f. Your amazing
experience is one which should be analyzed and given to the world."

"What you want, I suppose," Burton remarked, "is one of my beans."

"Exactly," the professor admitted, eagerly.

"I have already," Burton said, "done my best to make you understand my
feelings in this matter. Those beans represent everything to me.
Nothing would induce me to part with a single one."

"We can understand that," the professor agreed. "We are approaching you
with regard to them in an altogether different manner. Mr. Bomford is
a man of business. It is our wish to make you an offer."

"You mean that you would like to buy one?"

"Precisely," the professor replied. "We are prepared to give you,
between us, a thousand pounds for one of those beans."

Burton shook his head. The conversation appeared to be totally devoid
of interest to him.

"A thousand pounds," he said, "is, I suppose, a great deal of money. I
have never owned so much in my life. But money, after all, is only
valuable for what it can buy. Each one of my beans means two months,
perhaps more, of real life. No money could buy that."

"My young friend," the professor insisted solemnly, "you are looking at
this matter from a selfish point of view. Experiences such as you have
passed through, belong to the world. You are merely the agent, the
fortunate medium, through which they have materialized."

Burton shrugged his shoulders.

"So far," he replied, "I owe no debt to humanity. The longer I live and
the wiser I get, the more I realize the absolute importance of
self-care. Individualism is the only real and logical creed. No one
else looks after your interests. No one else in the world save yourself
is of any real account."

"A thousand pounds," Mr. Bomford interposed, "is a great deal of money
for a young man in your position."

"It is a very great deal," Burton admitted. "But what you and Mr.
Cowper both seem to forget is the very small part that money plays in
the acquisition of real happiness. Money will not buy the joy which
makes life worth living, it will not buy the power to appreciate, the
power to discriminate. It will not buy taste or the finer feelings,
without the possession of which one becomes a dolt, a thing that creeps
about the face of the world. I thank you for your offer, professor, and
Mr. Bomford, but I have nothing to sell. If you would excuse me!"

He half rose from his chair but Mr. Cowper thrust him back again.

"We have no