That sounds cheeky, doesn't it ?" "It sounds all right to me," said Scott.

And he walked away thoughtfully, fists dug deep in his pockets.
And one still, sunny afternoon, standing alone on the dry granite crags of the Golden Dome, he looked up and saw, a quarter of a million miles above him, the moon's ghost swimming in azure splendour.

Then he looked down and saw the map of the earth below him, where his forests spread out like moss, and his lakes mirrored the clouds, and a river belonging to him traced its course across the valley in a single silver thread.
And a slight blush stung his face at the thought that, without any merit or endeavour of his own, his money had bought it all--his money, that had always acted as his deputy, fought for him, conquered for him, spoken for him, vouched for him--perhaps pleaded for him!--he shivered, and suddenly he realised that this golden voice was, in fact, all there was to him.
What had he to identify him on earth among mankind?
Only his money.
Wherein did he differ from other men?
He had more money.

What had he to offer as excuse for living at all?
Money.

What had he done?
Lived on it, by it.