As he perused it his white eyebrows rose in irritation.
"Mr. Mathews!" he snapped.
"Yes, sir?"
"You are careless, sir!"
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Carter?" questioned the secretary, his face
flushing.
The old gentleman tapped impatiently the letter he held in his hand.
"Do you pay no attention, Mr. Mathews, to my rule that NO personal
letters containing appeals for aid are to reach me? How do you account
for this, may I ask?"
"I beg your pardon," said the secretary again. "You will see, Mr.
Carter, that that letter is dated three weeks ago. I have had the
woman's case carefully investigated. She is undoubtedly of good
reputation, and undoubtedly in need; and as she speaks of her father as
having associated with you, I thought perhaps you would care to see her
letter."
"A thousand worthless fellows associated with me," said the old man,
harshly. "In a great factory, Mr. Mathews, a boy works alongside of the
men he is put with; he does not pick and choose. I dare say this woman
is telling the truth. What of it? You know that I regard my money as a
public trust. Were my energy, my concentration, to be wasted by
innumerable individual assaults, what would become of them? My fortune
would slip through my fingers as unprofitably as sand. You understand,
Mr. Mathews? Let me see no more individual letters.
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