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About The Omaha morning bee. (Omaha [Neb.]) 1922-1927 | View Entire Issue (April 29, 1923)
How to Make a Million Dollars By Stephen Leacock I tnix a good deal with the mil lionaires. I like them. 1 like their faces. 1 like the way they live. X like the things they eat. The more we mix together the better I like the things we mix. Especially I like the way they dress, ' their gray check trousers, their white cheek waistcoats, their heavy gold clufins, and the signet rings that they sign their checks with. My! they look nice. Get six or seven of them sitting together in the club and it’s a treat to see them. And if they get the least dust on them, men come and brush it off. Yes, and are glad to. I’d _like to take some of the dust off them myself. Even more than what they eat I like, their intellectual grasp. It is wonderful. * Just watch them read. They simply read all the time. Go into the club at any hour and you'll see three or four of them at it. And the things they can read! You’d think that a man who’d been driv ing hard in the office from 11 o'clock until 3. with only an hour and a half for lunch, would be too fagged. Not a bit. These men can sit down after office hours and read the Sketch and the Police Gazette and the Pink Un, and understand 'the jokes just as well as I can. What I love to do is to walk up and down among them and catch the little scraps of conversation. The other day I heard one lean for ward and say; "Well, I offered him an million and a half and said I wouldn't give a cent more, he could either take it or leave it—" I just longed to break in and say: "What! what a million and a half! Oh! say that again Offer It to me, to either take it or leave it. Do try me once; I know I can; or here, make it a plain million and let's call it done," Their Anxiety Over Money. Not that these men are careless over money. No, sir. Don't think it. Ofvcourse they don't take much account of big money, a hundred thousand dollars at a shot or any thing of that soft. But little money. You’ve no idea till you know them how anxious they’get about a cent, or half/a cent, or less. Why, two of them came into the rluh the other night just frantic with delight; they said wheat had risen and they'd cleaned up four ecu'. each in less than an hour. They bought a dinner for sixteen on the strength of it. I don’t under stand it. I've often made twice ns much as* that writing for the pa pers and never felt like boasting about it. One night I heard one mnn say. “Well, let's call up New York and offer them a quarter of a cent." Great heavens! imagine paying the All this shows, of course, that I've been studying how the mil lionaires do It. I have. For years. I thought it might be helpful to young men just beginning to Work and anxious to stop. Some Solemn Thoughts. You know, many a man realizes late in life that if when he was a boy he had known what he knows You'd think that a man who’d been driving hard at the office from II o'clock until :t, with only an hour and a half for lunch, . w«uld be too fagged to read. cost or calling up New York, nearly five million people, late at night and offering them a quarter of a cent! And yet—did New York get mad? No, they took it. Of course It's high finance. T don't pretend to understand it. I tried after that to call up Chicago and offer it a cent and a half, and to call up Ham ilton. Ontario, and offer it half a dollar, and the- operator only rang for a keeper front the county asylum. now, instead or being wtiat he is he might he what he won't; hut how few boys stop to think that if they knew what they don't know, instead of being what they will be, they wouldn't be? These are awful .thoughts. At any rate. I've been gathering hints on how it is they do it. One thing I'm sure about. If a young utan wants to make a mil lion dollars he's got to be mighty careful about his diet and his living. This may seem hard. But success Is only achieved with pains. There is no use in a young man who hopes to make a million dollars thinking he's entitled to get up at 7:.'!0, eat Force and poached eggs, drink cold water at lunch and go to lied at 10 p^m. You can't do it. I’ve seen too many millionaires for that. If you want to be a million aire you muatn't get up until 10 In the morning. They never do. They daren't. It would be as much as their business is wrorth if they were seen op the street at half-past 0. Resolutions hy Pint. And the old idea of abstemious ness is all wrong. To be a million aire, especially since prohibition, you need champagne, lots of it and all the time. That and Scotch whisky and soda; you have to sit up nearly all night and drink buck ets of It. This is what (-tears the brain for business next day. I've seen some of these men with llieir brains so clear in the morning that their faces look positively boiled. To live like this requires, of course, resolution. But you can buy that by the pint. Therefore, my dear young man, if you want to get moved on from your present status In business, change your life. When your land lady brings your bacon and eggs for breakfast, throw them out of window to the dog and tell her to bring you some chilled asparagus and smuggle you in a pint- of Moselle. Then telephone to your employer that you’ll lie down about 11 o’clock. You will get moved on. Yes, very quickly. Just how the millionaires make the money is a difficult