Old Anthony Rockwall, retired manufacturer and proprietor of Rockwall's Eureka Soap, looked out the library window of his Fifth Avenue mansion and grinned. His neighbour to the right—the aristocratic clubman, G. Van Schuylight Suffolk-Jones—came out to his waiting motor-car, wrinkling a contumelious nostril, as usual, at the Italian renaissance sculpture of the soap palace's front elevation.

“Stuck-up old statuette of nothing doing!” commented the ex-Soap King. “The Eden Musee'll get that old frozen Nesselrode yet if he don't watch out. I'll have this house painted red, white, and blue next summer and see if that'll make his Dutch nose turn up any higher.”

And then Anthony Rockwall, who never cared for bells, went to the door of his library and shouted “Mike!” in the same voice that had once chipped off pieces of the welkin on the Kansas prairies.

“Tell my son,” said Anthony to the answering menial, “to come in here before he leaves the house.”

When young Rockwall entered the library the old man laid aside his newspaper, looked at him with a kindly grimness on his big, smooth, ruddy countenance, rumpled his mop of white hair with one hand and rattled the keys in his pocket with the other.

“Richard,” said Anthony Rockwail, “what do you pay for the soap that you use?”

Richard, only six months home from college, was startled a little. He had not yet taken the measure of this sire of his, who was as full of unexpectednesses as a girl at her first party.

“Six dollars a dozen, I think, dad.”

“And your clothes?”

“I suppose about sixty dollars, as a rule.”

“You're a gentleman,” said Anthony, decidedly. “I've heard of these young bloods spending$24 a dozen for soap, and going over the hundred mark for clothes. You've got as much money to waste as any of’ em, and yet you stick to what's decent and moderate. Now I use the old Eureka—not only for sentiment, but it's the purest soap made. Whenever you pay more than 10 cents a cake for soap you buy bad perfumes and labels. But 50 cents is doing very well for a young man in your generation, position and condition. As I said, you're a gentleman. They say it takes three generations to make one. They're off. Money'll do it as slick as soap grease. It's made you one. By hokey! it's almost made one of me. I'm nearly as impolite and disagreeable and ill-mannered as these two old Knickerbocker gents on each side of me that can't sleep of nights because I bought in between ‘em.”

“There are some things that money can't accomplish,” remarked young Rockwall, rather gloomily.

“Now, don't say that,” said old Anthony, shocked. “I bet my money on money every time. I've been through the encycopaedia down to Y looking for something you can't buy with it; and I expect to have to take up the appendix next week. I'm for money against the field. Tell me something money won't buy.”

“For one thing,” answered Richard, rankling a little, “it won't buy one into the exclusive circles of society.”“Oho! won't it?” thundered the champion of the root of evil. “You tell me where your exclusive circles would be if the first Astor hadn't had the money to pay for his steerage passage over?”

Richard sighed.

“And that's what I was coming to,” said the old man, less boisterously. “That's why I asked you to come in. There's something going wrong with you, boy. I've been noticing it for two weeks. Out with it. I guess I could lay my hands on eleven millions within twenty-four hours, besides the real estate. If it's your liver, there's the Rambler down in the bay, coaled, and ready to steam down to the Bahamas in two days.”

“Not a bad guess, dad; you haven't missed it far.”

“Ah,” said Anthony, keenly; “what's her name?”

Richard began to walk up and down the library floor. There was enough comradeship and sympathy in this crude old father of his to draw his confidence.

“Why don't you ask her?” demanded old Anthony. “She'll jump at you. You've got the money and the looks, and you're a decent boy. Your hands are clean. You've got no Eureka soap on 'em. You've been to college, but she'll overlook that.”

“I haven't had a chance,” said Richard.

“Make one,” said Anthony. “Take her for a walk in the park, or a straw ride, or walk home with her from church Chance! Pshaw!”

“You don't know the social mill, dad. She's part of the stream that turns it. Every hour and minute of her time is arranged for days in advance. I must have that girl, dad, or this town is a blackjack swamp forevermore. And I can't write it—I can't do that.”

