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 CÆsar. 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:

MISS GOODCHILD ELOPES

It remained for the make-up man to put a "!" or a "?" after "ELOPES."

The reporters could not get to either Mr. or Mrs. Goodchild or to H.R. or Grace. The papers therefore did not say that the young people, whose courtship was a Fifth Avenue romance, had eloped. That might not be true. But they printed Grace's photographs and H.R.'s and reviewed H.R.'s meteoric career and called the rumor a rumor. That was common sense.

Also, all the newspapers spoke about the Montagues and the Capulets. At about 2.30 a.m. the reporters returned with expurgated versions of Mr. Goodchild's denial. But the pages were cast. The late city editions honorably printed:

Mr. Goodchild, when seen early this morning, denied the rumor.

It was thus, at one stroke, that the nuptials of Grace Goodchild and H.R. were definitely placed among the probabilities. The average New-Yorker now knew it was only a matter of days.

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