“And there’s something else about me that ought to make ’em sculp a halo onto that same statue. What I’ve done to build up my pile I’ve done open and with all the cards on the table. I have called a spade a spade, and I haven’t referred to it, vague-like, as an ‘industr’l utensil.’ I haven’t took the Lord in as a silent partner on my deals. What I’ve took I’ve took, and I’ve said, ‘Whatcher going to do about it?’ I’ve won out by strength, and I ain’t ashamed of my way of playing the game. I haven’t talked through my nose about being one of the noble class picked out by Providence to watch over the wealth that poor folks’d have had the good of if I hadn’t grabbed it from ’em. And I haven’t tried to square myself On High by endowing colleges and heathens and libraries and churches. I guess a sinner’s hush-money don’t make so much of a hit with the Almighty as these philanthropist geezers seem to think it will. What I’ve given I’ve given on the quiet and where it’d keep folks from the poorhouse. When it comes to the final show-down on Judgment Day, I’ve a sneaking notion the out-and-out pirate—_me_, if you like—will win out by about seven lengths over the holy hypocrite. That’s another reason why I tell you you’re wrong when you say I ain’t honest. I don’t hope to convince you by any of the words I’ve been wasting. If you were the sort of man reason could reach you wouldn’t be a reformer. I’ve squandered enough time on you for one evening. Save all the pat replies that I can see you’re bursting with, and spring ’em at your next meeting. I’ve no time to listen to ’em now. Good night.” Unceremoniously as he had entered the room he quitted it, leaving Standish to go as he would. “I talked more’n I have since that fool speech of mine at the reception,” muttered the Railroader as he clattered down the broad staircase. “But I steered him off from the chance to say what he really wanted to, and I dodged any scene that would be of use to him in his campaign. Too bad he’s a Reformer! He’s got red blood in him, the young idiot. Yes, and he’s not such an idiot either if it comes to that.” Clive Standish, descending the stairs a moment later, puzzled, disappointed, vaguely aware that he had somehow been tricked, heard the shout of a groom and the thundering beat of Dunderberg’s flying hoofs along the gravel of the drive. “If he was as much master of the situation, and as content with himself as he tried to make me think,” reflected Clive as he passed out into the darkness, “he’d never ride like that.”