energetic Blake, Stranleigh entered the yard of the fine old church, and was arrested by an epitaph, which he wrote down in his note-book, wondering whether the poet of the town, Peter Pindar, composed it:
"Here lie I at the chancel door;
Here lie I because I'm poor;
The farther in, the more you'll pay;
Here lie I as warm as they."
"This chap seems to have been contented with his lot. I wonder what, besides getting into the church, he would have done with his money if he had it. We millionaires are a sorry, unimaginative crew. Now, if Gilbert Chesterton, or H. G. Wells, or George Bernard Shaw had several millions each, they would certainly do something original. The American millionaire gives money to found a university, of which there are too many already. The English millionaire leaves his cash to hospitals. Now and then a rich man tries to get out of the rut, but without conspicuous success. Carnegie, the man of iron, representing strength, gives New York a library; Tate, the sugar-maker, representing sweetness, gives London a picture gallery. Out of the strong came forth sweetness, said Samson.
