welfare of these three fortunate girls, nor how his kindly, simple heart
resented the insinuation that he was neglecting anything that might
contribute to their happiness.

Possession of money had never altered John Merrick's native simplicity.
He had no extravagant tastes, dressed quietly and lived the life of the
people. On this eventful morning the man of millions took a cross-town
car to the elevated station and climbed the stairs to his train. Once
seated and headed cityward he took out his memorandum book to see what
engagements he had for the day. There were three for the afternoon. At
twelve o'clock he had promised to meet Von Taer.

"H-m-m. Von Taer."

Gazing reflectively from the window he remembered a conversation with a
prominent banker some month or so before. "Von Taer," the banker had
said, "is an aristocrat with an independent fortune, who clings to the
brokerage business because he inherited it from his father and
grandfather. I hold that such a man has no moral right to continue in
business. He should retire and give the other fellow a chance."

"Why do you call him an aristocrat?" Mr. Merrick had enquired.

"Because his family is so ancient that it shames the ark itself. I
imagine his ancestors might have furnished Noah the lumber to build his
ship. In New York the '400' all kowtow to Von Taer."

"Seems to me he has the right to be a broker if he wants to," asserted
Mr. Merrick.