“Are you the billionaire?” I asked, since I could not trust my eyes.“Yes, indeed,” he answered, nodding convincingly with his head.“How much meat can you consume for breakfast?”“I eat no meat in the morning,” he avowed. “A quarter of an orange, an egg, a small cup of tea, that’s all…”His innocent child’s-eyes blinked with a feeble luster, like two drops of muddy water.“Good,” I began again, half disconcerted. “But be honest with me; tell me the truth. How often in the day do you eat?”“Twice,” he answered, peacefully. “Breakfast and dinner suffice me. At noon I take soup, a little white meat, vegetables, fruit, a cup of coffee, a cigar…”My surprise grew apace. I drew breath, and went on:“But, if that’s true, what do you do with your money?”“Make more money!”“What for?”“To make more money out of that!”“What for?” I repeated.He leaned toward me, his hands supported by the arms of his chair, and with some curiosity in his expression he said:“You are probably cracked?”“And you?” I said…The old man inclined his head, and, whistling softly through the gold of his teeth, he said:“Droll wag!… You are the first human being of your species that I ever became acquainted with.”Then he bent his head back and looked at me some time, silently and scrutinizingly.“What do you do?” I began again.“Make money,” he answered, shortly.“Oh, you’re a counterfeiter!” I exclaimed, joyfully, for I thought I had finally got to the bottom of the mystery. But the billionaire flew into a passion. His whole body shook, his eyes rolled actively.“That is unheard of!” he said, when he had calmed down. Then he inflated his cheeks, I don’t know why.I considered, and put further the following question to him:“How do you make money?”“Oh, that’s very simple. I possess railroads; the farmers produce useful commodities, which I transport to the markets. I calculate exactly to myself how much money I must leave the farmer, in order that he may not starve and be able to produce further. The rest I keep myself as transportation charges. That’s surely very simple!”“And are the farmers satisfied with it?”“Not all, I believe,” he answered, with a naïve childishness. “But they say that the people are never satisfied. There are always odd characters who want still more…”
