It is bought and sold like wood and coal. It has a value based upon supply and demand. And this petty jet of land; this pointed peninsula; this termination of Manhattan Island is the congested depot for the transaction of this buying and selling of the cash current, wherewith the diversified interests of the entire world conduct their business and pay their bills. Lower Broadway is more than this. It is the thoroughfare whereon is transacted all the importation and travel Europe-ward and Asiaward and Africa-ward. It is the valuation market of all agricultural thrift represented by the Produce Exchange, just as much as it is the dispensing market of all the money that changes hands, hourly, momentarily in the Stock Exchange: just as much as it is the clearing house for all the magnificent conceptions of trade that percolate through the channels of the Chamber of Commerce. THIS HIS little bit of land, with Broadway running directly through it, and Wall Street darting off to the east, barely more than a hedgedin alley, leading into Broad Street, broad in name and broad in import, whereon the noisy rabble of curb-brokers ply their earnest deals in monetary trifles, trifles too small to be admitted inside the walls and under the echoing roof of the Stock Exchange, is worth more to the world of inlet and outlet than any other few acres on the American continent. There is no other spot in the United States like it, or anything else resembling it. Tall marble and granite structures loom up above the concrete pavement; huge edifices, giving no tidings outwardly of the vast transactions conducted within. Higher and higher they climb, as each new addition is made to the ensemble; until the very deserts and wastes of air have been reclaimed and consecrated to the doing of something worth while. Beneath the street, rumbles the interborough subway, and, on either side, skirt along the elevated railroads, which girdle the entire island of Manhattan from south to north. Every eye in the United States is more or less fixed upon this tiny bit of God's earth; this pointed toe of stone that projects into New York Bay; about which swirl the mingling waters of the Hudson and the East Rivers; this flat piece of earth sustaining the weight of the loftiest buildings and accommodating several tunnels through which express trains run at a speed of fifty miles an hour. heights in office buildings, there to buckle down to four or five hours of the most intense strain human brain can be subjected to. Here are the main offices of many of the most stupendous corporation, manufacturing, and railroad interests in the country, closely in touch with the money market. And what is the money market? Perhaps you fancy that it is a place where certain men push up, or push down, as the whim takes them, the values of certain stocks, who loan money to other men in tight quarters at tremendous rates of interest; who, whenever they see fit, make themselves rich and the other fellow poor without conscience, or scruple. There are those who have this idea. But it is a very wrong, a very inaccurate, and a very prejudiced conclusion. In fact there isn't a vestige of reality in such an idea. The money market is the depot for the reception of orders for the wants of the financiers of simply, but because they are authorities on the money-values of an enterprise, can decide almost instantly if it be feasible, and can sit down and fill out a check for the full amount no matter how big that sum may be. That is what is called being "in the market." It is actually selling the use of the means to the party to enable him to buy the materials he requires to carry out his project. Who will make the profit? The man who gets the money from these financiers. Why? Because, in normal times, there is so much competition in this busy market where they have money for sale that they must cut down the profit for its use, else somebody else will underbid them. Because those financiers, and others in the field with them, can command the use of the monies of thousands of individuals who have implicit confidence in their judgment in renting out its use to others. the country, and of the world, and the selling THE place of the moneyed means-in whatever shape they wish it, cash, bonds, stocks, or collateral securities of any sort whatever,-to meet and satisfy those orders. Money, the use of money, the ability to command resources to wield large transactions, are ordered just as you order your supplies of your butcher. This may sound plain and blunt; but it is a plain and blunt thing, this dealing in money; so plain and blunt that if you fail to take your order when it is filled for you, or fail to pay what you agree to pay when it is due, or fail to repay it when you promise, you are blacklisted, and can do no further dealing in any of the places which go to make up New York's financial district. We have elsewhere in this country men with big brains; inventors, manufacturers, builders, miners, engineers, who undertake big tasks, and a multitude of industrial adepts and experts in all branches of activity, but we have not anywhere else in this country, by the acre, the foot, HE average man in this section is a cool, calm, calculating mathematician. They all have to be such, or they would make poor, false, injurious moves. They start into this life when they are young men, and it is not so rackingly tense that they do not grow old in it. I know it looks wondrously complex, this dealing in sums going away up into millions on millions of dollars; but the average individual has no comprehension of what sort of material these big financial authorities are made. In your own town, say, if some one makes a blunder in a money transaction, you may laugh over it and tease him about it, and it passes current as a joke. But the young man who begins his life in the financial district of New York learns, as the very first lesson, that he must have a full equipment of the keenest sense of integrity and accuracy, else his fate is sealed before he starts. Blunders don't go in Wall Street. or the inch, as many men with foot, E trained thinking powers, skilled judgment, magnificent capacity, as you will find collected on this narrow strip of overbuilt, underbuilt land. RRORS of judgment are rare in New York's financial section. Errors of character are fewer. It is very much like the rarity of accidents in railroading considering the vast amount of travel done. Railroading, like financiering, has been brought down to an exact science. Great brainy men are in control. Yet they are men of warm sympathies, big hearts, hearty manners, optimistic views, broad