“I have felt the spirit you complain of,” said the hand-made gentleman. “In my business there are scouts and spies, and I have had trouble in which violence and threats of murder were resorted to.” “It's the teaching of war, and battles of business are coming in which blood will flow, and the gun and torch will play their part.” The distinguished railroader shook his head, and his face kindled with old Celtic fire as he thought of war's iniquity. He was unlike, and yet very like, my friend McCarthy. They had both gone through the same hard school of poverty, and with like endowments had reached the same high footing. A friendship began between them of much value to both. As we sat in the office of the young Scot he explained his signal system, and spoke of other needs, especially of better rails and road-beds and comfortable sleeping-cars, and the continuous trip to Chicago. Both clearly foresaw, in part, the great things which have come to us. I remember that McCarthy made me think him rash when he spoke of moving hotels that would some day convey one across the continent. They dived into the past also, and began to talk of their boyhood. We had gone out to look at the new Woodruff sleeping-car, and dined and returned to Mr. Carnegie's office, where we spent the evening together. I sat by and listened to the talk of the others, and I remember well how it thrilled me. Carnegie had spoken of the war spirit, which had begun to show itself in business. The brave ventures of these two had in them a touch of the hazard-loving, heroic courage of the soldier. I thought of this, and yet I had no suspicion that they were to be great generals in the new war. God had armed them for the mighty struggles of peace. They had learned that when two forces were joined something comes of it vastly greater than their sum. “I wish you would help me to account for you,” said McCarthy. “Tell me how you got it all.” “Oh, you mean this stupidity and this luck of mine,” said Carnegie, with a smile. “It's a good deal to account for, but I'll try. “I went into business when I was six years old--raised pigeons and rabbits. Other boys helped me, and were rewarded by having rabbits named after them. My hero was Wallace Bruce. Often I had to pass a graveyard at night, and was a bit afraid of it. Then I used to say to myself that Wallace would not be so foolish, and went on with a better heart in me. In many a time of trouble I have asked myself what Wallace would do, and have tried to do it.