question. But one way is this- Strike the town with 5 cents in your pocket. They nearly ail do this; they've told me again and again (men with mil lions anil millions) that the first time they struck town they had only 5 cents. That seems to have given them their start. Of course, it'* not easy to do. I've tried It several times. I nearly did it once in the fever of my youth. I borrow-d 5 cants, carried it away out of town, and then turned and came back at tile town with an awful rush. If ' I hadn't struck a beer saloon in the suburbs and spent the a cents I might liavev been rich today. Another good plan is to start something. Something on a scale: something nobody thought of. For instance, one' I know told me that once h down In Mexico without a cent <l" lost his five in striking Centra America' and he' noticed that the had no power plants. So he starti ?. some and made a mint of monetft Another man that l know wai once stranded in York, ahsA ■ lately without a nickel. Well, ij occurred to him that what wr® needed were buildings 10 stored higher than any that had been up. So he built two and sold the'^j right away. Ever so many mi® honaires begin in some such si ml pie way as that. There is, of course, a much easier way than any of these. I almost hate to tell this, because I want to do it myself, l learned of it just by chance one night at the club. There is one old man there, extremely rich, with on?l of the best faces of the lot, just, like a hyena, h never used to know iiow he had got so rich. So onto evening I asked one of the mil-' Honaires how- old liloggs had made, all his money. “How he made it?” he answered1! with a sneer. “Why, he made it by, taking it out of widows and or-a orphans." Widows and orphans! 1 thought, what an excellent idea. Hut who] would have suspected that thev hodj It" 1 "And how, " I asked pretty rant J ously, “did he go *t It to get f out of them?" "Why." the man answered “} just ground thytn under his that was how." Now isn’t that siiopii " i thought of that conversation ortrj since'and m*-an to try it. If I e*i get hold of them. I'll grind then quick enough. Hut how to gtt them. Most of th" widows I knoil look pretty solid for that sort o|| _thing. and as for orphans, it must take an awful lot of them. M*|J t.ioe, I am waiting and If I e^Bj get a large bunch of orphans together, I'll stamp on them aniF see. I find, too, on Inquiry, that you can also grind it out of clergymen. They say they grind nicely. Hut perhaps orphans are easier Copyright, l*2t. J The Papered Door (tontlnn.Nl from l',«o Hrvr».)_ R QT1J RobCVtS R ttlCflGVl ' She went bark to the kitchen and Oiled a fresh bottle for the baby. As before, it served as an excuse for her presence; with it on the table near at hand she trimmed carefully the rough-cut edges of the papered door. The inside of the closet was a clear betrayal. Still listening and walking softly, she got a dust brush and pan and swept up the bits of wood and sawdust from the floor. The bit she placed on the shelf, and. turning, pan and brush In hand, faced the detective in the doorway. He made a quick dash toward the closet, ‘‘What have you got there?" he demanded shortly. But now, as through all the long night, her woman's wit saved her. "Don’t jump at me like that. I’ve broken one of the baby's bottles and I am just about to sweep it up." She stooped and swept the broken glass on to the pan. He stared into the empty closet. “I’m sorry, Molly—I didn't mean to startle you. That tea and the heat of the stove put mo to sleep. I've been half frozen. I guess it was the bottle breaking that wak ened me. I thought you said you would go to bed." "I couldn't sleep,” she evaded, "and about this time the baby al ways has to be fed.” She took the bottle of milk from the table and set It inside the tea kettle to warm. Every vestige of suspicion had died from the man s eyes. Ho yawned again, stretched, compared the clock with his watch.” “It s been a long night." he said. "Me for the street again. Listen to that wind. I’m sorry for anyone that's out In the mountains to night." Ho went Into the parlor and, put ting on his overcoat, stood awk wardly in the little hall. She faced him, the child's bottle In her hand. "I guess you know how I hato this, Molly,” he said. "I—I—this isn’t the time for talk and there ain’t any disloyalty in it. but I was pretty fond of you on etiine—I guess you know it, and—I am not I have never liked the same way. It don’t hurt a good wpman to know a thing like that. Good nigln.'' Before she wont upstairs she took a final look out the hack door. Al ready Jim's footprints were effect ively erased by the wind. An un broil -n sheet of white snow stre i lied to the barn. By morning at i' :» rate, (be telltale marks would be buried six Inches or more. She blew out the kitchen lamp and went slowly up the stairs. The baby cried hoarsely and she gave him his bottle, lying flown on the bed beside him and taking his head on her arm. He dropped asleep there and she kept him close for comfort. Aid there, lying alone in the darkness with staring eyes, she fought her battle. She had nothing in the world but the cheap furniture in the house. Her own health was frail. It would bo a year perhaps before she could leave the children to seek any kind of em ployment. The deadly problem of tho poor, inextricably mixed as it is with every event of their lives, compli cating birth, adding