Old Anthony Rockwell had retired. He had made a fortune as owner of Rockwell’s Soap. Now he sat in the library of his New York mansion and looked out the window. He watched his aristocratic neighbor, G. Van Schuylight Suffolk-Jones, walk out to his waiting car. His neighbor always looked over at the big Italian statue of the soap palace’s front, and wrinked his nose in disgust. Anthony grinned.

 “I’ll have my soap palace painted red, white and blue,” hi said. “That will make his aristocratic nose turn up even higher!”

 And them Anthony Rockwell, who didn’t like ringing bells for servants, shouted “Mike!” as loudly as he could. His voice was so loud that it used to peel paint in his Kansas soap factory.

 “Tell me son,” said Anthony to the servant, “to come in here before he leaves the house.”

 When young Richard Rockwell entered the library the old man put down his newspaper. He looked at his son kindly.

 “Richard,” he said, “How much money do you pay for the soap you use?”

 Richard was a little surprised. He had just returned home from university, and he never knew what his father would do next.

 “Six dollars a dozen, I think, dad.”

 “And your clothes?”

 “I suppose about sixty.”

 “You’re a gentleman,” said Anthony firmly. “I’ve heard of some young men spending $24 for a dozen cakes of soap, and more than a hundred for clothes. You’re as rich as any of them. But you are sensible and moderate. Now, I still use old Rockwell’s soap – it’s the purest soap ever made. Whenever you pay more than 10 cents for a cake of soap you buy bad perfume and brand names. If you’re spending 50 cents for a cake of soap, that’s good. For a young man your generation and position. As I said, you’re a gentleman. My money made you one. God, it even nearly made me into a gengleman – I’m nearly as rude and disagreeable as both my fancy neighbors. They can’t sleep at night because I moved in between them.”

 “There are some things money can’t buy,” said young Rockwell, gloomily.

 “Now don’t say that,” said old Anthony, shocked. “I’m up to Y in the encyclopedia looking for something that money can’t buy. Tell me something it won’t buy.”

 “Money won’t make you a member of high circles of society,” said Richard, and he sighed.

 “That’s what I was coming to,” said the old man. “That’s why I asked you to come in. There’s something wrong with you, my boy. Tell me what’s wrong. I’ve noticed you’ve been gloomy for two weeks. Do you need a holiday? You can go to the Bahamas tomorrow.”

 “You’re right, dad. Something’s wrong, but it’s not a holiday I need.”

 “Ah,” said Anthony, “what’s her name?”

 Richard began to walk up and down the library floor.

 “Why don’t you ask her to marry you?” demanded old Anthoy. “You’ve got the movey and the looks and you’re a decent boy. Your hands are clean. You’ve been to university, but she’ll forgive you.:

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

 “Just take her for a walk in the park, or walk home from church with her. It’s easy!”

 “You don’t understand the way high sociey works, dad. Every minute of her time is booked for days in advance. I must have that girl, dad. Or this city will become a black swamp for me. But I can’t write to her – I can’t do that.”

 “Come on.” said the old man. “You mean with all of my money, you can’t get an hour or two of a girl’s time for yourself?

 “I’ve waited too long. She’s going to sail for Europe in two days. She’ll stay there for two years. I’ll see her alone tomorrow evening for a few minutes. She’s staying out of town at her aunt’s, but I can’t go there. I’m only allowed to pick her up at Grand Central Station from the 8:30 train. Then we will drive down Broadway at a gallop to Wallack’s Theater. Her mother and family will be waiting for us in the lobby. So I will only have six or eight minutes with her. In this situation what chance would I have to tell my feelings? None. No, dad this is one problem your money won’t solve. You can’t but one minute of time with cash. If we could, rich people would live forever. There’s no hope of talking to Miss Lantry before she sails away to Europe.”

 “All right, Richard, my boy,” said old Anthony, cheerfully. “You may go to your club now. You say that money can’t but time. I guess it’s true that you can’t order eternity wrapped-up and delivered to you home. But always remember to burn incense and pray to the great god Mammon now and again.”

 That night Anthony’s sister, Ellen, came to visit. She began to talk about Richard’s problem.

