The jingling silver in his pocket when sent to Harvard had severely tested his moral fiber, but this great fortune came near smothering all his native commonsense.  If a man makes his money himself, he stands a certain chance of growing as the pile grows.

There is little doubt as to the soundness of Emerson’s epigram, that what you put into his chest you take out of the man.  More than this, when a man gradually accumulates wealth, it attracts little attention, so the mob that follows the newly rich never really gets on to the scent.  And besides that, the man who makes his own fortune always stands ready to repel boarders.

There may be young men of twenty-seven who are men grown, and no doubt every man of twenty-seven is very sure that he is one of these; but the thought that man is mortal never occurs to either men or women until they are past thirty.  The blood is warm, conquest lies before, and to seize the world by the tail and snap its head off seems both easy and desirable.

The promoters, the flatterers and friends until then unknown flocked to Hancock and condoled with him on the death of his uncle.  Some wanted small loans to tide over temporary emergencies, others had business ventures in hand whereby John Hancock could double his wealth very shortly.  Still others spoke of wealth being a trust, and to use money to help your fellow-men, and thus to secure the gratitude of many, was the proper thing.

The unselfishness of the latter suggestion appealed to Hancock.  To be the friend of humanity, to assist others—­this is the highest ambition to which a man can aspire!  And, of course, if one is pointed out on the street as the good Mr. Hancock it can not be helped.  It is the penalty of well-doing.

So in order to give work to many and to promote the interests of Boston, a thriving city of fifteen thousand inhabitants, for all good men wish to build up the place in which they live, John Hancock was induced to embark in shipbuilding.  He also owned several ships of his own which traded with London and the West Indies, and was part owner of others.  But he publicly explained that he did not care to make money for himself—­his desire was to give employment to the worthy poor and to enhance the good of Boston.

The aristocratic company of militia, known as the Governor’s Guard, had been fitted out with new uniforms and arms by the generous Hancock, and he had been chosen commanding officer, with rank of Colonel.  He drilled with the crack company and studied the manual much more diligently than he ever had his Bible.

Hancock lived in the mansion, inherited from his uncle, on Beacon Street, facing the Common.  There was a chariot and six horses for state occasions, much fine furniture from over the sea, elegant clothes that the Puritans called “gaudy apparel,” and at the dinners the wine flowed freely, and cards, dancing and music filled many a night.

The Puritan neighbors were shocked, and held up their hands in horror to think that the son of a minister should so affront the staid and sober customs of his ancestors.  Still others said, “Why, that’s what a rich man should do—­spend his money, of course; Hancock is the benefactor of his kind; just see how many people he employs!”