The great Hercules of American industry visibly recoiled at the thought of implied notoriety, having, until the present time, steadily veiled his personality and general affairs as much as possible from public gaze. “I am only a plain merchant,” he answered. A BOY’S CHANCE TO-DAY. “Do you consider,” I said, “that the average American boy of to-day has equally as good a chance to succeed in the world as you had when you began life?” “Every bit, and better. The affairs of life are larger. There are greater things to do. There was never before such a demand for able men.” “Were the conditions surrounding your youth especially difficult?” “No. They were those common to a very small New York town in 1832. I was born at Stockbridge, in Madison County. Our family had its roots in Scotland. My father’s ancestors were the Robertsons, Watsons and McGregors of Scotland; my mother came of the Puritans who settled in Connecticut.” “Dr. Gunsaulus says,” I ventured, “that all these streams of heredity set toward business affairs.” INHERITED QUALITIES. “Perhaps so. I liked trading as well. My father was reasonably prosperous and independent for those times. My mother had been a school-teacher. There were six boys, and, of course, such a household had to be managed with the strictest economy in those days. My mother thought it her duty to bring to our home some of the rigid discipline of the schoolroom. We were all trained to work together, and everything was done as systematically as possible.” “Had you access to any books?” “Yes, the Bible, ‘Pilgrim’s Progress,’ and a history of the United States.” It is said of the latter, by those closest to Mr. Armour, that it was as full of shouting Americanism as anything ever written, and that Mr. Armour’s whole nature was colored by its stout American prejudices; also, that it was read and re-read by the Armour children, though of this the great merchant would not speak. “Were you always of a robust constitution?” I asked. “Yes, sir. All our boys were. We were stout enough to be bathed in an ice-cold spring, out of doors, when at home. There weren’t any bath-tubs and warm water arrangements in those days. We had to be strong. My father was a stern Scotchman, and when he laid his plans they were carried out. When he set us boys to work, we worked. It was our mother who insisted on keeping us all at school, and who looked after our educational needs, while our father saw to it that we had plenty of good hard work on the farm.” “How did you enjoy that sort of life?” I asked. “Well enough, but not much more than any boy does. Boys are always more or less afraid of hard work.” The truth is, though Mr. Armour laughed it out of court as not worth discussing, that when he attended the district school he was as full of pranks and capers as the best, and traded jack-knives in summer and bob-sleds in winter. LEAVING THE FARM.