at last. "For one thing I
would not have them pauperise two of the finest things in this world and
the best worth fighting for--Education and Literature. The man who has
no struggle at all to get himself educated is only half a man. And
literature which is handed to the people free of cost is shamed by being
put at a lower level than beer and potatoes, for which every man has to
_pay_. Andrew Carnegie I look upon as one of the world's big meddlers. A
'cute' meddler too, for he takes care to do nothing that hasn't got his
name tacked on to it. However, I'm in great hopes that his pauperising
of Scottish University education may in time wear itself out, and that
Scotsmen will be sufficiently true to the spirit of Robert Burns to
stick to the business of working and paying for what they get. I hate
all things that are given _gratis_. There's always a smack of the
advertising agent about them. God Himself gives nothing 'free'--you've
got to pay with your very life for each gulp of air you breathe,--and
rightly too! And if you try to get something out of His creation
_without_ paying for it, the bill is presented in due course with
compound interest!"

"I agree with you," said Helmsley. "But what, then, of the poor rich
men? You don't approve of Carnegie's methods of disbursing wealth. What
would you suggest?"

"The doing of private good," replied Angus promptly. "Good that is never
heard of, never talked of, never mentioned in the Cooing Column. A rich
man could perform acts of the most heavenly and helpful kindness if he
would only go about personally and privately among the very poor, make
friends with them, and himself assist them. But he will hardly ever do
this. Now the millionaire who is going to marry my first love, Lucy
Sorrel----"

"Oh, _is_ he going to marry her?" And Helmsley looked up with sudden
interest.

"Well, I suppose he is!" And Angus threw back his head and laughed.
"He's to be back in town for the 'season'--and you know what the London
'season' is!"

"I'm sure we don't!" said Mary, with an amused glance. "Tell us!"

"An endless round of lunches, dinners, balls, operas, theatres,
card-parties, and inane jabber," he answered. "A mixture of various
kinds of food which people eat recklessly with the natural
results,--dyspepsia, inertia, mental vacuit