We bear on our muscle those that have found THAT SOMETHING. And we bear them on up the mountains, to take their places among the masters of all people.
The success of people everywhere depends alone on awakening THAT SOMETHING of their soul.
The universe seemed doomed. That was my outlook. The very times were in misery. Men were out of work.
I was one of them.
I had slept the night before on the cold cement floor of the city’s jail. I slept as a tired dog sleeps, a dog worn out with a fruitless chase.
All of the night before I had walked, walked, walked—my pride keeping me from this place. And so the day had found me walking aimlessly, looking only for food, shelter, and work. This could not last forever. So that night I had stumbled down the low, narrow hallway of the jail; I had been led into a barred cell with a hundred others. And there I had lain as one dead, on the cold hard floor.
But it is of the day that followed that night in jail that you shall hear. For that was the day of my life. It was then that I found THAT SOMETHING.
My feet were very tired. My soul wept with the sky. I stood, as in a wilderness alone, on the corner of a great thoroughfare in a great city. And then a man stopped by my side.
He was of my height and build. I caught a glimpse of his face. I thought that this man might have been myself, if—but my present need drove out reflections.
And so I laid my hand on his arm. "I am hungry," I said simply.
He turned slowly and looked at me. First his gaze took in every detail of the outer man, from my water soaked cap to my poor, cracked shoes. And then, through my eyes, he seemed to search my soul.
I stood there abashed. I laugh when I think of that now. But then—it was different.
"Well," he said presently, "suppose you were fed. What then?" I shifted my weight from one tired foot to the other.
"I’d try to get a job somewhere," I muttered after a moment.
"You’d try?" he asked.
"Yes, try," I answered, "although there is little chance. No one is hiring. But I don’t care for that now. It’s food I want. I’m hungry. Can you help me?"
"No," he answered, a note of pity in his voice. "I cannot help you. No man can."
"But you could feed me," I said, with some petulance.
"It is not food that you need."
"What then?" I asked.
"THAT SOMETHING," was his reply.
A man joined him. They began talking of matters of mutual interest. I was shuffling away through the drizzling, miserable rain when he called me back and handed me his card.
"Man, go find THAT SOMETHING," he said, "and when you’ve found it, come to me."
"Come to you for what?" I asked.
"To thank me," was his answer, and he and his friend turned and left.
I believe in miracles. There used to be such things. Man has been taught to work the miracles of today. He gives them another name. But they are miracles, just the same.
There were two words that stuck in my memory: THAT SOMETHING.
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