"Uncle Arthur is kind to me, but the life smothers me. I can't
breathe sometimes. Nothing my father taught me is considered worth
while here. People care for other things."
"What, for instance?" Peter's hand never moved, nor did his body.
"Why stocks and bonds and money, for instance," laughed Jack,
beginning to be annoyed at his own tirade--half ashamed of it in
fact. "Stocks are good enough in their way, but you don't want to
live with them from ten o'clock in the morning till four o'clock
in the afternoon, and then hear nothing else talked about until
you go to bed. That's why that dinner last night made such an
impression on me. Nobody said money once."
"But every one of those men had his own hobby--"
"Yes, but in my uncle's world they all ride one and the same
horse. I don't want to be a pessimist, Mr. Grayson, and I want you
to set me straight if I am wrong, but Mr. Morris and every one of
those men about him were the first men I've seen in New York who
appear to me to be doing the things that will live after them.
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