He said some days he was glad it was so far away.  He did not want his workmen to see it.  He did not go to the mill often in his motor-car, not when he could help it.

I said that I thought that a man who was doing extraordinary things for other people, things that other men could not get time or strength or freedom or boldness of mind or initiative to do, that any particular thing he could have that gave him any advantage or immunity for doing the extraordinary things better, that would give him more of a chance to give other people a chance, that the other people, if they were in their senses, would insist upon his having these things.

“I think there are hundreds of men in my mill who think that they ought to have my motor-car and three or four rooms in this house.”

“Are they the most efficient ones?”

“No.”

If a man gives over to other people his deepest motives, and if he really identifies himself—­the very inside of himself with them and treats their interests as his interests, the more money he has, the more people like it.

“Take me, for instance,” I said.

“I have hoped every minute since I knew you, that you were a prosperous man.  I saw the house and looked around in the park as I motored up with joy.  And when I came to the big gate I wanted to give three cheers!  I wish you had stock in the Meat Trust in America, that you could pierce your way like a microbe into the vitals, into the inside of the Meat Trust in my own country, make a stand in a Directors’ Meeting for ninety million people over there, say your say for them, vote your stock for them, say how you want a Meat Trust you belong to, to behave, how you want it to be a big, serious, business institution and not a humdrum, mechanical-minded hold-up anybody could think of—­in charge of a few uninteresting, inglorious men—­men nobody really cares to know and that nobody wants to be like ... when I think of what a man like you with money can do ...!

“Am I not tired every day, are you not tired, yourself, of going about everywhere and seeing money in the hands of all these second-class, socially feeble-minded men, of seeing columns in the papers of what such men think, of having college presidents, great universities, domes, churches and thousands of steeples all deferring to them and bowing to them, and all the superior, live, interested people ringing their door bells for their money waiting outside on benches for what they think?”

I do not believe that Christ came into the world, two thousand years ago, to say that only the men who have minds of the second class, men who are not far-sighted enough in business to be decently unselfish in this world, should be allowed to have control of the money and of the peoples’ means of living in it.

We are living in an age of big machines and big, inevitable aggregations, and to say in an age like this, and above all, to get it out of a Bible, or put it into a hymn book or make a religion of it, that all the first class minds of the world—­the men who see far enough to be unselfish, should give over their money to second-class men, is the most monstrous, most unbelieving, unfaithful, unbiblical, irreligious thing a world can be guilty of.  The one thing that is now the matter with money, is that the second-class people have most of it.