Do you know any rich woman who would sacrifice her automobile in order to send convalescents to the country?  She may be a very charitable person and in the habit of sending such people to places where they are likely to recover health; but, no matter how many she actually sends, there would always be eight or ten more who could share in that blessed privilege if she gave up her motor and used the money for the purpose.  Yet she does not do so and you do not do so; and, to be quite honest, you would think her a fool if she did.

What an interesting thing it would be if we could see the mental processes of some one of our friends who, unaware of our knowledge of his thoughts, was confronted with the opportunity of saving a life or accomplishing a vast good at a great sacrifice of his worldly possessions!

Suppose, for instance, he could save his own child by spending fifty thousand dollars in doctors, hospitals and nurses.  Of course he would do so without a moment’s hesitation, even if that was his entire fortune.  But suppose the child were a nephew?  We see him waver a little.  A cousin—­there is a distinct pause.  Shall he pauperize himself just for a cousin?  How about a mere social acquaintance?  Not much!  He might in a moment of excitement jump overboard to save somebody from drowning; but it would have to be a dear friend or close relative to induce him to go to the bank and draw out all the money he had in the world to save that same life.

The cities are full of lives that can be saved simply by spending a little money; but we close our eyes and, with our pocket-books clasped tight in our hands, pass by on the other side.  Why?  Not because we do not wish to deprive ourselves of the necessaries of life or even of its solid comforts, but because we are not willing to surrender our amusements.  We want to play and not to work.  That is what we are doing, what we intend to keep on doing, and what we plan to have our children do after us.

Brotherly love?  How can there be such a thing when there is a single sick baby dying for lack of nutrition—­a single convalescent suffocating for want of country air—­a single family without fire or blankets?  Suggest to your wife that she give up a dinner gown and use the money to send a tubercular office boy to the Adirondacks—­and listen to her excuses!  Is there not some charitable organization that does such things?  Has not his family the money?  How do you know he really has consumption?  Is he a good boy?  And finally:  “Well, one can’t send every sick boy to the country; if one did there would be no money left to bring up one’s own children.”  She hesitates—­and the boy dies perhaps!  So long as we do not see them dying, we do not really care how many people die.

Our altruism, such as it is, has nothing abstract about it.  The successful man does not bother himself about things he cannot see.  Do not talk about foreign missions to him.  Try his less successful brother—­the man who is not successful because you can talk over with him foreign missions or even more idealistic matters; who is a failure because he will make sacrifices for a principle.