For a moment the vision of these
hungry fellow men overcame him. He felt guilty on his cushions, and
possibly entertained some St. Martin-like project of dividing his
swallowtail with the nearest unfortunate. Then common sense in the form of
his companion came to his rescue. She remarked "Perhaps we are right and
they are wrong." Why not? At any rate Mr. Howells was not permitted to
condemn in a moment of compassion the career of thrift, industry and
genius, that had led him from a printer's case to a premier position in
American letters, or, more concretely, he received a domestic dispensation
to cab it home in good conscience, though many were waiting in chilly
discomfort for their gift of yesterday's bread. The why so and why not of
this incident are my real subject. For Mr. Howells is merely a
particularly conspicuous instance of the kind of prosperity I have in
mind. We are all too much dazzled by the rare great fortunes. The newly
rich have spectacular ways with them. By dint of frequently passing us in
notorious circumstances, they give the impression of a throng. They are
much in the papers, their steam yachts loom large on the waters, they
divorce quickly and often, they buy the most egregious, old masters.
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