Читать книгу Doctor Hudson's Secret Journal - Lloyd C. Douglas - Страница 17

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When I got up, the next morning, I found Tim running a dry mop around the edge of the rugs, holding the end of the handle under his left arm, and making a very satisfactory job of it, too.

I had a notion to tell him he needn't try to do any work under such conditions, but fortunately thought better of it. If he wanted to make an effort to show his gratitude, he had a right to do it.

I have had many occasions to meditate on this subject. Anyone who has had experience in giving—and getting—knows that it is much easier to be generous than grateful. Generosity expands you; builds you up; stiffens your spine. But if you are on the receiving end of this philanthropy, you either have to do something to earn it and demonstrate your gratitude, or the gift is likely to tear you down. It is indeed more blessed to give than to receive.

And I think that what passes sometimes for ingratitude is an insurmountable feeling of chagrin. It should be kept in mind that any gift—no matter how much it may seem to be to a man's immediate advantage—can do him a permanent injury if it has the effect of damaging his pride. Persons who find delight in helping others should exercise the greatest of tactfulness.

Of course any sensible person will agree to this, for it is so obvious; but it is not easy to practice. One time I gave a fairly good suit of clothes to a fellow; and, because he looked hungry, I put a dollar into one of the pockets. He had no opportunity to find the money, in my presence. I had found a box, so that the chap wouldn't have to go down the street with his new possessions over his arm. Early the next morning, he showed up at my door with the dollar, and I told him to keep it, which he did with honest reluctance. Afterward it occurred to me that I had made a serious mistake. The man thought it quite possible that I had overlooked the dollar. He wanted to demonstrate his integrity. If I had permitted him to do this gracious thing for me, it would doubtless have gone a long way toward repairing his self-esteem which had suffered when he accepted the clothing.

My proper move in this affair was to receive the dollar— and without making too much fuss about it, which would have been equivalent to saying that I was amazed to find such nobility in a man who looked so crooked. Had I merely thanked him respectfully for the money, in the same way I might have thanked my neighbour for restoring something I had lost, my dealings with him would have been perfect. He would have had the clothes, and the consciousness that he had also my esteem, which might have meant a great deal more to him—at that stage of his unfortunate experiences—than the clothes. There's a lot of very careless, thoughtless, injurious charity. It takes more brains to give something away than to sell it.

I let Tim Watson do anything he wanted to try to do, about the apartment. He dusted all of my books, he cleaned and refilled my pens, he answered the telephone with all the dignity of an experienced butler. You would have thought he was in the employ of some very important person. This may sound silly, but I think Tim did me and my professional standing a great deal of good on the telephone—even if my young colleagues at the hospital did tease me about it.

"This is Doctor Wayne Hudson's residence."... "May I ask who is speaking, please?"... "Thank you. I shall see if the doctor is at liberty to come to the telephone."

I know that Tim's technique was ever so much better than mine. I had been in the habit of scurrying to the telephone and saying, "Hullo." Tim cured me permanently of that careless, self-damaging method of answering a telephone call. It seemed to please him greatly when I thanked him for the favour. I think he grew a couple of inches. He replied, tactfully, that "a scientific man, with lots of important things on his mind, couldn't pay much attention to such small matters."

It did Tim a vast amount of good to contrive an apology for me that would save my face.

Soon I discovered that it was one of the most fascinating games I had ever played—this casting about for occasions which might build Tim up. And I think that his gratifying response to my constructive efforts in his behalf assured me that any sacrifice I might have to make for him would be justified.

It delighted me to see that what I was doing for Tim had not only done his personality no damage, but was rapidly calling out good talents which he had never been given a chance to exercise.

Little Joyce helped, too. She immediately became devoted to him. If she needed any spoiling, at that early period of her life—which I can't believe possible—Tim slavishly attended to it; and the undisguised affection she showered upon him must have made him feel exalted. Sometimes a man will get much the same quality of spiritual uplift from his dog. Dogs make good evangelists because they overlook so many obvious imperfections. One can't say as much for cats, who seem to have no capacity for concealing their contempt.