There are those who say that friendship is a lost art; that modern life
is too busy for friendship. "Why don't you pause long enough to call on
B----?" a father asked his son; "you used to be such good friends." "Oh,
I haven't time for that now," was the careless reply; "if I am to get
ahead, I feel I must devote myself only to those things that can be a
decided help to my advancement."
The mistake made by that son is emphasized by the advice of a keen old
man, spoken to a business associate: "If I were asked to give advice to
a group of young men who wanted to get ahead in business, I would simply
say, 'make friends.' As I sat before the fire the other night I let my
mind run back, and it was with surprise that I learned that many of the
things which in my youth I credited to my ability as a business man came
to me because I had made influential friends who did things for me
because they liked me. The man who is right has the right kind of
friends, and the man who is wrong has the kind of friends who are
attracted by his wrongness. A man gets what he is."
Possibly some will think that advice faulty in expression, for it seems
at first glance to put friendship on a coldly calculating basis, as if
it urged the maker of friends to say before consenting to try for a
man's friendship, "Is there anything I can get out of such a friendship
for myself?" Of course it is unthinkable that anyone should estimate
friendship in that way; friendship that calculates is unworthy the name,
and the calculator ought to be doomed to the loneliest kind of life.
But, evidently, what the adviser had in mind is the spirit that makes
friends because it is worth while to have friends for friendship's sake,
that never counts on advancement through the efforts of others. Such a
spirit is bound to be surprised some day by the realization that for his
success he owed much to the friends whom he made without a thought of
self.
One beginner in business decided that he must find his friendships in
serving others. There were those who told him he was making a mistake,
but he went calmly on, devoting hours each week to service with an
associate in a boys' club. Nothing seemed to come of this but
satisfaction to himself and joy to a group whose homes were cheerless.
Yet, there was something more--the pleasure of friendship with his
associate. One day he was surprised by an invitation to call on the head
of a large manufacturing concern. "You don't know me," the man said,
"but I know you, for you have been teaching with my son down at the
boys' club. For a long time I have been on the lookout for a young man
who can come into this business with a view to taking up the work with
my son when I must retire. From what I have heard your friend, my son,
tell of you, you are the man I have sought."
It is impossible to count on a thing like that as a result of
friendship, and the man who is worthy of such a friendship never thinks
of reckoning on anything but giving to his friend the best that is in
him as he enjoys the comfort of association with him.
Many years ago the author of _The Four Feathers_ wrote of such a
friendship between two men:
"It was a helpful instrument, which would not wear out, put into their
hands for a hard, lifelong use, but it was not and never had been spoken
of between them. Both men were grateful for it, as for a rare and
undeserved gift; yet both knew that it might entail an obligation of
sacrifice. But the sacrifices, were they needful, would be made, and
they would not be mentioned."
It has been well said that "Love gives and receives, and keeps no
account on either side," but that is very different from deliberately
using friendship for selfish ends.