 “He told me all about it,” said Anthony, yawning. “I told him he was rich and a gentleman. Then he criticized money, and said it couldn’t help. He said the rules of society couldn’t be moved a meter by a team of ten milliionaires.”

 “Oh, anthony,” said Ellen. “I wish you would not think so much of money. Love is more powerful. He should have spoken to her earier. Then she wouldn’t have refused our Richard. But now I fear it’s too late. He won’t have the chance to speak to her. Even all your gold cannot bring happiness to your son.”

 At eight o’clock the next evening, Ellen gave an old gold ring to Richard.

 “Wear it tonight, nephew,” she begged. “Your mother gave it to me. She said it was good luck for love. She asked me to give it to you when you had found the one you loved.”

 Young Rockwell took the ring with great respect. He tried to put it on his little finger, but it would not fit. So he put it in his pocket. And then he phoned for his cab.”

 At the station he found Miss Lantry in the crowd at eight thirty two.

 “We mustn’t keep mother and the others waiting,” she said.

 “To Wallack’s Theater as fast as you can drive!” said Richard.

 They raced up Fory-second Street and down Broadway. At Thirty-fourth Street young Richard ordered the cabman to stop.

 “I’ve dropped a ring,” he apologized, as he climbed out. “It was my mother’s, and I’d hate to lose it. Just wait a minute – I know where it fell.”

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

 But within that minute a car had stopped in front of the cab. The cabman tried to pass to the left, but a heavy express wagon blocked the way. He tried to the right but had to back away from a furniture van. He was stuck in a tangled mess of vehicles and horses.

 “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 flood of wagons, trucks, cabs, vans and cars. And more were coming all the time, adding to the noise and confusion. Even the oldest New Yourker had not seen such a terrible traffic jam.

 “I’m very sorry,” said Richard, as he sat down again,  “but it looks like we’re stuck for at least an hour. It was my fault. If I hadn’t dropped this ring we…”

 “Let me see the ring,” said Miss Lantry. “There’s nothing we can do about this traffic. I don’t care. I think the theater is stupid, anyway.”

 At 11 o’clock that night Ellen knocked lightly on Anthony Rockwell’s door.

 “Come in!” shouted Anthony, who was reading a book of pirate stories.

 “They’re engaged, Anthony,” she said softly. “She had promised to marry our Richard. On the way to the theater there was a traffic jam, and it was two hours before their cab could get out of it.”

 “So Anthony, never boast about the power of money again,” she continued. “A little symbol of true love – a ring – was the cause of Richard’s happiness. He dropped it in the street, and got out to find it. And before they could continue they got caught in the traffic jam. He spoke to his love and won her while the cab was stuck. Money is nothing compared to love, Anthony.”

 “All right, sister,” said old Anthony. “I’m glad the boy got what he wanted. Now my pirate is in big truble. His ship is sinking. And I really want to finish this chapter.”

 The story should end here. I wish it would end here. And I’m sure that most readers would like the story to end here. But we must go on to find the truth.

 The next day a person with red hands and a blue polka-dot necktie came to see Anthony Rockwell. His name was Kelly, and he was invited into the library.

 “Well,” said Anthony, reaching for his checkbook. “How much do I owe you?”

 “I paid out $300 of my own money. It cost a little more than I expected. I got the express wagons and cabs for $5 each; but the trucks and two-horses teams cost me $10. The motormen wated $10. The cops cost me the most – $50. But didn’t it work beautifully, Mr. Rockwell? And we had no rehearsal, either! Everyone was on time to a fraction of a second. It was two hours before a snake could get through.”

 “Thirteen hundred dollars – there you are, Kelly,” said Anthony, tearing off a check. “Your thousand and the $300 you put in. You don’t hate money, do you, Keely?”

 “Me?” said Kelly. “No, but I’d like to punch the man who invented poverty.”

 Anthony called to Kelly when he was at the door.

 “You didn’t notice,” he said, “anywhere in the traffic jam, a fat boy without any clothes on shooting arrows with a bow, did you?”

 “No,” said Kelly, scratching his head, “I didn’t. Maybe the cops arrested him before I got there.”

 “I didn’t think the little guy would be there,” chuckled Anthony. “Goodbye, Kelly.”