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
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