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Where Sympathy Counts

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Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Feb 10, 1910

FromReview and Herald, Vol. 87, No. 6.

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Where Sympathy Counts

By Helena M. Thomas

As the observant woman awaited her turn one “bargain day” afternoon, she forgot her eagerness to be served, in watching the girl behind the counter as she carefully fitted the hands of one who preceded her, for it was plainly to be seen that will power alone kept the pale-faced clerk at her task. Still, in reply to such impatient exclamations as, “Do be more expeditious or I will lose my car!” she replied sweetly: “I am doing my very best. If I hurry, I am liable to tear them.”
“And now it is your turn,” said the clerk as the impatient woman walked away, and she smilingly turned to the woman who endeavors to live up to the golden rule, under all conditions, “and I am sorry to have kept you waiting so long.”
“And I am sorry to add to your burdens by having you wait upon me,” was the rejoinder, in so sincere a tone that the clerk, with a puzzled look, said: “O, I might as well wait upon you as any one, for my services are always in demand. What number, please?”
“I have noticed that you are always busy,” remarked the customer, after giving her glove number, “but I never saw you look as you do to-day. But it has been an enervating day, withal, and I am glad for your sake that closing time is near.”
The clerk then hurriedly faced about, ostensibly to take down more gloves, which gave her a chance to brush aside tears right and left, and then, winking back others, she said, tremulously, as, with bent head, she proceeded to fit the hand of the woman who felt for others: “I thought I was ready to drop when I turned to you, but I am all courage again, for—you—”
“What, child?”
The question was not answered at once, however, for the girl evidently feared a scene if she did not get herself well in hand before replying, so no further words passed between them until the second glove was nearly adjusted, and then the clerk finished her sentence, saying, in a scarcely audible tone: “You gave me just the tonic I needed—sympathy. To tell the truth,” she continued, after a slight pause, “I had a nervous headache when I came to the store this morning, and it has been a hard fight for me to stand here all day, but you are the only one who seemed to look upon me as anything but a soulless machine.”
“Why, you poor child!” was the mother-comment, “how hard it must be to stand here and wait upon thoughtless people when you are ill and tired.”
Just then the fitting process was over, and as the clerk folded up the gloves, she said, with a winsome smile: “I thought I was both a few moments ago, but, thanks to you, I have had such a tonic that I feel equal to anything now.”—Helena M. Thomas, in the New York Observer.