Part 4

III

And then came the happening which led to the final big experience of my life.

I had halted in the lower hall, to rest a minute before climbing the stairs to my own apartment. I stood with my foot on the lower step, leaning heavily against the banisters. The outside door opened and Miss Marsh came in. I was too tired to try and escape her. She stopped beside me and asked anxiously:-

“What’s the matter, Mr. Allen?”

“Nothing. Just a little tired,” I answered, and started on up the stairs.

She followed. In the hall above I stopped at the door of my apartment, and she moved on toward hers. Then she turned suddenly, and came back to me.

“I sure would like to do something for you if I could, Mr. Allen,” she said, in her Southern way of speaking.

I turned and looked at her. In her face was an expression different from any that I had ever seen there-more sincere and earnest. It commanded a respect that I had never felt for her. I mumbled something or other in the way of thanks, to which she paid no attention, but went on to say:-

“I know it must be mighty hard to have to look for a new job after you have worked for so many years in the same place.”

I cringed, and I think I must have scowled. For I was wondering how she had found out that I was looking for another job. I thought that I had kept the fact pretty carefully concealed. But I guess the most of us are ostriches, stretching our heads down in the sands of our own secret conceits. While I stood there, wondering, she kept on talking. The next thing that I caught was:-

“Don’t reckon you’ll want to take any advice from me, but you can’t afford to let yourself grow old like this, Mr. Allen. Nobody wants us if we’re old.”

I tried to laugh. It was a sickly attempt. What she had said hit me in so many sore spots that I squirmed to get away. But inside my own apartment, the thing that she had said repeated itself in my thoughts.

“You can’t afford to let yourself grow old.”

I smiled satirically. How folks can fool themselves. That little old maid, with her dyed hair and painted face, thinking that she was hiding the fact of her age!

But still the thing kept repeating itself-“You mustn’t let yourself grow old.”

“Let! Let! Let!”

That word finally got to hammering itself in my tired brain. I tried to get away from it, but I couldn’t. There was something accusing about it, like the gesture of a pointed finger. It seemed to put the blame of all my failure up to me-some wrong understanding in myself.

And then came my first experience with the Voice!

I call it the Voice, for I don’t know what else to call it. But I know that some Power outside a man’s own being can speak to him in the time of his need; when his ego is weakened by the discouragement of defeat. When he listens, he learns and is helped. For this Voice teaches Life! Our schools and churches have taught us systems and creeds.

I had pulled up a chair to the kitchen table, on which I had set out a scrambled sort of supper. I was going over to Brooklyn as soon as I had finished eating. The “Let! Let! Let!” was still pounding away in my thoughts. Finally I halted in my supper, set down my coffee-cup and asked:-

“Have I let myself grow old?”

And the Voice replied quickly:-

“Yes. You should be now right in your prime, knowing how to use and enjoy life. If you are thrown on the dump-heap, it is because you have put your own self there.”

You may laugh. You may say that I was tired and a little woozy in the head. But I know the Voice did speak. It spoke to my inner consciousness, but the thoughts were not my own. I even winced from some of the things it said.

It makes no difference whether or not you believe in the Voice, you must be impressed by the results of its teachings as applied in my own life. For I followed its teachings and learned the Great Lesson.

This first night only the glimmering light of a new understanding came to me. But that light grew. I saw that, up to now, I had been putting upon others all the blame for my own weaknesses-and thought of myself as a helpless victim of an unenlightened social order. I was slumping into a slough of self-pity. Worst of all, I was losing my sense of humor. I know that this is the big calamity. As long as a man can laugh humorously-laugh with his mind as well as with his mouth-he has the vitality to create new brain-cells.

And, after this first talk with the Voice, I smiled at myself!-a thing of big encouragement! One has caught at a strong life-saver when he can rise above the swamping power of self-pity long enough to laugh at his own weaknesses.

When I was putting on my overcoat, getting ready to go over to Brooklyn, I took a critical survey of myself in the bedroom mirror. I had been considered a pretty good-looking man-was tall and broad-shouldered, and had been quite athletic in my day. But I could see now that in many ways I had let myself grow old. There was no necessity for me to be so stooped, with such a caved-in chest and protruding abdomen. I pulled myself up and saw that I could stand straight. And I realized at once more command of myself when I stood right, with my chest up and my abdomen pulled in. Yes, I could stand straight when I made the effort.