The philosophy of Mr. Reiss is a natural result of his early environment. In Magdeburg, where he was born and brought up, education in business principles is combined with the theory of family duty. Whether this theory takes the place of affection or not, its application in the case of Mr. Reiss resulted in his migration at an early age to England, where he soon found a market for his German industry, his German thriftiness, and his German astuteness. He established a business and took out naturalization papers. Until the War came Mr. Reiss was growing richer and richer. His talent for saving kept pace with his gift for making. He spent evening after evening, when he came home from the City, thinking out different ways of tying up his fortune on Percy, so that it could remain intact as long as possible. Some of his schemes for insuring the safety of his capital, for the resettlement of the greater part of the income by trustees--for combining, in fact, a maximum of growing power for the fortune with a minimum of enjoyment for the heir--were really marvels of ingenuity. But since the War his thoughts have taken a different turn. Half his fortune has gone. He is too old now to catch up again. It’s all over with money-making. The most he can hope for is to keep “the little that is left.” If only Percy had been older and had a son, he could settle the money upon his great-nephew. Then there would have been time for the money to accumulate again. And now he’s gone to the Front. He might be killed. It doesn’t bear thinking about. He has toiled all his life. Surely after _all_ his self-sacrifice and self-denial he is not to be robbed of the one satisfaction he asks for, to know that the beggarly remains of his wealth shall be safe after his own death. Every day he scans the papers anxiously. His one preoccupation is the daily casualty list. * * * * * Spring is at hand, and though there is chill in the air Mr. Reiss is economical and sits before an empty grate. Self-mortification always seems to him to be evidence of moral superiority and to confirm his right to special grievances. He is reading a letter over again received that morning from Percy. It bears the stamp of the Base Censor and is some days old. DEAR UNCLE ADOLF, You remember my friend Jimmy Staples--the one I told you about, who was engaged and I lent that money to? Well, he’s been killed, or rather he has just died of wounds. He has done splendidly. Our Brigadier had sent in his name for a V.C. I’ll tell you all about it when I see you. But what I wanted to say is that it’s all right about the money. I’ve got lots in the bank now, and in another couple of months I shall be able to pay you back. One can’t spend anything much out here. I’m quite fit, but I’m rather in the blues about Jimmy. Mother will give you all my news. Your affectionate Nephew. P.S.--By the way, I gave your name as nearest relative in case of accidents, to save mother.