“Pray proceed,” said Mr. Dawson, with an effort.
“As I was saying, I have been depositing gradually—”
“Thirty-seven millions in two months!”
“I have not yet enough money to be classed among the really rich men in this country. But I am young,” with a smile that set a-shivering the gold-enwrapped soul of Mr. Richard Dawson. “I am keenly alive, I think, to the obligations of really great wealth, and I trust to do as much good in the world as I can. I mean to be a very rich man, Mr. Dawson. Of course, I could live comfortably on the income of forty or fifty millions; but I am going to do more than live comfortably. Man owes certain duties to his fellow-men which are neglected too often. Why,” enthusiastically, “the possession of unlimited wealth in worthy hands would mean the realization of the beautiful dreams of those unselfish men whom you, doubtless, call Utopians, and Socialists, and visionaries. They are the men who believe that mankind, at heart, is good. They are the men who will revolutionize the world!”
“Revolutions mean disaster,” said Mr. Dawson half angrily.
“Possibly disaster to a few individuals at first, but, in the end, happiness to the community,” said the young man, with an inspired air.
“It is a question whether the price paid would not be disproportionate to the good obtained.” Mr. Dawson spoke as though he would dissuade the young man, but not too strongly, for fear his words might intensify obstinacy. It was, unwittingly, a subtle admission that he thought the young man did not lack the power to make his dream an actual catastrophe.
“Whatever means the greatest good to the greatest number is necessarily good,” retorted Grinnell, in a tone that permitted no contradiction. “A revolution, Mr. Dawson, is achieved by three things: By time, which is too slow; by blood, which is revolting; and by gold, Mr. Dawson, BY GOLD!”
The young man was looking sternly at Mr. Dawson, who stared back so fixedly as to be painful. On the president’s brow appeared a microscopic dew; you would have said his brain was shedding tears of agony. He had visioned, not the revolution of mankind, but his own ruin!
“Mr. Grinnell,” he said, with a curious, little indrawn gasp, “I can only pray you to go slow. Don’t let your enthusiasm lead you to precipitate an appalling crisis. You can do all the good you wish if you consider carefully all sides of the question. But, as you value the welfare of humanity, go slow, Mr. Grinnell. In God’s name, go slow.”