Y.M. Well, then, for instance. Take the case in the book here. The man lives three miles up-town. It is bitter cold, snowing hard, midnight. He is about to enter the horse-car when a gray and ragged old woman, a touching picture of misery, puts out her lean hand and begs for rescue from hunger and death. The man finds that he has a quarter in his pocket, but he does not hesitate: he gives it her and trudges home through the storm. There—it is noble, it is beautiful; its grace is marred by no fleck or blemish or suggestion of self-interest. O.M. What makes you think that? Y.M. Pray what else could I think? Do you imagine that there is some other way of looking at it? O.M. Can you put yourself in the man’s place and tell me what he felt and what he thought? Y.M. Easily. The sight of that suffering old face pierced his generous heart with a sharp pain. He could not bear it. He could endure the three-mile walk in the storm, but he could not endure the tortures his conscience would suffer if he turned his back and left that poor old creature to perish. He would not have been able to sleep, for thinking of it. O.M. What was his state of mind on his way home? Y.M. It was a state of joy which only the self-sacrificer knows. His heart sang, he was unconscious of the storm. O.M. He felt well? Y.M. One cannot doubt it. O.M. Very well. Now let us add up the details and see how much he got for his twenty-five cents. Let us try to find out the _real_ why of his making the investment. In the first place _he_ couldn’t bear the pain which the old suffering face gave him. So he was thinking of _his_ pain—this good man. He must buy a salve for it. If he did not succor the old woman _his_ conscience would torture him all the way home. Thinking of _his_ pain again. He must buy relief for that. If he didn’t relieve the old woman _he_ would not get any sleep. He must buy some sleep—still thinking of _himself_, you see. Thus, to sum up, he bought himself free of a sharp pain in his heart, he bought himself free of the tortures of a waiting conscience, he bought a whole night’s sleep—all for twenty-five cents! It should make Wall Street ashamed of itself. On his way home his heart was joyful, and it sang—profit on top of profit! The impulse which moved the man to succor the old woman was—_first_—to _content his own spirit_; secondly to relieve _her_ sufferings. Is it your opinion that men’s acts proceed from one central and unchanging and inalterable impulse, or from a variety of impulses? Y.M. From a variety, of course—some high and fine and noble, others not. What is your opinion? O.M. Then there is but _one_ law, one source. Y.M. That both the noblest impulses and the basest proceed from that one source? O.M. Yes. Y.M. Will you put that law into words?