"since we are discussing money, may I ask if you consider yourself a self-made man?"
Manfred's eyebrows lifted. "That is rather an old-fashioned phrase, is it not?"
"Right," said Rubin, with a stir of enthusiasm. "I maintained exactly that over the cocktails It Is my opinion that nowadays it is impossible for anyone to be a truly self-made man. There is too much routine government help."
Manfred shook with silent laughter. "Before the New Deal, that was not so. The government in those days was a highly moral and neutral referee. If a large corporation had an argument with a small employee, the government's job was to see that both sides had only the help they could afford. What could be fairer than that? Of course the rich always won, but that was just a coincidence, and if the poor man didn't see that, the government sent in the National Guard to explain things to him. Those were great days."
"Nevertheless, the point is that you were poor when you were young, were you not?"
"Very poor. My parents arrived in the United States from Germany in 1907 and brought me with them. I was three at the time. My father was employed at a tailor shop and made five dollars a week to begin with. I was the only child then, but you can imagine how it improved his economic position when he later had three daughters one after the other. He was a Socialist, and a vocal one, and as soon as he became a citizen he voted for Eugene V. Debs. This made some people, whose views on freedom of speech were strictly limited to freedom of their speech, feel he ought to be deported.
"My mother helped out by part-time work in between babies. From the age of nine, I delivered papers in the morning before school and had odd jobs after school. Somehow my father managed to accumulate enough money to make a down payment on a small tailor shop of his own, and I worked with him after school. Once I turned sixteen, I didn't have to stay in school anymore, so I quit at once to work in the shop full-time. I never finished high school."
Rubin said, "You don't sound like an uneducated man."
"It depends on how you define education. If you are willing to allow the kind of education you pick up for yourself in books, then I'm educated, thanks to old Mr. Lineweaver."
"This Mr. Lineweaver gave you books?"
"Only one, actually. But he got me interested in books. In fact, I owe nearly everything to him. I couldn't have gotten my start without him, so that maybe I'm not a self-made man. And yet, he didn't give me anything. I had to work it out for myself, so maybe I am a self-made man. You know, I'm honestly not sure."
Drake said, "You've got me confused, Mr. Manfred. What was it you had to work out for yourself? A puzzle of some sort?"
"In a way."
"Is it a well-known episode in your life?"
Manfred said, "There was some mention in newspapers at the time, but it was a long time ago and it has been forgotten. Sometimes, though, I wonder how fair the whole thing was. Did I take advantage? I was accused of undue influence and who knows what, but I won out."
Rubin said, "I'm afraid, Mr. Manfred, I must ask you to tell us the story in detail. Whatever you say will be held completely confidential."
Manfred said, "So Mr. Gonzalo told me, sir, and I accept that." But, for a moment, Manfred's eyes rested on Henry, who stood, with his usual air of respectful attention, at the sideboard.
Trumbull caught the glance and said, "Our waiter, whose name is Henry, is a member of the club."
"In that case," said Manfred, "I will tell you the story. And if you find it dull, you have only yourselves to blame."
"But wait," interjected Gonzalo eagerly, "if there's some kind of puzzle or mystery involved, I figure you solved it. Right?"
"Oh, yes. There is no mystery waiting to be solved." He waved his hands, as though in erasure. "No puzzle."
"In that case," said Gonzalo, "when you tell the story about Mr. Lineweaver, don't tell us the answer to the puzzle. Let us guess."
Manfred chuckled. "You won't guess. Not correctly."
"Good," said Rubin, "please continue with the story, and we will try not to interrupt."
Manfred said, "The story starts when I was not quite fifteen, just after the end of the war - the first one,