“Well, sir,” he began, “what do you wish?”
“A few minutes of your time,” I answered.
“Why?” he questioned succinctly.
“I wish to discover whether you believe special advantages at the
beginning of a youth’s career are necessary to success?”
“Why my opinion?”
I was rather floored for an instant, but endeavored to make plain the
natural interest of the public in the subject and his opinion, but he
interrupted me with the query:—
“Why don’t you ask a man who never had any advantages,” at the same
time fixing upon me one of his famous “what’s in thy heart?” glances.
“Then you have had them?” I said, grasping wildly at the straw that
might keep the interviewer afloat.
“A few, not many,” he replied.
“Are advantages necessary to success to-day?”
“Define advantages and success,” he said abruptly, evidently
questioning whether it was worth while to talk. A distinguished
looking figure he made, looking on, as I collected my defining
ability. The room seemed full of his atmosphere. He is a tall man,
oaken in strength, with broad, intelligent face, high forehead, alert,
wide-set eyes, and firm, even lips expressive of great self-control.
His fluency, his wit and humor, his sound knowledge, his strength and
perfect self-possession, were all suggested by his face and expression,
and by the firmness of his squarely set head and massive shoulders.
“Let us,” I said, “say money, opportunity, friends, good advice, and
personal popularity for early advantages.”
“The first isn’t necessary,” said the jurist, leisurely adjusting his
hands in his pockets. “Opportunity comes to everyone, but all have not
a mind to see; friends you can do without for a time; good advice we
take too late, and popularity usually comes too early or too tardy to
be appreciated. Define success.”