modern life. There have been many Chancellors of the Exchequer and many
big men in the City. That a man, after forcing his way to the front in
politics, should transfer his activities to the City and become in a
short four years its most commanding figure is unheard of. And Mr.
McKenna had the misfortune to enter public life with the handicap of a
stutter. He set himself to cure it by reading Burke aloud to his family,
and he cured it. He was then told by his political friends that he spoke
too quickly to be effective. He cured himself of this defect too, by
rehearsing his speeches to a time machine--an ordinary stop-watch, not
one of the H.G. Wells' variety. Indeed, if any man can be said to have
"made himself," it is Mr. McKenna. He bridges the gulf between politics
and the City, and brings one to a final instance of the purely business
man.

Mr. Gordon Selfridge is an exemplar of the simple life practical in the
midst of unbounded success. He goes to his office every morning
regularly at nine o'clock. In the midst of opulence he eats a frugal
lunch in a room which supplies the one thing of which he is
avaricious--big windows and plenty of fresh air. For light and air spell
for him, as for the rest of us, health and sound judgment. He possesses,
indeed, one terrible and hidden secret--a kind of baron's castle
somewhere in the heart of South England, where he may retire beyond the
pursuit of King or people, and hurl his defiance from its walls to all
the intruders which threaten the balance of the mind. No one has yet
discovered this castle, for it exists only on paper. When Mr. Gordon
Selfridge requires mental relaxation, he may be found poring over the
plans which are to be the basis of this fairy edifice. Moat and parapet,
tower, dungeon, and drawbridge, are all there, only awaiting the Mason
of the future to translate them into actuality. But the success of Mr.
Selfridge lies in his frugality, and not in his dreams. One can afford