THE GENESIS OF A GREAT BENEVOLENCE.
Mr. Armour would say no more on this subject, but his admiration for oratory has been demonstrated in a remarkable way. It was after a Sunday morning discourse by the splendid orator, Dr. Gunsaulus, at Plymouth Church, Chicago, in which the latter had set forth his views on the subject of educating children, that Mr. Armour came forward and said:
“You believe in those ideas of yours, do you?”
“I certainly do,” said Dr. Gunsaulus.
“And would you carry them out if you had the opportunity?”
“I would.”
“Well, sir,” said Mr. Armour, “if you will give me five years of your time, I will give you the money.”
“But to carry out my ideas would take a million dollars!” exclaimed Gunsaulus.
“I have made a little money in my time,” returned Mr. Armour, and so the famous Armour Institute of Technology, to which its founder has already given sums aggregating $2,800,000, was associated with Mr. Armour’s love of oratory.
One of his lieutenants says that Gerritt Smith, the old abolitionist, was Armour’s boyhood hero, and that Mr. Armour would go far to hear a good speaker, often remarking that he would have preferred to be a great orator rather than a great capitalist.
“There is no need to ask you,” I continued, “whether you believe in constant, hard labor?”
“I should not call it hard. I believe in close application, of course, while laboring. Overwork is not necessary to success. Every man should have plenty of rest. I have.”
“You must rise early to be at your office at half-past seven?”
“Yes, but I go to bed early. I am not burning the candle at both ends.”
The enormous energy of this man, who was too modest to discuss it, was displayed in the most normal manner. Though he sat all day at a desk which had direct cable connection with London, Liverpool, Calcutta, and other great centers of trade, with which he was in constant connection; though he had at his hand long-distance telephone connection with New York, New Orleans and San Francisco, and direct wires from his room to almost all part of the world, conveying messages in short sentences upon subjects which involved the moving of vast amounts of stock and cereals, and the exchange of millions in money, he was not, seemingly, an overworked man. The great subjects to which he gave calm, undivided attention from early morning until evening were laid aside with the ease with which one doffs his raiment, and outside of his office the cares weighed upon him no more. His mind took up new and simpler things.
“What do you do,” I inquired, “after your hard day’s work—think about it?”
“Not at all. I drive, take up home subjects, and never think of the office until I return to it.”
“Your sleep is never disturbed?”
“Not at all.”