money and they read my wife's name in the society columns of the New
York papers, I must be completely satisfied.

And in a way I _am_ satisfied with having achieved that material success
which argues the possession of brains and industry; but the encomiums of
the high-school principal and the congratulations of my college mates,
sincere and well-meaning as they are, no longer quicken my blood; for I
know that they are based on a total ignorance of the person they seek to
honor. They see a heavily built, well-groomed, shrewd-looking man, with
clear-cut features, a ready smile, and a sort of brusque frankness that
seems to them the index of an honest heart. They hear him speak in a
straightforward, direct way about the "Old Home," and the "Dear Old
College," and "All Our Friends"--quite touching at times, I assure
you--and they nod and say, "Good fellow, this! No frills--straight from
the heart! No wonder he has got on in the city! Sterling chap! Hurrah!"

Perhaps, after all, the best part of me comes out on these occasions.
But it is not the _me_ that I have worked for half a century to build
up; it is rather what is left of the _me_ that knelt at my mother's side
forty years ago. Yet I have no doubt that, should these good parents of
mine see how I live in New York, they would only be the more convinced
of the greatness of my success--the success to achieve which I have
given the unremitting toil of thirty years.

* * * * *

And as I now clearly see that the results of this striving and the
objects of my ambition have been largely, if not entirely, material, I
shall take the space to set forth in full detail just what this material
success amounts to, in order that I may the better determine whether it