It may seem incredible that a father can be such a stranger to his
children, but it is none the less a fact. I do not suppose we dine
together as a family fifteen times in the course of the winter. When we
do so we get along together very nicely, but I find myself conversing
with my daughters much as if they were women I had met casually out at
dinner. They are literally "perfect ladies."

When they were little I was permitted a certain amount of decorous
informality, but now I have to be very careful how I kiss them on
account of the amount of powder they use. They have, both of them,
excellent natural complexions, but they are not satisfied unless their
noses have an artificial whiteness like that of marble. I suspect,
also, that their lips have a heightened color. At all events I am
careful to "mind the paint." But they are--either because of these
things or in spite of them--extraordinarily pretty girls--prettier, I am
forced to admit, than their mother was at their age. Now, as I write, I
wonder to what end these children of mine have been born into the
world--how they will assist in the development of the race to a higher
level.

For years I slaved at the office--early, late, in the evenings, often
working Sundays and holidays, and foregoing my vacation in the summer.

Then came the period of expansion. My accumulations doubled and trebled.
In one year I earned a fee in a railroad reorganization of two hundred
thousand dollars. I found myself on Easy Street. I had arrived--achieved
my success. During all those years I had devoted myself exclusively to
the making of money. Now I simply had to spend it and go through the
motions of continuing to work at my profession.