Our Distinguished Fellow Citizen

itled to any consideration from the sensitive author, CHAPTER I. SCHNEY. IN THE cellar of a great wholesale grocery establish ment where hogsheads of sugar and molasses were so numerous that all sense of their size was lost, and where the light of day, hurt at the small provision made for its entrance, would hardly go, Schney, clad in thick and everlasting garments, scraped away with a steel spade at the thick scale of molasses and dirt which had accumulated on the floor. When he had scraped together a few bushels of the obstinate material he carried it, in a huge iron vessel, to the elevator, to be hoisted out and carted away. Mr. Schney was known to all the house, from the principal of it down to the office boy, as simply quotSchney.quot Nobody there knew whether he was married or single, where he came from, what his past had been or his future would be and nobody cared a copper. Schney himself knew only where he came from, and that he had a wife and children. His life was spent in the cellar with the hogsheads, and the man seemed to fit the place. Schncy s advantages had been limited and peculiar, and he had made the most of them. He was not required by the circle in which he moved to dress well or live decently, and so he did neither. His pay was sufficient to supply all his wants. In fact, Schney saved money constantly, and as constantly lost almost everything else which makes life endurable. He was such a man that money was his only hope. His wisdom consisted of the knowledge of the fact that he was grossly ignorant and almost without what is commonly called natural ability. As he slowly ac cumulated money he strove to make plans for the future, but had never been able to do much more than resolve to keep what he had and save more if possible. These are simple ideas, it is true, but they constitute the foundation of many princely fortunes. One day Schney suddenly realized the fact that he had some hundreds of dollars in bank, and it was to him a dimly pleasant idea. It is true that ten years of toil had been necessary to produce this store but of this he did not think. His wife had been for ten years a servant of all work and his children dirty brats. But Schney was not the man to be distressed by things like these. He was so thoroughly coarse that he escaped nearly all the ex quisite pains of a higher nature, and groaned only when pain racked his flesh and bones. And yet at this point in his career Schney was a comparatively decent man. At any rate he had not learned to make lying pay o- meanness profitable. When he was mean or when he lied it was for the fun of the thing or because it was perfectly natural... --This text refers to an alternate Paperback edition.