James Hastings, my private secretary, is a man of about forty-five years of age. He has been in my employ fifteen years. He is a fine type of man and deserves the greatest credit for what he has accomplished. Beginning life as an office boy at three dollars a week, he educated himself by attending school at night, learned stenography and typewriting, and has become one of the most expert law stenographers in Wall Street. I believe that, without being a lawyer, he knows almost as much law as I do. Gradually I have raised his wages until he is now getting fifty dollars a week. In addition to this he does night-work at the Bar Association at double rates, acts as stenographer at legal references, and does, I understand, some trifling literary work besides. I suppose he earns from thirty-five hundred to five thousand dollars a year. About thirteen years ago he married one of the woman stenographers in the office--a nice girl she was too--and now they have a couple of children. He lives somewhere in the country and spends an unconscionable time on the train daily, yet he is always on hand at an early hour. What happened to-day was this: A peculiarly careful piece of work had been done in the way of looking up a point of corporation law, and I inquired who was responsible for briefing it. Hastings smiled and said he had done so. As I looked at him it suddenly dawned on me that this man might make real money if he studied for the bar and started in practice for himself. He had brains and an enormous capacity for work. I should dislike losing so capable a secretary, but it would be doing him a good turn to let him know what I thought; and it was time that I did somebody a good turn from an unselfish motive. "Hastings," I said, "you're too good to be merely a stenographer. Why don't you study law and make some money? I'll keep you here in my office, throw things in your way and push you along. What do you say?" He flushed with gratification, but, after a moment's respectful hesitation, shook his head. "Thank you very much, sir," he replied, "but I wouldn't care to do it. I really wouldn't!" Though I am fond of the man, his obstinacy nettled me. "Look here!" I cried. "I'm offering you an unusual chance. You had better think twice before you decline such an opportunity to make something of yourself. If you don't take it you'll probably remain what you are as long as you live. Seize it and you may do as well as I have." Hastings smiled faintly. "I'm very sorry, sir," he repeated. "I'm grateful to you for your interest; but--I hope you'll excuse me--I wouldn't change places with you for a million dollars! No--not for ten million!" He blurted out the last two sentences like a schoolboy, standing and twisting his notebook between his fingers.