Mr. Sage smiled. “I don’t know about its being of interest. It is very
simple and commonplace to me. You know I began as a grocery clerk, in a
country town. That is a very humble beginning, I’m sure.”
“Yes, but it’s the beginning that counts,” I said; “not the end.”
“You are right,” replied the financier. “Well, when I was even younger
than you are, I received a dollar a week for working from early morning
until late at night, but I was well satisfied with my lot, because I
knew that it was bound to lead to better things. So I worked my very
best, and saved my wages, which were slowly increased as I went along,
and finally I had enough money to start a little store for myself.
When I was twenty-one years old, I had a store of my own, and I made a
success of it, too.” He smiled, as he remembered those early days.
“But how did you happen to come to New York?” I asked.
“Oh, I was ambitious,” laughed Mr. Sage. “Like most boys, I thought
there was no other place like a city for success, and I finally sold
my country store when I was still very young, and came to New York. I
started in as an office-boy, at very low wages, and, from that day on,
I worked myself up and up, until I finally became a financier on my own
account. It took a long time, though. It wasn’t all accomplished in a
day; though, when I came to New York, I expected to be rich in two or
three years. I was very much like other boys, you see. They all expect
to get rich in a day.”
“But some of them never get rich,” I said.
“Well, it’s their own fault if they don’t succeed,” said the financier.
“Surely, everyone has as good a chance as I had. I don’t think there
could be a poorer opportunity for a boy to rise. The trouble is that
most of them are not very anxious to rise. If they find themselves
wealthy some morning they are glad, of course; but they are not willing
to work and make themselves rich.”