p. 70 | Politeness Pays

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Feb 8, 1883

"Politeness Pays."

Among the acquaintances of my youth there was one Peter Cox; and I am sorry to say that, from what little stock of patience he may have possessed, he invested none of it in politeness. At all events he did not do it when he entered business. Peter was a builder by trade, and one of the most thorough and faithful workmen in the country. If he undertook a contract, he was sure to perform his part punctually and properly. Still he was not always employed, for many who might otherwise have hired him were repulsed by his uncouth manner of treating them, and sought assistance elsewhere.

"Peter," said his wife to him, one evening, "do you know that you have lost a good job by offending Mr. Grayham?"

Peter looked up from his paper, and asked her what she meant.

"I mean," she replied, "that Mr. Grayham has hired Leavitt to build his new house."

"Well, what of it?" said Peter, rather crustily.

"Why, I am sure he meant to have hired you to do the job; and that he would have done so had you not offended him."

"How did I offend him?"

"By not listening to him when he wished to describe the plan for the building."

"His plan was a foolish one."

"Well, suppose it was; if you had felt it to be your business to tell him so, you might have done it in a polite way."

"Bah!" cried Peter with a snap of his finger, "don't talk of politeness in business. If I were to bother myself to be polite to everybody who happened to call on me, I should have my hands full."

"I think it would pay," ventured the wife.

Peter poohed at the idea; and then told his wife that he wanted to read.

About a month after this Peter came home in unusual good spirits. He had been out of work for some time, and he had been rather moody and crusty. His wife noticed the change, and asked him what had happened.

"There's a prospect of work," he replied, "we are to have better times in town. Sumner Wilkins, of Byfield, has bought the whole of the water-pond, on our stream, and is going to erect a factory here. I think I'll get the job. They say that Wilkins had rather have some one here to do it, and my friends will recommend me."

Mrs. Cox was highly delighted, for she knew that such a job must pay well; and she hoped that her husband might not be disappointed.

A few days afterward an order came for some window-blinds; and one afternoon while he was busy at his bench, a man came, and watched him at his work a few seconds without speaking. He was a middle-aged man, rather coarsely clad, and Peter supposed it must be some one who wanted work.

"How d'ye do?" said the stranger, as Peter laid aside the slat which he had just finished.

"How d'ye do?" returned Peter, in a sort of uncouth grunt.

"That looks like good lumber you're working there," remarked the visitor.

"It's good enough," was the response.

"What is such lumber worth here?"

"I don't know;" and as Peter thus answered he took another slat, and began to plane it.

"I suppose you buy some lumber, sir?" said the stranger.

"I do when I want it," returned Peter, with out looking up from his work.

"Is there any in town to be sold?"

"They'll tell you at the mill. I don't saw lumber myself."

"But you know the value of it," remarked the stranger, with a slight touch of feeling in his tone.

"Who told you?" retorted Peter.

"I supposed, as you were in the habit of using considerable lumber of various kinds, that you would be a proper one to ask."

"Well, sir," said our grouty builder, in his uncouth, unkind, and ungentlemanly way, "it so happens that I have something else to attend to besides keeping the price of lumber for everybody who may happen to want a few boards."

"Ah! yes; I didn't know you were so busy," returned the visitor, in the coldest and most polite manner imaginable. "Pardon me if I have interrupted you." And with this he left the shop.

Peter Cox had done no more in this instance than he had done a great many times before; but yet he could not put it out from his mind so easy. Somehow it clung to him, and even after an hour had passed he found himself wishing that he had treated his visitor with a little more decency. But it was too late now.

Peter got his blinds all made, and then awaited news from Byfield, as it was expected that Sumner Wilkins would soon make arrangements to commence operations. He felt sure of the job, as his friends had seen Wilkins, and recommended him strongly. It would be as good as three dollars a day to him for several months.

One morning as Peter came out on the street he heard that Wilkins had got his hands all engaged, and would break ground very soon. It could not be possible, thought our builder. Surely he would have had some notice of such a move. Half an hour after that he was standing at the door of a grocery, when a man drove up in a carriage, and he came into the store. He bowed to one or two who stood there, but gave Peter only a cold look. It was the man who had called at his shop two weeks before, and inquired the price of lumber. He was dressed as plainly as ever, but he drove a splendid horse, and the carriage was a costly one.

"Who is that man?" Peter asked, after the stranger had gone.

"That," returned a by-stander, in evident surprise, "don't you know him?"

"No. Who is it?"

"Why that is Mr. Wilkins."

"Sumner Wilkins of Byfield, the man who is going to build the factory?"

"Yes."

Peter Cox left the room with a sinking heart; and by the time he had reached his shop he was almost sick. What a fall it was. He went home to dinner, and erelong his wife had learned the whole story. She had already learned that the great job had been given to another, and knew why it had been done.

"Why didn't he let me know who he was when he came into my shop?" said Peter, in a petulant mood.

"That isn't the question," suggested his wife, speaking as considerately as possible. "It would be better, Peter, if you would ask why you didn't treat him respectfully. It seems, from your own account, that he asked a very simple question—as any one ought to answer with pleasure. I tell you, my husband, politeness pays. If you could only overcome your habit of treating strangers so uncouthly, you would be greatly the gainer thereby."

For some days Peter Cox was sore and morose. He saw the work commenced on the factory without his assistance, and he feared he should have but little business for some time to come. He had at first been inclined to think very hard of Sumner Wilkins; but when he came to reflect more calmly he thought differently. He could not wonder that the man had been repulsed by his rudeness.

It was Saturday afternoon, and Peter was in his shop, doing nothing but thinking, when some one entered. He looked up and saw Mr. Wilkins.

"How d'ye do?" said the capitalist.

"How d'ye do?" returned the builder.

"You are not very busy, I take it," added Wilkins.

A quick rough answer was making its way to Peter's lips; but he did not speak it. He recollected himself in season. He had taken a solemn obligation upon himself that he would not allow any more such words to go out from his mouth upon his fellow-men.

"No, sir," he replied, as soon as the old spirit had been quelled; "I am not very busy just now."

"Perhaps you would like to work for me."

"As you wish it."

"Well," said Wilkins, "I am in want of help, and should like to employ you. I meant to have employed you before; and perhaps you can imagine why I did not. However," he added as he saw Peter's countenance fall, "there's no need of referring to that only for the lesson it teaches. I felt the cut of your rudeness very deeply; and the more so because I could not see wherein I had given any occasion for it."

"I was rude," returned Peter frankly; "and as you have intimated, I found a lesson in the result; and I hope I may profit by it."

"That's enough, sir. And so we'll let the past go." Wilkins extended his hand as he spoke, and Peter grasped it warmly.

"And now," the visitor continued, "let's come to our business. The man whom I engaged to superintend the erection of my mill has so much other business that he would be spared from this; so if you will take it, I will let him go."

Of course Peter took it; and when the mill was done, so well and faithfully had he performed his work that he had more offers of valuable contracts than he could possibly attend to.

But Peter Cox did not forget the prime secret of this new success. He knew he was eminently qualified as an architect and builder; but this was not all. He also knew that the first lesson he had learned was the most valuable one—that investment he had made was yielding him the greatest interest. And, moreover, the income from the politeness which he had come to possess was not all gross and material. No, no—one of its highest and purest fruits was that which came to his heart, and which remained with him to bless him wherever he went.—Sel.