For two solid hours, with all the eloquence and persuasiveness I could muster, I tried to induce Henry P. Davison to abandon his business career and devote the rest of his life to this cause. I argued that the great satisfaction he plainly felt through contact with scientists of one profession indicated the enjoyment he would experience in bringing together the leaders in education, sociology, and general philanthropy; and that the ability which made him successful with the physicians would completely eclipse that success when he added to these the leaders in other fields. I told of a discussion I had had in Paris with John R. Mott, and how thoroughly he regretted that the Y.M.C.A. could not undertake this great work. “No president of any republic,” I said, “has ever had such an opportunity as this. Here is a chance to lead an army that will eventually really improve the world. You have shown that you possess the requisite administrative ability and vision. By sterling qualities and hard work, you’ve reached the top of the business ladder. On it there is nothing above you comparable to what this new career holds. Until a few years ago you used your personal magnetism, and all the gifts so generously bestowed upon you, in finance. Now, you have been using them with phenomenal success in philanthropy. You must know that the former is ephemeral, while in the latter, the good to be done is lasting. While so many are exploiting the masses, you can lead in benefiting them. The thing that’s needed to cure the ills of man isn’t another compromise peace treaty. Practical, world-wide philanthropy is the thing that’s needed, and the man who organizes that will be the acknowledged leader of modern humanitarianism.” Davison was really deeply moved. He listened attentively, sympathetically; he was under the spell of the ideal. But the chords that held him to materialism were too strong; he was still enmeshed. “I’ll do everything I can to help make a success of the larger Red Cross,” he said, “but I can’t devote my entire time to it.” “That’s not enough,” I answered. “It will be impossible for you to run an International League of Red Cross Societies the way you’re running railroads and other enterprises, from the corner of Broad and Wall streets.” Then he put his arm around my shoulder and said, in effect: “I don’t want to make any more money, but I owe a definite obligation to my firm and the corporations I’m connected with. I wish with my whole heart that I could go on with the Red Cross, but it’s impossible, Morgenthau--impossible!”