If he has any
time left from that occupation he will devote it to sport. Later
in life, when he has leisure and travels, or is otherwise thrown
with cultivated strangers, he must naturally be at a disadvantage.
"Shop," he cannot talk; he knows that is vulgar. Music, art, the
drama, and literature are closed books to him, in spite of the fact
that he may have a box on the grand tier at the opera and a couple
of dozen high-priced "masterpieces" hanging around his drawing-
rooms. If he is of a finer clay than the general run of his class,
he will realize dimly that somehow the goal has been missed in his
life race. His chase after the material has left him so little
time to cultivate the ideal, that he has prepared himself a sad and
aimless old age; unless he can find pleasure in doing as did a man
I have been told about, who, receiving half a dozen millions from
his father's estate, conceived the noble idea of increasing them so
that he might leave to each of his four children as much as he had
himself received. With the strictest economy, and by suppressing
out of his life and that of his children all amusements and
superfluous outlay, he has succeeded now for many years in living
on the income of his income. Time will never hang heavy on this
Harpagon's hands. He is a perfectly happy individual, but his
conversation is hardly of a kind to attract, and it may be doubted
if the rest of the family are as much to be envied.
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