I remember hearing, years ago, of an old merchant who, on his
death-bed, divided the results of long years of labor, some few
hundreds in all, amongst his sons. “It is little enough, my boys,” were
almost his last words, “but there isn’t a dirty shilling in the whole
of it.” He had been a successful man too, though not in the “self-made”
sense. For his ideal had been, not to make money, but to keep clean
hands. And he had been faithful to it.