“What do I care what the world says when I'm dead?” he asked with a forced laugh.
“You do care,” replied Shirley gravely. “You may school yourself to believe that you are indifferent to the good opinion of your fellow man, but right down in your heart you do care—every man does, whether he be multi-millionaire or a sneak thief.”
“You class the two together, I notice,” he said bitterly.
“It is often a distinction without a difference,” she rejoined promptly.
He remained silent for a moment or two toying nervously with a paper knife. Then, arrogantly, and as if anxious to impress her with his importance, he said:
“Most men would be satisfied if they had accomplished what I have. Do you realize that my wealth is so vast that I scarcely know myself what I am worth? What my fortune will be in another fifty years staggers the imagination. Yet I started with nothing. I made it all myself. Surely I should get credit for that.”
“How did you make it?” retorted Shirley.
“In America we don't ask how a man makes his money; we ask if he has got any.”
“You are mistaken,” replied Shirley earnestly. “America is waking up. The conscience of the nation is being aroused. We are coming to realize that the scandals of the last few years were only the fruit of public indifference to sharp business practice. The people will soon ask the dishonest rich man where he got it, and there will have to be an accounting. What account will you be able to give?”
He bit his lip and looked at her for a moment without replying. Then, with a faint suspicion of a sneer, he said: