PROLOGUE
The cleverest man I ever knew was at the same time the wisest and kindest-hearted of men. Not that the possession of wisdom, nor the grace of kindness to his fellow-creatures, made him clever in a high degree, but that when I was in the journeyman stage of learning, feeling my feet, as it were, he gave me what I have ever since known—not considered, mind you, but known—to be the best and most invaluable advice that one creature could give to another. It was this—put into short words (and, mind you, this man was a big man, and a very successful business man, inasmuch as he raised one of the biggest concerns in his own town out of sheer nothing, and died a rich man, having used his wealth kindly and wisely at a time when things were not what they are now)—
"Poskitt—tha'rt nowt but a young 'un! Tha's goin' inta t' world, and tha'll find 'at theer'll be plenty o' men to gi' thee what they call advice. Now, I seen all t' world o' Human Nature, and I'll gi' thee better advice nor onnybody 'at tha'll ever find—'cause I know! Listen to me—
"(i.) I'steead o' trustin' nobody, trust ivverybody—till thou finds 'em out. When thou finds 'em out (if thou ivver does), trust 'em agen! Noä man's a bad 'un, soä long as ye get on t' reight side on him. An' it's yer own fault, mind yer, if ye doän't.
"(ii.) Doän't think ower much about makkin' Brass. It's a good thing to mak' Brass, and a good thing to be in possession on it, but Brass is neyther here nor theer unless ye ware it on yer friends. Save yer Brass as much as ye can. Keep it for t' rainy Day—ye never know when that rainy Day's comin'—but don't skrike at a sixpence when ye know that a half-crown wodn't mak' a diff'rence. Doän't tak' yer sweetheart to market, and let her come home wi' a penny ribbon when ye know in yer own heart 'at ye might ha' bowt her a golden ring.
"(iii.) To end up wi'—trust ivvery man ye meet—not like a fool, but like a wiseacre. Love your neighbours—but tak' good care that they love you. If ye find that they don't, have nowt to do with 'em—but go on loving 'em all the same. If theer's Retribution, it weern't fall on you, but on them. But at th' same time, ye must remember that ivvery one on us mak's the other. An', to sum up all the lot, ivvery man 'at were ivver born on this earth mak's himself."
I
In one of those old Latin books which I sometimes buy in the old book-shops in the market-towns that I visit, out of which I can pick out a word or two, a sentence or two (especially if they are interleaved with schoolboys' attempts at cribs), there is a line which I, at any rate, can translate with ease into understandable English—a line that always puts me in mind of my old, wise friend's blunt sayings—
"Every man is the maker of his own fortune."
And that's why I am going to tell you this story of a man who did Three Things. First: Made Himself a Millionaire. Second: Lived in a Dream while he was in the Process. Third: Came out of the Dream—when it was all too late.