Some months ago, as I was passing through a down-town street on my way
to the elevated station, I saw a man sitting on the steps of a house.
He seemed to be resting his elbows on his knees, and holding out both
his hands. As I came nearer I perceived that he had no hands, but only
stumps, where the fingers had been cut off close to the palms, and
that it was these stumps he was holding out in the mute appeal which
was his form of begging. Otherwise he did not ask charity. When I
approached him he did not look up, and when I stopped in front of him
he did not speak. I thought this rather fine, in its way; except for
his mutilation, which the man really could not help, there was nothing
to offend the taste; and his immobile silence was certainly impressive.
I decided at once to give him something; for when I am in the presence
of want, or even the appearance of want, there is something that says
to me, “Give to him that asketh,” and I have to give, or else go away
with a bad conscience--a thing I hate. Of course I do not give much,
for I wish to be a good citizen as well as a good Christian; and as
soon as I obey that voice which I cannot disobey, I hear another voice
reproaching me for encouraging street beggary. I have been taught that
street beggary is wrong, and when I have to unbutton two coats and go
through three or four pockets before I can reach the small coin I mean
to give in compliance with that imperative voice, I certainly feel it
to be wrong. So I compromise, and I am never able to make sure that
either of those voices is satisfied with me. I am not even satisfied
with myself; but I am better satisfied than if I gave nothing. That was
the selfish reason I now had for deciding to yield to my better nature,
and to obey the voice which bade me “Give to him that asketh”; for, as
I said, I hate a bad conscience, and of two bad consciences I always
choose the least, which in a case like this, is the one that incensed
political economy gives me.