A “Forty-niner” who Seized Opportunities Others Failed to See.
I FOUND Mr. Armour in his crowded office at 205 La Salle street,
Chicago, an office in which a snowstorm of white letters falls thickly
upon a mass of dark desks, and where brass and lamps and electrical
instruments abound, yet not much more than do the hurrying men. Such a
mobilization of energy to promote the private affairs of one man I had
never seen.
“Is Mr. Armour within?” I asked, supposing, since it was but 9:30 A.M.,
that he had not arrived.
“He is,” said the attendant, “and has been since half-past seven.”
“Does he usually arrive so early?” I inquired.
“Always,” was the significant reply.
I presented my letters, and was soon informed that they were of no
avail there. Mr. Armour could see me only after the crush of the
day’s affairs—that is, at 6 P.M., and then in the quiet of the Armour
Institute, his great philanthropic school for young men and women.
He was very courteous, and there was no delay. He took my hand with
a firm grasp, evidently reading with his steady gaze such of my
characteristics as interested him and saying at the same time, “Well,
sir.”
“Mr. Armour,” I said, “will you answer enough questions concerning your
life to illustrate for our readers what success means?”
The great Hercules of American industry visibly recoiled at the thought
of implied notoriety, having, until the present time, steadily veiled
his personality and general affairs as much as possible from public
gaze.
“I am only a plain merchant,” he answered.