the statistics of massachusetts showed that not one rich man’s son out of seventeen ever dies rich. i pity the rich man’s sons unless they have the good sense of the elder vanderbilt, which sometimes happens. he went to his father and said, “did you earn all your money?” “i did, my son. i began to work on a ferry-boat for twenty-five cents a day.” “then,” said his son, “i will have none of your money,” and he, too, tried to get employment on a ferry-boat that saturday night. he could not get one there, but he did get a place for three dollars a week. of course, if a rich man’s son will do that, he will get the discipline of a poor boy that is worth more than a university education to any man. he would then be able to take care of the millions of his father. but as a rule the rich men will not let their sons do the very thing that made them great. as a rule, the rich man will not allow his son to work-and his mother! why, she would think it was a social disgrace if her poor, weak, little lily-fingered, sissy sort of a boy had to earn his living with honest toil. i have no pity for such rich men’s sons.
i remember one at niagara falls. i think i remember one a great deal nearer. i think there are gentlemen present who were at a great banquet, and i beg pardon of his friends. at a banquet here in philadelphia there sat beside me a kind-hearted young man, and he said, “mr. conwell, you have been sick for two or three years. when you go out, take my limousine, and it will take you up to your house on broad street.” i thanked him very much, and perhaps i ought not to mention the incident in this way, but i follow the facts. i got on to the seat with the driver of that limousine, outside, and when we were going up i asked the driver, “how much did this limousine cost?” “six thousand eight hundred, and he had to pay the duty on it.” “well,” i said, “does the owner of this machine ever drive it himself?” at that the chauffeur laughed so heartily tha
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