fresh trouble to death—the problem of money con fronted her. Jim had been, in town parlance, “'a poor provider," but at least she had managed. Now very soon she would not have that re st >urce. To get away from it all! She drew a long breath. From the dis grace, from the eyes of her neigh bors, the gossip, the constant knowledge in every eye that met hers that her husband had in trigued with another woman aiW killed her. To start anew under an other name and bring her children up in Ignorance of the wretched past—that was one side. But to ear# it in this way—that was another. To sell out to the law; All her husbands we a km sses and brutalities faded from her mind. She saw him—with that pitiful memory of women which forgets all hut the good in those they love— only as he had looked in the one great moment of his life an hour ago. Once again he was her hero— her lover; once again he held her in his arms. ‘ I would like to feel that I have done one decent thing." The battle waged back and forth. She no longer cried. There are some tragedies to which the relief of tears is denied. Four o'clock. She slipped the baby's head from her arm and got up. Cooper was still across the street, huddled against a house, stamping to keep warm and swinging his arms. In an hour the milk train would come in and wait on the siding for the ex press. That would have been Jim's chance. If he could get away, he could start all over again and make good. He had it in him. He was a big man—bigger tljati the people in tite village had ever realised. They had never appreciated him— that was the trouble. by should she have a fresh start? It was Jim who needed it. She moaned and turned her face to the pillow. Five o’clock. The milk train whistling for Hie switch. It was still very dark She Notes of General Interest _ — 1 An electric chair has been de signed in England for taking super fluous flesh off fat pea pie. An In termittent electric current is sent through the body as the patient re clines on the metal chair with parts of the body clarffped to metal ap pliances. The current stimulates the muscles to » remarkable degree, it is reported, and the fat disap poa rs cor res pond i ngl y. The largest uncut precious stone in the world, a flawless black opal, is now carefully guarded in Wash ington, D. C. Tire gem contains approximately 21 cubic inches, weighs 2,572,332 carats, and is valued by the owners at $250,000. The colors are translucent blues and greens with a little red. In Paris, police, when sent out to arrest dangerous criminal*, wear a rectangular sheet of chrome steel over t$eir faces, and armor in the form of overlapping sheds of steel over heavy cloth. This garment cover* the front of the body, and is capable of deflecting a revolver bullet. A novel gauge lias laCu patented for testing milk at hotne. Jiy un» of the glass tube. It is possible t«> determine whether milk has t>een skimmed or diluted with water. The lower the tester sinks Into the milk, the greater the dilution. A graduated scale records tin* roup. American engineers recently com pleted a new airplane engine wirfeh showed a record-breaking test by running 573 hour* without a stop. Engines of this type used during the world war ran 100 hours, and were ^considered excellent. Hir Alfred Yarrow, owner of vast shipyards in England, recently gave n00.000 to the Koy^l Society for scientific research. Sir Yarrow is 81 years old. Mis.**.Maude Odell Is the first regu larly licensed woman chauffeur to he seen on the *tre« fs in New York City. crept to the window and looked out. It was a gray dawn with snow blow ing like smoke through the trees. The cold was proving too much for Cooper. He was making his way cautiously across the street through the snow toward the house. Once In the parlor again, she could get to the horn. The freight waited on the siding IQ minutes sometimes, and tonight, with the snow, it might be longer. She leaped off the bed and hurried down the staircase. Just liefore the front door opened to admit the de tective, the kitchen door closed be hind her. She was out In the storm. She stumbled along, sometimes d<neo-deep, holding up her thin cot ton wrapper. The barn door was open and she slipped in. “Jim," she called. “Jim!" She was standing at the foot of the loft ladder, all her heart in her voice. “I can't do It. Jim. I can't sell you out. even for the children. JiniT' There was no sound from above Site climb".! up. trembling. The luft was dark. She would not be l.eve the silence, must creep around to each corner. "I can't do It." site said over and Over. “I can t do it, Jim!" He was gone. She felt her w-:iy down through the darkness and staggered to the door of the barn. Cooper was standing there quietly waiting for her. From the railroad came the whistle of the express as it raced through anti the slow Jangle of the milk train as the engine took up the slack. "lie's gone, Molly," said the de tective.. “He went out by Sh at 4:15. I guess he'll mskedi^^P get-away.” There was shame and something else In hU eyes. The freight gathered way. As they listened it moved out on to the niain track. (Copyright, lftS.) Ptinted by arrangement with Metropolitan Newspaper tvt'lce, New York. Little Jimmie- RySwinnerton P'.MY.TmKH 'Sim Anm r fd«: a , :s walk \ MAk3 FELL On his Be an! \ a T) FEU. O' H‘3 3Ean ' i.) MiKli5T£Rn(^MAN5 FalcEO On hiS BEAM . 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