"I suppose I could," he repeated meditatively.
"All right then, General," cut in Barclay.

"I have no million, any more than you have; but I'm going to get one--or two, maybe a dozen if I can, and I want to do good with it just as much as you do.

When I get it I'll show you." Barclay rose to lend the general a hand with his basket.

As they went awkwardly through the door with the load, the general stopping to get a hold on the basket that would not twist his hand, he put the load down in the hall and said: "But while you're getting that million, you're wasting God's ten talents, boy.

Can't you see that if you would use your force, your keenness, and persistence helping mankind in some way--teaching, preaching, lending a hand to the poor, or helping to fight organized greed, you would get more of God's work done than you will by squeezing the daylights out of your fellow-men, making them hate money because of your avarice, and end by doling it out to them in charity?
That's my point, boy.