“Thousands of them.”
Banks laughed.
“I imagine,” he said, “it’s all a matter of nomenclature. You think us fast over here, and doubtless you are wrong; we think you slow over there, and doubtless we are wrong. I don’t think we’re greedy. No man is so lavish in his expenditure as an American, and no man more generous. A greedy man does not spend money. Our motive power is interest in the game.”
“Yes; everyone has told me that, but I regard the phrase as an excuse, not as a reason.”
“Look here, Stranleigh, who’s been looting you? What deal have you lost? I warned you against mixing philanthropy with business, you remember.”
Stranleigh threw back his head and laughed.
“There you have it. According to you a man cannot form an opinion that is uninfluenced by his pocket. As a matter of fact, I have won all along the line. I tried the game, as you call it, hoping to find it interesting, but it doesn’t seem to me worth while. I pocket the stakes, and I am going home, in no way elated at my success, any more than I should have been discouraged had I failed.”
Leaning forward, Mr. Banks spoke as earnestly as the weather permitted.
“What you need, Stranleigh, is a doctor’s advice, not a lawyer’s. You have been just a little too long in New York, and although New Yorkers don’t believe it, there are other parts of the country worthy of consideration. Your talk, instead of being an indictment of life as you find it, has been merely an exposition of your own ignorance, a sample of that British insularity which we all deplore. I hope you don’t mind my stating the case as I see it?”
“Not at all,” said Stranleigh. “I am delighted to hear your point of view. Go on.”