opinions; but they are steel, adamant, iron, granite, when it comes to dealing in their goods,-money. Theirs is the right that wants the last cent if it is theirs, wants you to have it if it is yours, and insists upon your taking it. You hear a great deal about these big men of big transactions. But you hear little from them. With the sacred precincts of Trinity Church to hallow it in memories and traditions of bygone times ered just a page and a half of letter paper; but to condense it into that space it had been boiled down from seven pages of penciled foolscap, and four different experts had been four days getting that outline into such shape that Mr. Morgan might grasp it at a glance. Such a man has no time to wade through long communications. Nor are they necessary. They string a thing Street. They must have the whole story boiled down into the smallest compass, then they can see the entire proposition in a moment, grasp its phases, formulate an opinion, and pass judgment without delay. "Boil it down" is the demand. And, when it is boiled down, the "yes" or the "no" is given without loss of a moment. 1921 I What You Can Be F I should say to you that you had already done the biggest thing possible to you, that from now on you would begin to decline, that your achievements never again would reach the high-water mark you have already registered, you would feel insulted. And you would be right, my friend. No one knows better than you do that you haven't yet put forth your biggest effort. There is something in you which tells you that you have not yet measured up to the level of your highest gift; that you have not yet brought out the giant in you. But what are you waiting for? Why don't you begin to do the big thing you dream of doing some day? Aren't you about tired of letting that little fellow in you, that mediocre man, get your living for you? Aren't you ashamed of the reputation he is making for you, doing such little things when you know perfectly well that there is an infinitely bigger man in you who has power to do infinitely bigger things? Aren't you about tired of going through life tagged by this little fellow who is doing substitute work for the giant that is in you? That vision which grips your heart, my friend, that longing of your soul to do some thing worth while, that dream of high achievement which haunts your imagination, is not a mere fantasy, a whimsical unreality, it is a prophecy of the big things you can do if you get your higher self to work for you. The thing you see in your dreams is a divine exhibition of the thing that you were intended to do in life, that you are fitted to do. If you could only be introduced to the man you were intended to be, my friend, the larger, grander man you feel beating beneath the little fellow you have so far developed, you would be amazed at the revelation. I doubt if you would recognize him as your possible self; he would be so much bigger and stronger, so much abler than the weak, insignificant fellow back of your job, that you would say to yourself, "Why, that can't be me, it must be somebody else!" Now, if you want to realize that vision which haunts you, you must change your mental picture of yourself. You must enlarge and improve your model of yourself. Don't hold the dwarf ideal of yourself any longer in your mind. Every time you visualize yourself, picture the man you would like to be, the man you long to be. Don't picture your defects, your deficiencies, or weaknesses, visualize the man you are capable of becoming, the strong, self-confident, able man that matches your vision of your ambition. Say to yourself, "I will bring out that possible me this year; I will put the giant in me to work and I will realize my vision. I will be what I can be." The Man Who Said "I Will" How George F. Lumb, at the Age of Forty Years, with only Years' Education, Was Graduated as a Lawyer Two By A. S. GREGG EDITORS' NOTE IF your education is limited and your aspirations are high, you will derive inspiration from this unique story of Captain George F. Lumb-philosopher, soldier, lawyer, and gentleman. At forty years of age, with only two years of schooling, he took the required examinations and won the right to practice law before the Supreme Court of Pennsylvania, and in all the courts of that State. Behind that simple statement lies a struggle that is almost tragic. It is a story of set determination that could not be swerved, of self-mastery that never yielded, and of intellectual achievement that commanded unbounded admiration. Mr. Lumb has demonstrated that a man can move mountains of ignorance if he will make up his mind, and is willing to pay the price in toil and sacrifice. G EORGE LUMB'S parents were English. They brought him to America when he was a little fellow six years of age. As they moved about a great deal, he did not have a chance to attend school until he was nine, and then he had to quit and go to work before he was eleven. He sold newspapers, flowers, and soap, ran errands, and took a turn as waiter and truck hand. Finally, he secured a job in a hat factory, in Baltimore, where he worked at blocking hats. A strike threw him out of work when he was eighteen, and a heartless landlord set him in the street, after the strike had been under way for two weeks. Storing his few belongings with a friendly cigar-dealer, he started down street, not knowing where he would go. His entire fortune amounted to eighteen cents. He turned toward Druid Hill Park in search of a place to pass the night. Not a tie held him to common humanity at that moment. Not a charm or hope called him to where his fellow creatures were. None that saw him had a kind word or a good wish for the homeless boy. He had no relative but mother GEORGE F. LUMB nature. He would seek her and find repose. For hours he lay under a great old pin-oak tree, gazed up at the stars, and wrestled with the mystery of life. His devoted mother had told him that everything and everybody had been created for some definite good. But there he was, with the oak leaves falling about himhungry, friendless, and almost penniless. Then a policeman ordered him to "move along," but Lumb told his story so frankly that the officer allowed him to remain. After studying the stars for a while, Lumb fell to watching the carriages and equestrians as they passed through the park in a merry procession. Carriage followed carriage with horsemen between. Then came a lone horseman, mounted on a magnificent animal, prancing along with superb ease. The rider whirled his whip from side to side, and seemed to be enjoying life to the full, As horse and rider poised for a moment, sharply |