As he hung up the telephone his stenographer came in to say good night. Mr. Potter took his old rifle off the wall, dusted It with a desk cloth and said:
“My great grandfather used that in the battle of Lexington.”
He squinted down its long barrel while he gave these instructions to his helper.
“Joe, send down to The Sign of the Flapjack, née Child's, and order corned beef hash and poached eggs and apple pie and coffee for two.”
He turned to me and asked:
“Any amendments to propose to that ticket?”
“None,” I answered.
“Then we will consider it elected. Have the table spread here by the fire, if you please.”
He filled and lighted his pipe, settled down in an easy chair and began again, with his gun resting across his knees: “The superors try to square themselves by giving to the poor. It doesn't work. Often we do more harm than good by giving to the poor. Kindness, sympathy, loving counsel and the brotherly hand can accomplish much. But the charily of cold cash is a questionable thing. The girl who knits a pair of socks accomplishes a larger net result to the good than the one that gives ten pairs to charity. The girl who did the knitting really produced something. She had made the world better off by one pair of socks. There is no doubt about that. The girl who has bought and given away ten pairs has produced nothing. She has made the world in general no better off. She is a slacker. She is trying to make her money do her work for her.
“The time has come when the world in general has to be considered by each of us. Civilized humanity has been compacted into a unit. It is threatened by famine and tyranny. All the money there is can not save us from these perils unless a lot of people get busy who are now doing nothing but eat and play. Money has become a very cheap and vulgar thing—almost every one has money these days.