never bear a son.

The city he chose was a small city then, yet it already showed signs
of approaching greatness. On the east side, across the river, he
built his first plant, a small one, with the blast heated by passing
through cast iron pipes, with the furnaceman testing the temperature
with strips of lead and zinc, and the skip hoist a patient mule.

He had ore within easy hauling distance, and he had fuel, and he had,
as time went on, a rapidly increasing market. Labor was cheap and
plentiful, too, and being American-born, was willing and intelligent.
Perhaps Anthony Cardew's sins of later years were due to a vast
impatience that the labor of the early seventies was no longer to be
had.

The Cardew fortune began in the seventies. Up to that time there
was a struggle, but in the seventies Anthony did two things. He
went to England to see the furnaces there, and brought home a wife,
a timid, tall Englishwoman of irreproachable birth, who remained
always an alien in the crude, busy new city. And he built himself
a house, a brick house in lower East Avenue, a house rather like
his tall, quiet wife, and run on English lines. He soon became
the leading citizen. He was one of the committee to welcome the
Prince of Wales to the city, and from the very beginning he took
his place in the social life.

He found it very raw at times, crude and new. He himself lived
with dignity and elegant simplicity. He gave now and then lengthy,
ponderous dinners, making out the lists himself, and handing them
over to his timid English wife in much the manner in which he gave