“What is he professor of?”

“Transcendental chemistry ...  He has studied in all the leading universities of Europe.  All of them.  The name of Von Bieberstein will be blessed by generations yet unborn.  And how devoutly happy am I that the name of Snider will come in for some of those blessings!  It will be associated with his in this great work,—­ this good work!”

“Is that his name?”

“Professor Von Bieberstein.  Yes.  And mine is Snider. ...  James, I hope you are a good boy.”

I said nothing, but if to be a good boy would turn me into anything like Mr. Snider when I grew up, I hoped I was the worst kind of boy.

“You don’t use tobacco, I hope, James?”

“No.”

“Don’t ever do it.  It leads to lying.  And drinking.  I have known the greatest criminals and blacklegs in the city of New York, murderers, and thieves, and men like that,—­and they all became what they were through using tobacco.  All of them.”

We had arrived at the house, and Mr. Snider led the way around to the side-door.

“Here is the platform, you see, James,” said he, pointing to the band-stand, “all ready for the gathering tomorrow.  Yes.  It will be a great occasion.  Historic.  Nothing that this ancient house has ever seen could match it.  And yet I suppose that many of the world’s great discoveries were made in places humble and obscure like this. ...  Suppose we split a little wood, James, and bring some water from the well.  Then we can have supper ready, when the Professor comes back from his work.  He is very absent-minded.  Very.  His mind is engaged on these problems all day.  He would not remember to eat unless I reminded him of it.  I have to take care of him,—­his life is very precious to the world, James!”

We went to a shed where there was a little kindling wood in one corner.  Mr. Snider handed me a hatchet, and I split some wood, while he stood near and talked to me about the importance of being good and virtuous.

“It’s the way to be happy, James, and successful, and rich.  Did you ever hear of Abraham P. Fillmore, James?”

“Oh, yes.  Lots of times.”  “Worth ninety million dollars, James!  Think of it!  Ninety million dollars!” Mr. Snider licked his lips.  “The richest man in the world, today.  Some say that John Sanderson is richer,—­but it isn’t true.  No; it isn’t true.  The last time I saw A. P. Fillmore, I said to him:  ‘Brother Fillmore,’ I said, ’how do you account for it?  How did you do it?  How did you get it?’ And he said:  ‘Caleb,’ he said, ’I’ll tell you.  It was by following the Golden Rule.’  That’s all there is to it, James,—­ just by being good.  Isn’t that simple, James?  Oh! why can’t we all do that!”

I looked at Mr. Snider in astonishment.  Here was a man who knew the famous millionaire, A. P. Fillmore, well enough to call him “Brother Fillmore,” and to be called “Caleb” in return by him.  I had seen pictures of Fillmore in the newspapers ever since I could remember,—­people were always talking about him.  “You must think I am as rich as A. P. Fillmore!”—­how many times I had heard people say that!  And Mr. Snider, who was on such friendly terms with him, was standing here in a woodshed, talking with me!  I wondered why I had never heard of Mr. Snider before.