On the first of each month when his agents turned over the rents to him he was in great spirits.  He would bring home the little canvas sack of coin with him before banking it, and call his son’s attention to the amount, never failing to stick a twenty-dollar gold-piece in each eye, monocle fashion, exclaiming, “Good for the masses,” a meaningless jest that had been one of the family’s household words for years.

His plan of building was peculiar.  His credit was good, and having chosen his lot he would find out from the banks how much they would loan him upon it in case he should become the owner.  If this amount suited him, he would buy the lot, making one large payment outright and giving his note for the balance.  The lot once his, the banks loaned him the desired amount.  With this money and with money of his own he would make the final payment on the lot and would begin the building itself, paying his labour on the nail, but getting his material, lumber, brick and fittings on time.  When the building was half-way up he would negotiate a second loan from the banks in order to complete it and in order to meet the notes he had given to his contractors for material.

He believed this to be a shrewd business operation, since the rents as they returned to him were equal to the interest on a far larger sum than that which he had originally invested.  He said little about the double mortgage on each piece of property “improved” after this fashion and which often represented a full two-thirds of its entire value.  The interest on each loan was far more than covered by the rents; he chose his neighbourhoods with great discrimination; real estate was flourishing in the rapidly growing city, and the new houses, although built so cheaply that they were mere shells of lath and plaster, were nevertheless made gay and brave with varnish and cheap mill-work.  They rented well at first, scarcely a one was ever vacant.  People spoke of the Old Gentleman as one of the most successful realty owners in the city.  So pleased did he become with the success of his new venture that in course of time all his money was reinvested after this fashion.

At the time of his father’s greatest prosperity Vandover himself began to draw toward his fifteenth year, entering upon that period of change when the first raw elements of character began to assert themselves and when, if ever, there was a crying need for the influence of his mother.  Any feminine influence would have been well for him at this time:  that of an older sister, even that of a hired governess.  The housekeeper looked after him a little, mended his clothes, saw that he took his bath Saturday nights, and that he did not dig tunnels under the garden walks.  But her influence was entirely negative and prohibitory and the two were constantly at war.  Vandover grew in a haphazard way and after school hours ran about the streets almost at will.

At fifteen he put on long trousers, and the fall of the same year entered the High School.  He had grown too fast and at this time was tall and very lean; his limbs were straight, angular, out of all proportion, with huge articulations at the elbows and knees.  His neck was long and thin and his head large, his face was sallow and covered with pimples, his ears were big, red and stuck out stiff from either side of his head.  His hair he wore “pompadour.”