rred
to. This young man remarked to Mr. Wilson that he had never felt so
sorry for a man in his life as he did for his father the day before. He
said Phil Armour had come over to the bank--had bearded his father in
his den, and had gone after him so fiercely--had gotten under him in so
many ways--had lampooned him up dale and down hill, that there was
nothing left of his father but a bunch of apologetic confusion, and that
the interview had ended by Mr. Armour's throwing a hundred thousand
dollars in currency in the gentleman's face. The young man said he never
knew that a man could be so indignant and so voluble as Mr. Armour was,
and that it had made a lasting impression on him.

Philip Armour had very high business ideals. To sell an article at more
than it was worth, or to deceive the buyer as to quality in any way, he
would have regarded as a calamity. He delighted in the thought that the
men with whom he traded were his friends. That his prosperity had been
the prosperity of the producing West, and also to the advantage of the
consuming East, were great sources of satisfaction. To personal
criticism he very seldom made reply, feeling that a man's life should
justify itself, and that explanation, excuse or apology is unworthy in a
man who is doing his best to help himself by helping humanity. But in
spite of his indifference to calumny his years were shortened by the
stab of a pen--the thing which killed Keats--the tumult of wild talk
concerning "embalmed beef," started by a Doctor William Daly (who
shortly after committed suicide) and taken up to divert public attention
from the unpreparedness of the country properly to take care of the
health of its volunteer soldiery.

Mr. Armour, as Father of the Packing-House Industry, was keenly
sensitive to these slanders on the quality of the product and the
honesty of the packers. The charges were thoroughly investigated by a
board of army officers and declared by them to be without foundation.

Scandal and defamation in war-time are imminent; the literary stinkpot
rivals the lyddite of the enemy; fever, envy, malice and murderous
tongues strike in the dark and retreat in a miasmic fog. Here were
forces that Philip Armour, as unsullied and as honorable as Sir Philip
Sidney, could not fight, because he could not locate them.

About the same time came one Joseph Leiter, who tried to corner the
wheat of the world. Chicago looked to Armour to punish the presumptuous
one. A