LATE one afternoon, I stopped to converse with a policeman in Central
Park. Another policeman came up. Nathan Strauss was mentioned. “Well, I
tell you,” said the first policeman, stamping his foot, “there is a man!
“Charities! He’s the only man in New York City who gives real
charities. Why, when others want to give, they go to him, and have
him do it for them. He knows what’s what. I tell you, he’s the most
respected man in New York City;” and the other said, “That’s right.”
Go on the east side, and ask about Nathan Strauss, and you will hear
what is as pleasant as it is rare,—the poor giving a rich man unstinted
praise. But do not speak to Mr. Strauss about his work as charity; he
dislikes to have it called by that name.