6 THE DIAMOND AS BIG AS THE RITZ
car. The actual distance will never be known, for no one, except John T. Unger, had ever arrived there save in a Rols-Pearse and probably no one ever will again. St. Midas’ is the most ex- pensive and most exclusive boys’ prepar- atory school in the world.
John’s first two years there passed pleasantly. The fathers of all the boys were great money-kings and John spent his summers visiting at all the fashion- able resorts. While he was very fond of all the boys he visited, their fathers struck him as being much of a piece, and in his boyish way he often won- dered at their exceeding sameness.
“How do you do, John?” they would say to him. “I’m always glad to meet a school friend of my son’s--even though I've been pretty busy this Christ- mas speeding up production and install- ing a new triple efficiency system among our efficiency experts.”
When John told them where his home was they would ask jovially, “Pretty hot down there?” and John would muster a faint smile and answer, “It certainly is.” His response would have been heartier had they not all made this same joke--at best varying it with, “Is it hot enough for you down there?” which he hated just as much.
In the middle of his second year at school, a quiet, handsome boy named Percy Washington had arrived at St. Midas’ and been put in John’s form. The newcomer was pleasant in his man- ner and exceedingly well-dressed even for St. Midas’, but for some reason he kept himself aloof from the other boys. The only person with whom he was at all intimate was John T. Unger. John frankly admired him, but even to John, Percy was entirely uncommunicative concerning his home or his family. That he was wealthy went without say- ing, but beyond a few general deduc- tions made from his habits and remarks, John knew very little of his friend, so it promised rich confectionery for his curiosity when Percy invited him to spend the summer at his home “in the West.” He accepted without the faint- est show of hesitation.
It was only when they were in the train bound westward that Percy be- came, for the first time, rather commu- nicative. One day while they were eat- ing lunch in the dining-car and discuss- ing the imperfect characters of several of the boys at school, Percy suddenly changed his tone and made an abrupt remark.
“My father,” he said, “is by far the richest man in the world.”
“Oh,” said John politely. He could think of no answer to make to this con- fidence. He considered “That’s very nice,”’ but it sounded a trifle hollow and was on the point of saying, “Really?” but refrained since it would seem to question Percy’s statement. And such an astounding statement could scarcely be questioned.
“By far the richest,” repeated Percy.
“I was reading in the World Al- manac,” began John, “that there was one man in America with an income of over five million a year and four men with incomes of over three million a year, and—"
“Oh, they’re nothing.” Percy’s mouth was a half-moon of scorn. “Catch- penny capitalists, financial small-fry, petty merchants and money-lenders. My father could buy them out and not know he’d done it.”
“But how does he—"
“Why haven’t they put down his in- come tax? Because he doesn’t pay any. At least he pays a little one—but he doesn’t pay any on his real income.”
“He must be very rich,” said John simply. “I'm glad. I like very rich people. I know that when men get very rich they never have to obey the laws, and I suppose it’s logical that if they're rich enough they don’t have to pay the income tax either.”
“My father doesn’t, anyhow.”
“The richer a fella is, the better I like him,” continued John, a look of passionate frankness upon his dark face. “I visited the Schnlitzer-Murphys last Easter. Vivian Schnlitzer-Murphy had rubies as big as hen’s eggs, and sap- phires that were like globes with lights inside them—"
