"You probably want to say what can this ignoramus of an American, this
erstwhile swine-herd, who knows swine better than he knows men, do
with the money?"
"The first business helps the other," said Magnus.
"I dare say you have but a slight opinion of this foolish
philanthropist whose head has been turned by his gold," said I.
"Yes, to be sure, what can I do? I can open another university in
Chicago, or another maternity hospital in San Francisco, or another
humanitarian reformatory in New York."
"The latter would be a distinct work of mercy," quoth Magnus. "Do not
gaze at me with such reproach, Mr. Wondergood: I am not jesting.
You will find in me the same pure love for humanity which burns so
fiercely in you."
He was laughing at me and I felt pity for him: not to love people!
Miserable, unfortunate Magnus. I could kiss his brow with great
pleasure! Not to love people!
"Yes, I do not love them," affirmed Magnus, "but I am glad that
you do not intend to travel the conventional road of all American
philanthropists. Your billions----"
"Three billions, Magnus! One could build a nation on this money----"
"Yes?----"
"Or destroy a nation," said I. "With this gold, Magnus, one can start
a war or a revolution----"
"Yes?----"
I actually succeeded in arousing his interest: his large white hands
trembled slightly and in his eyes there gleamed for a moment a look of
respect: "You, Wondergood, are not as foolish as I thought!" He arose,
paced up and down the room, and halting before me asked sneeringly:
"And you know exactly what your humanity needs most: the creation
of a new or the destruction of the old state? War or peace? Rest or
revolution? Who are you, Mr. Wondergood of Illinois, that you essay
to solve _these_ problems? You had better keep on building your
maternity hospitals and universities. That is far less dangerous work."