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_THE EFFORT TO CONVERT THE WORK HORSE INTO A HIGH-STEPPER_
Once there was a plain, unvarnished Yank who made his Pile in a Scrub
Town situated midday between the Oats Belt and the Tall Timber. He was
a large and sandy Mortal with a steel-trap Jaw and a cold glittering
Eye. He made his first Stack a Dollar at a Time on straight Deals, but
after a while he learned a few Things. He organized Stock Companies
and then crawled out after hooking up with the Velvet. Every one
called him Mister and treated him with Politeness, but, just the same,
when he walked into an Office Building they all wondered what he had
come after and there was more or less locking of Safes. It is only
fair to remark, on the Side, that he wouldn't take anything which was
securely spiked down, and the Grand Jury never bothered him, because
he worked under a Contract.
The Financier was the high Centre Pole of a Bank and a Department
Store and several Factories that gave Young People a Start in the
World at something like $2.75 per Week.
He was accustomed to having all the Subordinates stand on one Foot
and tremble whenever he showed up. In fact, he was a very hefty
Proposition all through the Business District. But when he struck the
Street leading to his House he began to reef his Sails and lower all
of his Flags.
In his own Domicile he did not even play Second Fiddle. He simply
trailed along at the fag end of the Parade and carried the Music.
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