"Oh, yes. All sorts of people. I think on the whole I understand the poorer classes best. They do swear, I find, horribly at times, but they don't intend harm by it. I doubt if they really know what it means. 'Hell' is merely an expletive like 'Oh' or 'By Jove' with us chaps. Funny, isn't it?" "That truck-driver didn't think so," I said. "That was my first week. I know a lot more now. I've felt sorry about him." "You needn't," I laughed. And after a pause: "And down town, Jerry," I inquired. "How are things going there?" His expression grew grave at once. "Oh, I've been going to the office pretty regularly, but it's slow work. I don't understand why, but I don't seem to get on at all." "That's too bad," I said slowly. "You must get on, old man." "Yes, I know, but it comes hard. It seems that I'm frightfully rich. In fact, nobody seems to know how rich I am. I've got millions and millions, twenty--thirty perhaps. So much that it staggers me. It's like the idea of infinity or perpetuity. I can't grasp it at all. It's piling up in new investments, just piling up and nothing can stop it." "You don't want to stop it, do you?" "But if it was only doing some good--When I see the misery all about--" "Wait a bit. You're putting the cart before the horse, my boy. There's no sin in being rich, in piling it up, as you say, if you're not doing anybody any harm. Have you ever thought of the thousands who work for you, of the lands, the railroads, the steamships, the mills, all carrying and producing--producing, Jerry, helping people to live, to work? Isn't it something to have a share in building up your country?" "But not the lion's share. It's so impersonal, Roger. My companies may be helping, but I'm not. I want to help people myself." "That's just what I'm getting at. The more money you make, the more people you can help," I laughed. "It's simplicity itself." "In theory, yes. But I see where it's leading me. If I go on making money, where will I find the time to give it away? It seems to be a passion with these men getting more--always more. I don't want to get like Ballard or Stewardson. And I _won't!"_ He snapped his jaws together and strode with long steps the length of the room. "I _won't_, Roger," he repeated. "And I've told 'em so." I remained silent for a moment, gazing at the portrait of John Benham on the wall opposite me. He had a jaw like Jerry's, not so well turned and the lips were thinner, a hard man, a merciless man in business, a man of mystery and hidden impulses. The boy was keen enough, I knew, when it came to a question of right and wrong. There was some ancient history for Jerry to learn. Did Jerry already suspect the kind of man his father had been? "You're sure that you're right?" I asked quietly. "Positive. It's all very well to talk about those my money helps, but it harms, too. If anything gets in the way of Ballard's interests or mine, he crushes 'em like egg-shells. My father--"