“Tut!” said the old man. “Do you mean to tell me that with all the money I've got you can't get an hour or two of a girl's time for yourself?”

“I've put it off too late. She's going to sail for Europe at noon day after to-morrow for a two years' stay. I'm to see her alone to-morrow evening for a few minutes. She's at Larchmont now at her aunt's. I can't go there. But I'm allowed to meet her with a cab at the Grand Central Station to-morrow evening at the . train. We drive down Broadway to Wallack's at a gallop, where her mother and a box party will be waiting for us in the lobby. Do you think she would listen to a declaration from me during that six or eight minutes under those circumstances? No. And what chance would I have in the theatre or afterward? None. No, dad, this is one tangle that your money can't unravel. We can't buy one minute of time with cash; if we could, rich people would live longer. There's no hope of getting a talk with Miss Lantry before she sails.”

“All right, Richard, my boy,” said old Anthony, cheerfully. “You may run along down to your club now. I'm glad it ain't your liver. But don't forget to burn a few punk sticks in the joss house to the great god Mazuma from time to time. You say money won't buy time? Well, of course, you can't order eternity wrapped up and delivered at your residence for a price, but I've seen Father Time get pretty bad stone bruises on his heels when he walked through the gold diggings.”

That night came Aunt Ellen, gentle, sentimental, wrinkled, sighing, oppressed by wealth, in to Brother Anthony at his evening paper, and began discourse on the subject of lovers' woes.

“He told me all about it,” said brother Anthony, yawning. “I told him my bank account was at his service. And then he began to knock money. Said money couldn't help. Said the rules of society couldn't be bucked for a yard by a team of ten-millionaires.”

“Oh, Anthony,” sighed Aunt Ellen, “I wish you would not think so much of money. Wealth is nothing where a true affection is concerned. Love is all-powerful. If he only had spoken earlier! She could not have refused our Richard. But now I fear it is too late. He will have no opportunity to address her. All your gold cannot bring happiness to your son.”

At eight o'clock the next evening Aunt Ellen took a quaint old gold ring from a moth-eaten case and gave it to Richard.

“Wear it to-night, nephew,” she begged. “Your mother gave it to me. Good luck in love she said it brought. She asked me to give it to you when you had found the one you loved.”

Young Rockwall took the ring reverently and tried it on his smallest finger. It slipped as far as the second joint and stopped. He took it off and stuffed it into his vest pocket, after the manner of man. And then he phoned for his cab.

At the station he captured Miss Lantry out of the gadding mob at eight thirty-two.

“We mustn't keep mamma and the others waiting,” said she.

“To Wallack's Theatre as fast as you can drive!” said Richard loyally.

They whirled up Forty-second to Broadway, and then down the white-starred lane that leads from the soft meadows of sunset to the rocky hills of morning.

At Thirty-fourth Street young Richard quickly thrust up the trap and ordered the cabman to stop.

“I've dropped a ring,” he apologised, as he climbed out. “It was my mother's, and I'd hate to lose it. I won't detain you a minute—I saw where it fell.”

In less than a minute he was back in the cab with the ring.

But within that minute a crosstown car had stopped directly in front of the cab. The cabman tried to pass to the left, but a heavy express wagon cut him off. He tried the right, and had to back away from a furniture van that had no business to be there. He tried to back out, but dropped his reins and swore dutifully. He was blockaded in a tangled mess of vehicles and horses.

One of those street blockades had occurred that sometimes tie up commerce and movement quite suddenly in the big city.

“Why don't you drive on?” said Miss Lantry, impatiently. “We'll be late.”

Richard stood up in the cab and looked around. He saw a congested flood of wagons, trucks, cabs, vans and street cars filling the vast space where Broadway, Sixth Avenue and Thirty-fourth street cross one another as a twenty-six inch maiden fills her twenty-two inch girdle. And still from all the cross streets they were hurrying and rattling toward the converging point at full speed, and hurling themselves into the struggling mass, locking wheels and adding their drivers' imprecations to the clamour. The entire traffic of Manhattan seemed to have jammed itself around them. The oldest New Yorker among the thousands of spectators that lined the sidewalks had not witnessed a street blockade of the proportions of this one.

