Part 9 (1/2)
Say, fellows! I saw a big touring car sideswipe a Ford runabout and knock it several feet to one side on the country road. Of course each of the drivers thought the other was to blame, and a warm argument followed.
The big car was unhurt, and proceeded on its way, but the flivver had its running board and fender badly battered. While the young fellow of the runabout examined to see what further damage his car might have sustained, the prosperous-looking gentleman was speeding up the highway, chuckling over his own car's escape from injury.
I asked the man of the Ford if his engine had suffered. No, he thought it was all right; he would crank up and see. Good! She started off with a clutter, and he asked me if I wanted to ride. I had not far to go, but gladly accepted, for I was rather struck with this young fellow's grip on himself. It took self-control to avoid making the air blue with abuse. The way that big fellow had hurried on, leaving the runabout in trouble, was certainly not on the square, to say the least.
A turn in the road brought a fresh surprise. There was the touring car, a hundred yards ahead, standing in the middle of the road, hood up, and the big man peering into the engine. There was room to pa.s.s, and I wondered what the man at the wheel in the runabout would do.
Would the little car rattle past with its damaged fender? It would be only human nature to sing out some sort of a taunt: ”Thought you were in a hurry!” or ”Don't block the road!”--and yet this young fellow did not seem to be that kind. His self-control during the incident back there in the road made me expect something different, and I was not disappointed. The runabout did pa.s.s, but stopped ten yards ahead, and my companion got out.
”Engine trouble? Need any help?”
The big fellow's face was a puzzle, as he looked up with a worried grin and mopped his brow with a grease-smeared hand. Yes, there was engine trouble, and it was serious.
To make a long story short, when last I saw them as they turned the curve of the road ahead, the big car's front axle was connected by a chain to the rear of the runabout as it chugged away in low gear dragging the big one to the nearest garage.
Say, fellows! it takes a dead game sport to do a trick like that. Any cheap skate can whiz past and give his enemy in trouble the hard-boiled eye, but it takes a fine soul to be generous when the natural impulse calls for spite work.
In the small hours of that fine morning, as Saul slept and as his guards were heavy with sleep about him, David put one over on his pursuer--an act of kindness which overwhelmed him with shame. David had not only to fight a natural impulse to get even, but he had with him an adviser who used the most persuasive arguments to induce him to take Saul's life. Indeed, Abishai proposed to do the deed himself, as though that would leave David clear of guilt in the matter. But no, David was a man of principle, and he knew three very vital things:
1. ”Vengeance is mine, I will repay,” said the Lord.
2. A magnanimous spirit wins, and no sad regrets cloud the victory.
3. He that ruleth his own spirit is better than he that taketh a city.
_Read twenty-sixth chapter of 1 Samuel and Romans 12:20-21._
XXIV
GREATNESS
Say, fellows, if I should make up an unusually good story about you, some n.o.ble thing you did, or some kind and generous act, to whom should I tell it, to be sure it would be believed? Yes, I see you know of whom I am thinking--your mother. I might tell your brother and sister, and they would say: ”Phew! are you sure it was d.i.c.k?” I might tell your employer, and his eyes would roam around over the objects on his desk; or your teacher, and he would look at the sky and say: ”Think it will rain?” I might tell your father, and he would be grateful--but surprised! But let me tell your mother! There I would find one who is ready to believe anything good I would say about you.
I tell you, fellows, a mother is a wonderful gift to a boy, for her prayers alone. Long before you learned to say, ”Now I lay me down to sleep,” she was praying that you would be a great and good man some day. Those prayers of mothers have kept many a boy from going wrong.
One night in a great city where I had gone to find work I had fallen in with some young fellows who ”knew the ropes,” and being far from home and lonesome I was glad to accept their companions.h.i.+p. They invited me to join them in an ”evening lark” to which no loyal Christian would lend himself, and though I was a nominal Christian I was tempted sorely. I regarded myself as ”my own man,” having just turned twenty-one.
But just as I wavered between right and wrong, my mother's face flashed before me. It was only for an instant, but it was enough. I heard her voice, heard it in prayer. That night a thousand miles away she was praying for me, and saved me from what might have been a fatal step. I firmly believe, fellows, but for my mother's prayers that night and many nights, before and since, I should not now be enjoying the privilege of talking about the great things of life and the Kingdom to you.
Treasure that dear mother, if you have one, fellows; she is G.o.d's peculiar gift.
Well, James and John had such a mother, and she did the most natural and motherly kind of a thing. She wanted _her boys_ to go away up high; they must even stand in the highest places, on the right and left hand of the King in His glory. Like all mothers, she was ambitious for her boys.
Then Jesus in His wonderful way explained that the road to true greatness was not that which the world was following, in which those in power and authority were overbearing masters to their inferiors; but it is a path of service to mankind, a path already blazed by Himself. Last night in the local evening paper I saw these headlines: CHATTANOOGA DOCTOR ATTAINS EMINENCE. The article stated that a very remarkable invention for the removal of foreign particles from the lungs or bronchial tubes, such as might be accidentally swallowed, had been successfully demonstrated before a national medical society, and had been written up in the _American Medical Journal_; it was said that the discovery had brought great honour to the doctor in the world of medicine.
That was the recognition, but what had preceded? Days and nights at bedsides of suffering; days and nights in the laboratory; days and nights of study to relieve pain; hours of weariness unknown to the world, but borne on by the thought of doing a service to humanity. And do you suppose the final publicity is what rewards this doctor?
Hardly. A reporter on his local city paper sought an interview, after the far-away medical journal had published the first news, but the doctor, in his service overalls in the midst of treating his patients, declined the interview, saying it would involve a technical description which the general public would hardly be interested in.