A Businessman, seeking out the secret of success, overheard a conversation between two other men of industry. One was saying to the other that his new ward, a young upstart from out of state, had brought such impressive business acumen that his business had never seen such heights. Intrigued, the Businessman stopped this Man of Industry on his way out of the restaurant to inquire about his recent successes.
"Ah, yes, my protégée," the Man of Industry replied, weighty emphasis dripping off the last word like a finely waxed whisky. He explained that he had met the young lad quite by accident, but a match made in Heaven it soon turned out to be, and before long the Man of Industry had become as much a mentor as a friend to the out-of-stater.
Enthralled by the tale, the Businessman asked further about where he, too, might meet such a protégée. The Man of Industry politely refused to elaborate, but the Businessman insisted. At last, the Man of Industry relented, producing from his pocket a torn scrap and an abalone pen. He quickly used the second to scrawl something on the first.
"Meet me here at noon the following Saturday," he finally said, handing the scrap to the Businessman.
Elated that fortune would soon be his, the Businessman thanked the Man of Industry and went about his days, anxiously awaiting the following Saturday when their meeting would take place.
As last the following Saturday arrived. But when he arrived at the address on the scrap, the Businessman was disappointed to see only the Man of Industry; no young protégée in sight. Before he could say anything, the Man of Industry noticed his presence and bounded toward him.
"Ah, there you are. If only you had arrived just moments ago! You've just missed the man I'm quite sure you wanted to meet! But of course you understand, he is quite busy after all. Some good news, however—a Businessman such as yourself surely knows that when deals must be done, it can take many men. If you would be so inclined, our current deal is nearing its close, but we lack just a bit of the funds required to tie it all together. Perhaps, if you were to provide us these funds—say, $3,500—I'm sure I can arrange a meeting between ourselves and my protégée within the week!"
The Businessman raised an eyebrow, but thought to himself that surely $3,500 was a small price to pay for access to such a protégée. After giving it a few moments thought, the Businessman offered a check made out to the Man of Industry. Upon receiving the check, the Man of Industry produced a second scrap from his coat pocket, this one pre-scrawled.
"Meet me here at 3 the coming Thursday," he said, handing the note to the Businessman.
Elated that fortune would soon be his, the Businessman once more thanked the Man of Industry and went about his days, anxiously awaiting the coming Thursday when their meeting would take place.
When the coming Thursday arrived, however, the Businessman was once more disappointed to see only the Man of Industry, no young protégée in sight. Before he could say anything, the Man of Industry lifted himself from his great chair and approached the Businessman.
"Good to see you my friend, and good news: you have not missed the man I am sure you want to meet, though he has informed me he is running a bit late. Thanks to you, our previous deal has been a great success." He produced from his deep breast pocket an envelope.
"A little something in thanks. I'm sure you'll find this more than makes up for the delay." The Businessman raised an eyebrow before opening the paper flap and shuffling its contents. He was more than a little surprised to see a check for $10,000. The Man of Industry continued.
"I am sure my protégée will be ecstatic to meet you, he's been talking non-stop about—" He was interrupted by the sudden approach of a porter carrying an envelope of his own. It was a telegram. The Man of Industry adjusted his glasses and read slowly the words in front of him.
"Ah, it seems our new deal has been held up by a peculiar monetary deficiency. My friend, as you were so generous before, would you be so inclined as to provide us once more with the funds we require? About $15,000 should do it." At once skeptical and intrigued, the Businessman hesitated before producing a second check, handing both it and the one he'd only just received back to the Man of Industry, who in turn slipped both instruments into a return telegram then entrusted to the porter.
Hours passed, the two men waiting in volleys of silence and stories. After some time, it was not the protégée conjured by their patience, but a second porter. The Man of Industry adjusted his glasses and read slowly the contents of the porter's delivery, grumbling as he did so.
"It appears as though my protégée will be unable to meet us today, I'm afraid. However, he has informed me that should you wish to meet the Monday after next, he assures he will be available." The Man of Industry produced yet another torn scrap from his coat pocket, with yet another address. He handed it to the Businessman.
Less elated than before, but still eager to obtain the secrets of the Man of Industry's success, the Businessman again thanked the Man of Industry and went about his days, anxiously awaiting the Monday after next.
Where the previous locations had been out-of-the-way, the third was within a magnificent hotel nestled deep within the bustle of the City. Thick, dark wood balustrades lined a wide marble staircase, ending at a landing giving way to yet more staircases, winding ever upward. As the Businessman climbed the first staircase, he saw atop it the Man of Industry, lounging in a great leather chair with nailhead trim. The chair beside him sat empty.
As the Businessman approached, he thought he knew already the words about to grace his ears.
"Ah, there you are my friend. I'm so glad you could join me here today. Of course, I regret to inform you that our mutual acquaintance has once more been held up—you know how those business deals are! But I suspect—" The Businessman cut him off before he could continue.
"I'm beginning strongly to doubt the existence of such a man!" he said, his voice rising to what less clever men might call a yell. " 'This young ward, this man from out of state, has brought me great fortune, he has such great business acumen that my business has never seen such heights!' " His voice fell again as he drew near to the Man of Industry.
"That is what you said, that is what you promised. But here I stand, thrice a fool, with no such protégée in sight!" The men stood in strained silence.
"I demand at least the money I have loaned, sir," the Businessman finally said.
The Man of Industry remained silent for a moment, glancing over the Businessman's shoulder, before producing another envelope. "Of course, of course, sorry for the trouble!" He pushed the envelope into the Businessman's hands before donning his top hat and quickly positioning himself at the top of the stairs.
"Good day, my friend, and best of luck!"
The Businessman shook his head, unfolding the envelope only to discover it contained not his missing money, but an abalone pen and a blank scrap. Incensed, he turned back to the staircase, only to find that the Man of Industry had disappeared down the steps, lost in the afternoon crowd.
Exasperated, he tucked the pen and scrap into his coat pocket and slouched into the great leather chair with nailhead trim. Scarcely had he done so before a Hopeful Tycoon sauntered up to him.
"First, I apologize. I know I should not be listening in on your private conversations," the Hopeful Tycoon said. "But I couldn't help but hear about your young ward and the great fortune he has brought to your business . . . "