“I'm very sorry,” said Richard, as he resumed his seat, “but it looks as if we are stuck. They won't get this jumble loosened up in an hour. It was my fault. If I hadn't dropped the ring we—”Let me see the ring,” said Miss Lantry. “Now that it can't be helped, I don't care. I think theatres are stupid, anyway.”

At 11 o'clock that night somebody tapped lightly on Anthony Rockwall's door.

“Come in,” shouted Anthony, who was in a red dressing-gown, reading a book of piratical adventures.

Somebody was Aunt Ellen, looking like a grey-haired angel that had been left on earth by mistake.

“They're engaged, Anthony,” she said, softly. “She has promised to marry our Richard. On their way to the theatre there was a street blockade, and it was two hours before their cab could get out of it.

“And oh, brother Anthony, don't ever boast of the power of money again. A little emblem of true love—a little ring that symbolised unending and unmercenary affection—was the cause of our Richard finding his happiness. He dropped it in the street, and got out to recover it. And before they could continue the blockade occurred. He spoke to his love and won her there while the cab was hemmed in. Money is dross compared with true love, Anthony.”

“All right,” said old Anthony. “I'm glad the boy has got what he wanted. I told him I wouldn't spare any expense in the matter if—”

“But, brother Anthony, what good could your money have done?”

“Sister,” said Anthony Rockwall. “I've got my pirate in a devil of a scrape. His ship has just been scuttled, and he's too good a judge of the value of money to let drown. I wish you would let me go on with this chapter.”

The story should end here. I wish it would as heartily as you who read it wish it did. But we must go to the bottom of the well for truth.

The next day a person with red hands and a blue polka-dot necktie, who called himself Kelly, called at Anthony Rockwall's house, and was at once received in the library.

“Well,” said Anthony, reaching for his chequebook, “it was a good bilin' of soap. Let's see—you had $5,000, in cash.”

“I paid out $300 more of my own,” said Kelly. “I had to go a little above the estimate. I got the express wagons and cabs mostly for $5; but the trucks and two-horse teams mostly raised me to $10. The motormen wanted $10, and some of the loaded teams $20. The cops struck me hardest—$50 I paid two, and the rest $20 and $25. But didn't it work beautiful, Mr. Rockwall? I'm glad William A. Brady wasn't onto that little outdoor vehicle mob scene. I wouldn't want William to break his heart with jealousy. And never a rehearsal, either! The boys was on time to the fraction of a second. It was two hours before a snake could get below Greeley's statue.”

“Thirteen hundred—there you are, Kelly,” said Anthony, tearing off a check. “Your thousand, and the $300 you were out. You don't despise money, do you, Kelly?”

“Me?” said Kelly. “I can lick the man that invented poverty.”

Anthony called Kelly when he was at the door.

“You didn't notice,” said he, “anywhere in the tie-up, a kind of a fat boy without any clothes on shooting arrows around with a bow, did you?”

“Why, no,” said Kelly, mystified. “I didn't. If he was like you say, maybe the cops pinched him before I got there.”

“I thought the little rascal wouldn't be on hand,” chuckled Anthony. “Good-by, Kelly.”

老安東尼·洛克韋爾是洛氏尤里卡肥皂的制造商兼專利人，已經退休了。此刻，他從位于第五大道的私邸書房的窗口向外望去，咧嘴笑了笑。他的右鄰——貴族俱樂部會員G·范·薩福克-瓊斯先生——正從家里出來走向等候他的汽車。像往常一樣，薩福克-瓊斯朝這座肥皂宮殿正面的意大利文藝復興時期的雕像輕蔑地皺了皺鼻子。

“自命不凡無所事事的老雕像！”前任肥皂大王評論說。“你這個僵化的納斯爾羅德，一不留神伊登博物館就會把你收進去。這個夏天，我要把我的房子漆得五光十色，瞧你那荷蘭鼻子能翹到哪里去。”

安東尼·洛克韋爾呼喚傭人向來不用按鈴。他走到書房門口，大叫一聲：

“邁克！”那嗓門過去大得能震破堪薩斯大草原的天空，如今依然如此。

“告訴少爺，”安東尼吩咐應聲而來的傭人，“出門前到我這里來一趟?！?

