Mr. Cassall was a man of peculiarly modern type. From his youth upward
he had never once acknowledged himself beaten, though he had known
desperate circumstances; he saw that, as our civilization goes, money is
accounted a rough gauge of merit, and a man's industry, tenacity,
sobriety, self-control, and even virtue, are estimated and popularly
assessed according to the amount of money which he owns, and he resolved
that, let who will fail, he at least would have money and plenty of it.
He bent his mind on one end for forty years; he was unscrupulous in all
respects so long as he could keep within the law; he established a
monopoly in his business on the ruins of scores of small firms which he
crushed by weight of metal; he had no pity, no consideration, no
remorse, in business hours; and he succeeded just as any other man of
ability will succeed if he gives himself up body and soul to
money-making. He never was proud; he was only hard. To his niece, whom
he passionately loved, he would say, "Never be ashamed, my dear, to tell
people that your uncle was a wholesale draper and hosier. Your mother
was a little ashamed of it, and I had some trouble to cure her. Don't
you be so silly. People think all the more of you for owning frankly
that you or your relations have risen from the ranks, as they call it."
When he retired his wealth was colossal. Smart men would say that Bob
Cassall's name was good for a million anywhere; and indeed it was good
for two millions, and more even than that.
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