One of the committee replied:
"Why, Mr. Astor, you are like Alexander, when he wept because there were no more worlds to conquer. You have made all the money, and now there is no more money to make." The old eye twinkled at the blended compliment and jest.
"Ha, ha, ha! very good, that's very good. Well, well, I give you something."
Whereupon he drew his check for fifteen hundred dollars.
When all else had died within him, when he was at last nourished like an infant at a woman's breast, and when, being no longer able to ride in a carriage, he was daily tossed in blanket for exercise, he still retained a strong interest in the care and increase of his property. His agent called daily upon him to render a report of moneys received. One morning this gentleman chanced to enter his room while he was enjoying his blanket exercise. The old man cried out from the middle of his blanket,—
"Has Mrs. —— paid that rent yet?"
"No," replied the agent.
"Well, but she must pay it," said the poor old man.
"Mr. Astor," rejoined the agent, "she can't pay it now; she has had misfortunes, and we must give her time."
"No, no," said Astor; "I tell you she can pay it, and she will pay it.
You don't go the right way to work with her."