"IF they had his personality, and IF they had his brains," said Olivia.
"Well, as it is, he'll make the dumbest ass in the lot bray to some purpose."
In September, when Scarborough closed his headquarters at Milwaukee and set out for Indianapolis, he found that the average earnings of his agents were two hundred and seventy-five dollars, and that he himself had made forty-three hundred. Mills came and offered him a place in the publishing house at ten thousand a year and a commission. He instantly rejected it. He had already arranged to spend a year with one of the best law firms in Indianapolis before opening an office in Saint X, the largest town in the congressional district in which his farm lay.
"But there's no hurry about deciding," said Mills. "Remember we'll make you rich in a few years."
"My road happens not to lie in that direction," replied Scarborough, carelessly. "I've no desire to be rich. It's too easy, if one will consent to give money-making his exclusive attention."
Mills looked amused—had he not known Scarborough's ability, he would have felt derisive.
"Money's power," said he. "And there are only two ambitions for a wide-awake man—money and power."
"Money can't buy the kind of power I'd care for," answered Scarborough. "If I were to seek power, it'd be the power that comes through ability to persuade."
"Money talks," said Mills, laughing.
"Money bellows," retorted Scarborough, "and bribes and browbeats, bully and coward that it is. But it never persuades."