For my uncle it was a period
of stupendous inflation. Each time I met him I found him more confident,
more comprehensive, more consciously a factor in great affairs. Soon he
was no longer an associate of merely business men; he was big enough for
the attentions of greater powers.
I grew used to discovering some item of personal news about him in
my evening paper, or to the sight of a full-page portrait of him in a
sixpenny magazine. Usually the news was of some munificent act,
some romantic piece of buying or giving or some fresh rumour of
reconstruction. He saved, you will remember, the Parbury Reynolds
for the country. Or at times, it would be an interview or my uncle's
contribution to some symposium on the "Secret of Success," or such-like
topic. Or wonderful tales of his power of work, of his wonderful
organisation to get things done, of his instant decisions and remarkable
power of judging his fellow-men. They repeated his great mot: "Eight
hour working day--I want eighty hours!"
He became modestly but resolutely "public.
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