“Five men have twenty times the power of one. Did you ever think of that?” he asked. “When you put two and two together you get about sixteen, but they've got to be one before they can be sixteen. That suggests the value of combination.” He paused before me, and added: “Here's the trouble. The idea is bigger'n I am. There's only one man in the world who can carry it out.”
“Who is that?” I inquired.
“Vanderbilt,” said he. “There's the biggest man in the country. He's made twenty million dollars with his brain. Think of that! He's the Napoleon of this day.”
There came a rap at the door, and Mr. McCarthy shouted, “Come in!” and a young man entered with a large blank-book in his hand.
“Mr. Heron, this is Mr. Magillies, a graduate of the commercial college at Poughkeepsie, and a grand penman,” said the hand-made gentleman. “He takes down my letters for me, and writes 'em off and sees that they're worded proper. Would you like to hear me answer my correspondence?”
I assured him of my interest, and thereupon the hand-made gentleman dictated many letters with a look and tone of great dignity. Now and then he addressed some delinquent and unscrupulous debtor with great emphasis, and more than once he described the virtues of Sal and Sal's sisters and the clover-scented soap loudly and with gestures suited to the word, so that he reminded me of the picture in my reading-book of a Roman senator addressing the populace.
The young man left us late in the evening with his record of their work.
Then said the hand-made gentleman: “I must have somebody for that position who is more than a mere writing-machine. I want some gentleman who thinks as I do and will stand up for me like a brother. I want you!”
It took me by surprise, and I thanked him and expressed doubt of my fitness.
“I know you, and you know me,” he said. “I like you, Mr. Heron, and believe in you; and if you feel the same, let's pull together. I have some big things to do, and you can help me; and I'll double the pay you're getting.”