小洛克韋爾走進書房時，老頭子放下報紙，打量著他，光滑紅潤的寬臉盤上帶著慈愛嚴肅的神情。他一只手把滿頭白發揉得亂糟糟的，另一只手則把口袋里的鑰匙弄得響個不停。

“理查德，”安東尼·洛克韋爾說，“你用的肥皂是花多少錢買的？”

理查德離開學校才六個月，聽了這話覺得有點兒吃驚。他還沒摸透老爸的脾氣，這老頭子像是初次加入社交場合的女孩一樣，總問些讓人意想不到的問題。

“大概是六美元一打，爸爸?！?

“你的衣服呢？”

“我想一般是六十美元左右。”

“你是紳士，”安東尼斬釘截鐵地說?！拔衣犝f現在的公子哥都用二十四美元一打的肥皂，衣服要花上一百美元。你有的是錢，可以像他們那樣胡花亂用，但你始終正正經經，很有分寸?，F在我還是用老牌的尤里卡肥皂——不僅是因為有感情，而且也因為這是最純粹的肥皂。每當你超過一角買一塊肥皂，你買的只是劣質的香料和牌子。不過，像你這樣年齡、地位和身份的年輕人，用五十美分一塊的肥皂就夠好了。就像我剛才說的，你是紳士。人們都說三代人才能造就一個紳士。他們錯了。有了錢辦什么事都跟肥皂的油脂一樣滑潤。

錢使你成了紳士。啊，差點兒也使我成了紳士。我和住左右鄰的兩個荷蘭老家伙差不多，語言粗俗，行為古怪，舉止無禮。他們兩個晚上連覺都睡不著，因為我買的房子插在了他們中間?！?

“有些事即使有錢也辦不了，”小洛克韋爾相當抑郁地說。

“好了，別這么說，”老洛克韋爾震驚地說?！拔沂冀K相信錢無所不能。我查遍了百科全書，已經查到字母Y，看有沒有金錢辦不到的事兒；下星期我還要查一遍附錄。我絕對相信金錢能應對一切。告訴我，有什么東西用錢買不到。”

“舉個例吧，”理查德有點怨恨地說，“有錢也擠不進高級社交圈。”

“噢嗬，不是嗎？”萬惡之根的擁護者吼道。“那你告訴我，要是阿斯特人的老祖宗們沒錢買統艙船票到美國來，你的高級社交圈又在哪里呢？”

理查德嘆了口氣。

“這正是我打算跟你談的事兒，”老頭子聲音緩和地說。“這就是我叫你來的原因。最近你有點兒不對勁，孩子，我已經注意你兩周了。說出來吧。我想我能在二十四小時內調動一千一百萬美元，房產還不算。要是你的肝病犯了，‘逍遙號’就停在海灣，已經上足了煤，兩天內就能到巴哈馬群島?！?

“你猜得不錯，爸爸；差不遠了。”

“啊，”老安東尼熱情地問?！八惺裁疵郑俊?

理查德開始在書房里走來走去?？吹酱拄數睦习謱@件事噓寒問暖，他增強了講實話的信心。

“為什么不向她求婚呢？”老安東尼追問道?！八欢〞溥M你的懷抱的。你有錢，相貌英俊，又是個正派的小伙子。你兩手干干凈凈，沒有沾上尤里卡肥皂。你進過大學，但這一點她不會在意。”

“我一直沒有機會，”理查德說。

“制造機會嘛，”安東尼說。“帶她上公園散步，或者駕車郊游，要么做完禮拜陪她回家。機會！呸！”

“您不知道現在社交界的情況，爸爸。她是頭面人物之一。每時每分都在幾天前就安排好了。爸爸，我非得到那個姑娘不可，不然這座城市就會變成一片讓我抱恨終身的腐臭沼澤。我又不能寫信表白——我不能那么做?！?

