I answer by knowledge of human
nature, by the power of sympathy, by gentle kindness. A poor wretch
staggers into a humble little room at the Salvation Army Headquarters
in Queen Victoria Street. He unfolds an incoherent tale. He is an
unpleasant and disturbing person whom any lawyer or business man would
get rid of as soon as possible. He vapours about self-destruction, he
hints at dark troubles with his wife. He produces drugs or weapons--a
point at which most people would certainly show him out. But the
Officers in charge do nothing of the sort. They laugh at him or give
him a cup of tea. They bid him brace himself together, and tell them
the truth and nothing but the truth. Then out pours the awful tale,
which, however bad it may be, they listen to quite unmoved though not
unconcerned, for they hear such every day. When it is finished, they
ask coolly enough why, in the name of all that their visitor
reverences or holds dear, he considers it necessary to commit suicide
for a trifling job like that. A new light dawns upon the desperate
man. He answers, because he can see no other way out.
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