In the very hour of his great success H. R. suddenly was thus confronted
by the greatest menace to a political career--wealth!
In one morning's mail he received three hundred and eighty-four offers
to become the advertising Napoleon of national concerns; no limit to the
advertising appropriations. He added up the aggregate offers of salary
and maximum commissions.
His income, if he accepted all the offers, would amount to $614,500 per
annum.
So great is the danger and so widely recognized is it that nobody is
worthy of respect until he is threatened by wealth with wealth.
Should H. R. accept greatness to-day and let to-morrow bring the
littleness?
He did not reply to his correspondents. He thus went up in their
estimation. To refuse to take money is something. To refuse even to
refuse it is everything!
He prepared a memorandum containing all the offers he had received, with
the sum total of same, and sent the originals of the letters and
telegrams to Mr. Goodchild.
His only comment, in careless lead-pencil, was what it should be:
"_Not enough!_"
He knew Mr. Goodchild would speak about it. How could Mr. Goodchild
help it? Didn't $614,500 begin with a $?
But H. R. did not think of what he had not done, not even of what he had
done, but of what he would do. Doers of deeds always think that way. To
them yesterday is as dead as Caesar. To-day is settled. To-morrow alone
is greater opportunity!
He therefore thought of himself. That made him think of Grace.
He had no illusions about himself, but, what was far more intelligent,
he had none about anybody else. He was aware that already the world was
divided in their opinion of him. To some he was a humbug, to others a
crank; to some a genius, to a few a dangerous demagogue.
People respect what they fear. Fear always puts humanity in the attitude
of a rat in a corner. That is why people with a passion for making money
naturally think of corners.
To make millions of men follow is to make millions of dollars shake.
But his was an infinitely more difficult problem. How to become the fear
of the rich and at the same time be respected by the best element? He
had no precedents by which to guide his steps, no example that he might
modernize and follow.
He reduced the problem to its simplest form? To bring this about he
would preach Brotherhood.
To stop the mouths that thereupon would call him Socialist he would
cover his effort.
Then, in the chemical reactions of his mind, something flashed! He would
do something to attract the best element. That would bring in the mob.
What begins by being fashionable always ends by being popular. Nobody
had ever thought of making goodness a fad. Hence, poverty, and therefore
wealth!
He would take the first step that night.
About 11 P.M. an excited feminine voice, without the slightest trace of
Yiddish--indeed, more fashionable than a Fifth Avenue voice ever dared
to be--called up, one after another, the city editors of the best papers
and asked:
"Is it true that Grace Goodchild has eloped with Hendrik Rutgers?"
"We had not heard that--"
"It is not true! _It is not true!_" shrieked the voice in the highest
pitch of dismay and rang on.
Having been told that it was not true, the city editors, after vainly
trying to get the speaker again, honorably called up the Goodchild
residence.
Nobody home!
That was enough corroboration for any intelligent man, but the city
editors despatched their most reliable reporters to the former residence
of the bride. Being prudent men, the editors prepared the photographs,
and the head-line was all a matter of final punctuation: