“Money is only vulgar,” he went on, “to vulgar minds.  And remember this—­that underlying the whole thing there is Truth.  The beans which you and the boy have eaten do contain something of the miraculous.  Those same constituents would be blended in the preparation which we shall offer to the public.  Have you no faith in them?  Why should you not believe it possible that the ingredients which have made so great a change in you and that child, may not influence for the better the whole world of your fellow-creatures?  Omit for a moment the reflection that you yourself would benefit so much by the acceptance of my offer.  Consider only your fellow human creatures.  Don’t you realize—­can’t you see that in acceding to our offer you will be acting the part of a philanthropist?”

“Mr. Bomford,” Burton said, leaning a little forward, “in all your arguments you forget one thing.  My stock of these beans is already perilously low.  When they are gone, I remain no more what I hope and believe I am at the present moment.  Once more I revert to the impossible:  I become the auctioneer’s clerk—­a commonplace, material, vulgar, objectionable little bounder, whose doings and feelings I sometimes dimly remember.  Can’t you imagine what sort of use a person like that would make of wealth?  In justice to him, in justice to the myself of the future, I cannot place such temptations in his way.”

Mr. Bomford was staggered.

“I find it hard to follow you,” he admitted.  “You will not accept my offer because you are afraid that when the effect of these beans has worn off, you will misuse the wealth which will come to you—­is that it?”

“That is the entire truth,” Burton confessed.

“Have you asked yourself,” Mr. Bomford demanded, impressively, “whether you have a right to treat your other self in this fashion?  Your other self will assuredly resent it, if you retain your memory.  Your other self would hate your present self for its short-sighted, quixotic folly.  I tell you frankly that you have not the right to treat your coming self in this way.  Consider!  Wealth does not inevitably vulgarize.  On the contrary, it takes you away from the necessity of associating with people calculated to depress and cramp your life.  There are many points of view which I am sure you have not adequately considered.  Take the case of our friend Professor Cowper, for instance.  He is a poor man with a scientific hobby in which he is burning to indulge.  Why deprive him of the opportunity?  There is his daughter—­”

“I will reconsider the matter,” Burton interrupted, hastily.  “I cannot say more than that.”

Mr. Bomford signified his satisfaction.

“I am convinced,” he said, “that you will come around to our way of thinking.  I proceed now to the second reason of my visit to you this afternoon.  Professor Cowper and his daughter are doing me the honor to dine with me to-night at the Milan.  I beg that you will join us.”