"That truck-driver didn't think so," I said.
"That was my first week. I know a lot more now. I've felt sorry about him."
"You needn't," I laughed.
And after a pause:
"And down town, Jerry," I inquired. "How are things going there?"
His expression grew grave at once.
"Oh, I've been going to the office pretty regularly, but it's slow work. I don't understand why, but I don't seem to get on at all."
"That's too bad," I said slowly. "You must get on, old man."
"Yes, I know, but it comes hard. It seems that I'm frightfully rich. In fact, nobody seems to know how rich I am. I've got millions and millions, twenty—thirty perhaps. So much that it staggers me. It's like the idea of infinity or perpetuity. I can't grasp it at all. It's piling up in new investments, just piling up and nothing can stop it."
"You don't want to stop it, do you?"