“呸！”老頭子說?！澳闶窍敫嬖V我，用我給你的所有的錢，也買不來一個姑娘的一、兩個小時嗎？”

“我想得太晚了。后天中午，她就要坐船去歐洲，在那里待兩年。明天傍晚，我能單獨和她待上幾分鐘。現在她在拉齊蒙特的姨媽家，我不能到那里去。但是，她允許我明天晚上坐馬車去中央火車站接她，她坐八點半的那趟火車來。我們一起坐馬車趕到百老匯街的沃拉克劇院，她母親和別的親友在劇院大廳等我們。在那種情況下，只有六到八分鐘的時間，您認為她會聽我表白嗎？不會的。在劇院里或散戲之后，我還有什么機會呢？根本沒有。不，爸爸，這就是你的金錢解決不了的難題。我們用錢連一分鐘也買不到；要是可能的話，富人就會活得更長。在蘭特麗小姐啟航之前，我沒希望和她談了?！?

“好了，理查德，我的孩子，”老安東尼快樂地說?！艾F在你可以去你的俱樂部了。我很高興不是你的肝出了毛病。不過，別忘了多去廟里燒燒香，拜拜財神爺。你是說錢買不來時間？唔，當然，你不能出個價，叫人把‘永恒’包得好好的，送到你的家門口，但我曾見過時間老人走過金礦時，石塊弄得他滿腳傷痕?！?

當晚，埃倫姑媽來看望她的哥哥。她性情溫和，多情善感，滿臉滄桑，長吁短嘆，在財富的重壓下喘不過氣來。安東尼正在看晚報。他們以情人的煩惱展開話題。

“他全告訴我了，”安東尼打了個呵欠說。“我告訴他說，我的銀行存款全都聽他支配。可他卻開始貶低金錢。說有錢也沒什么用。還說什么十個百萬富翁加在一起也不能把社會規則拖動一步?！?

“噢，安東尼，”埃倫姑媽嘆了口氣說，“我希望你別把金錢看得太重了。涉及到真實的情感，財富就算不了什么了。愛情才是萬能的。要是他早一點說就好了！那姑娘不可能拒絕我們的理查德，只是現在太晚了。他沒有機會向她表白了。你的全部錢財都不能給兒子帶來幸福?！?

第二天晚上八點鐘，埃倫姑媽從一個蟲蛀斑斑的盒子里取出一枚古雅的金戒指，交給理查德。

“今晚戴上它，孩子，”她央求說?！斑@是你媽媽托付給我的。她說這枚戒指能給愛情帶來好運。她請求我在你找到意中人時，把它交給你?！?

小洛克韋爾虔誠地接過戒指，在小指上試了試，但只到第二個指節就下不去了。他取下戒指，按照男人的習慣把它放進坎肩口袋里，然后打電話叫馬車。

八點三十二分，他在火車站雜亂的人群中接到了蘭特麗小姐。

“我們不能讓媽媽和其他人久等，”她說。

“去沃拉克劇院，越快越好！”理查德按照小姐的意愿吩咐車夫。

他們飛速地從第四十二大街向百老匯駛去，接著穿過一條燈火通明的小巷，從草地遍布的西區駛向高樓聳立的東區。

到達第三十四街時，理查德快速地推開車窗隔板，叫車夫停車。

“我把戒指掉了，”他下車時抱歉地說?！斑@是我母親的遺物，我不能把它丟掉。我耽誤不了你一分鐘——我看見它掉哪里了。”

不到一分鐘，他拿著戒指回到車上。

然而，就在那一分鐘里，一輛城區的汽車在馬車的正前方停住了。車夫試圖往左拐，又被一輛快運貨車擋住去路。車夫朝右試了試，又只得往回退，躲開一輛莫名其妙出現在那里的裝運家具的馬車。后退也行不通。車夫只得丟下僵繩，盡職地咒罵起來。他被亂糟糟的車輛和馬匹擋住了去路。

在大城市中，馬路上的交通阻塞時有發生，會突然間切斷所有往來。

“你為什么不趕路啊？”蘭特麗小姐不耐煩地問?！拔覀円t到了?！?

