One saw the meaning of this madness most clearly in the young men of Society.  Some were killing themselves and other people in automobile races at a hundred and twenty miles an hour.  Some went in for auto-boats, mere shells of things, shaped like a knife-blade, that tore through the water at forty miles an hour.  Some would hire professional pugilists to knock them out; others would get up dog-fights and bear-fights, and boxing matches with kangaroos.  Montague was taken to the home of one young man who had given his life to hunting wild gajne in every corner of the globe, and would travel round the world for a new species to add to his museum of trophies.  He had heard that Baron Rothschild had offered a thousand pounds for a “bongo,” a huge grass-eating animal, which no white man had ever seen; and he had taken a year’s trip into the interior, with a train of a hundred and thtiry natives, and had brought out the heads of forty different species, including a bongo—­which the Baron did not get!  He met another who had helped to organize a balloon club, and two twenty-four-hour trips in the clouds. (This, by the way, was the latest sport—­at Tuxedo they had races between balloons and automobiles; and Montague met one young lady who boasted that she had been up five times.) There was another young millionaire who sat and patiently taught Sunday School, in the presence of a host of reporters; there was another who set up a chain of newspapers all over the country and made war upon his class.  There were others who went in for settlement work and Russian revolutionists—­there were even some who called themselves Socialists!  Montague thought that this was the strangest fad of all; and when he met one of these young men at an afternoon tea, he gazed at him with wonder and perplexity—­thinking of the man he had heard ranting on the street-corner.

This was the “second generation.”  Appalling as it was to think of, there was a third growing up, and getting ready to take the stage.  And with wealth accumulating faster than ever, who could guess what they might do?  There were still in Society a few men and women who had earned their money, and had some idea of the toil and suffering that it stood for; but when the third generation had taken possession, these would all be dead or forgotten, and there would no longer be any link to connect them with reality!

In the light of this thought one was moved to watch the children of the rich.  Some of these had inherited scores of millions of dollars while they were still in the cradle; now and then one of them would be presented with a million-dollar house for a birthday gift.  When such a baby was born, the newspapers would give pages to describing its layette, with baby dresses at a hundred dollars each, and lace handkerchiefs at five dollars, and dressing-sets with tiny gold brushes and powder-boxes; one might see a picture of the precious object in a “Moses basket,” covered with rare and wonderful Valenciennes lace.