理查德在車里站起身望了望四周，只見百老匯街、第六大道和第三十四街交匯的地段被各式各樣的貨車、卡車、馬車、搬運車和街車擠了個水泄不通，就像一個二十六英寸腰圍的姑娘塞進一個二十二英寸的緊身褡一樣。而且在這幾條街上，還有車輛在朝著這個地方全速駛來，將自己投入到這一片混亂之中，原有的喧囂又加入了車夫們的咒罵聲。曼哈頓的所有車輛好像都堵塞在這里了。成千上萬的紐約人擠在人行道上看熱鬧，年齡最大的人也沒有見過這種擁堵的場面。

“真對不起，”理查德重新坐下時說，“看樣子我們被堵死了。一小時也疏通不了。都是我的錯。要是沒掉戒指的話，我們——”

“讓我看看戒指，”蘭特麗小姐說?！凹热贿@樣，我就不在乎了。本來我就覺得看戲無聊。”

當晚十一點，有人輕輕敲響了安東尼·洛克韋爾的房門。

“進來吧，”安東尼喊道，他此時正穿著一件紅色睡衣，閱讀一本海盜驚險小說。

走進來的是埃倫姑媽，看上去她就好像是一位不小心被留在地球上的灰發天使。

“安東尼，他們訂婚了，”她柔聲說道?！八饝藿o我們的理查德。他們在去劇院的路上遇到大堵車了，兩小時后才解脫出來。”

“噢，安東尼哥哥，別再吹噓金錢的威力了。一件表示真愛的信物——一枚象征著永恒不變、一往深情的小戒指——這才是我們的理查德獲得幸福的根源。他在街上掉了戒指，下車去撿。他們正要重新上路，路就堵了。就在堵車時，他向她表白了愛情，最后贏得了她。和真正的愛情相比，金錢就是糞土，安東尼。”

“好吧，”老安東尼說?！拔液芨吲d那小子得到了他想要的。我告訴過他，在這件事上我會不惜任何代價，只要——”

“可是，安東尼哥哥，你的錢起了什么作用呢？”

“妹妹，”安東尼·洛克韋爾說。“我的海盜船正處在萬分危急的關頭。他的船剛被鑿沉，他重視金錢的價值，絕不會讓自己淹死。我希望你能讓我接著把這章讀完?！?

故事本該到這里結束了。我跟你們一樣，也熱切希望如此。不過，為了弄清事情真相，我們需要探個究竟。

第二天，一個兩手通紅、系著藍點領帶、自稱凱利的人找上門來，安東尼·洛克韋爾立刻在書房接待了他。

“唔，”安東尼伸手去拿支票簿說，“這一鍋肥皂熬得不賴。讓我們瞧瞧——你已經支了五千現金。”

“我自己還墊了三百呢，”凱利說。“比預算的超出一點點，快運貨車和馬車大部分付五美元，但卡車和雙駕馬車把價錢提到了十美元。汽車司機要十美元，有些貨車要二十。警察要得最狠了——兩個各要五十，另外兩個一個要二十，一個要二十五。不過，效果還很不錯，是不是，洛克韋爾先生？真幸運，威廉·A·布蘭迪先生沒有在現場。我是不希望威廉先生忌妒死。而且是從來沒有排練過！伙計們準時趕到現場，一秒都不差。整整堵了兩個小時，連條蛇都別想從格里利的塑像下鉆過去?！?

“這一千三百美元給你，凱利，”安東尼說著，撕下一張支票。“一千美元是給你的報酬，三百美元是還你墊付的。你不會看不起金錢吧，凱利？”

“我？”凱利說。“我真想揍那個發明貧窮的家伙?！?

凱利走到門口時，安東尼叫住了他。

“你有沒有注意到，”他問，“堵車時，一個光屁股胖小子手拿弓箭到處亂射？”

“啊，沒有，”凱利莫名其妙地說?！拔覜]注意到。要是像您說的那樣，也許我到那里之前，警察早把他收拾了?！?

“我想這個小壞蛋不會到場，”安東尼輕聲笑道?！霸僖?，凱利。”