bursting with troubles， and dreams， and private ambitions. Theyare also bursting for the chance to share them with someone. Butdo you ever let them? Do you ever show an eager， honest interestin them or their lives? That’s the sort of thing I mean. You don’thave to become a Florence Nightingale or a social reformer tohelp improve the world—your own private world; you can starttomorrow morning with the people you meet！
What’s in it for you? Much greater happiness！ Greatersatisfaction， and pride in yourself！ Aristotle called this kind ofattitude “enlightened selfishness”。 Zoroaster said： “Doing goodto others is not a duty. It is a joy， for it increases your own healthand happiness.” And Benjamin Franklin summed it up verysimply—“When you are good to others，” said Franklin， “you arebest to yourself.”
“No discovery of modern psychology，” writes Henry C. Link，director of the Psychological Service Centre in New York， “nodiscovery of modern psychology is， in my opinion， so importantas its scientific proof of the necessity of self-sacrifice or disciplineto self-realisation and happiness.”
Thinking of others will not only keep you from worrying aboutyourself; it will also help you to make a lot of friends and have a lotof fun. How? Well， I once asked Professor William Lyon Phelps， ofYale， how he did it; and here is what he said：“I never go into a hotel or a barber-shop or a store withoutsaying something agreeable to everyone I meet. I try to saysomething that treats them as an individual—not merely a cogin a machine. I sometimes compliment the girl who waits on mein the store by telling her how beautiful her eyes areor her hair.
I will ask a barber if he doesn’t get tired standing on his feet allday. I’ll ask him how he came to take up barbering—how long hehas been at it and how many heads of hair he has cut. I’ll helphim figure it out. I find that taking an interest in people makesthem beam with pleasure. I frequently shake hands with a redcapwho has carried my grip. It gives him a new lift and freshens himup for the whole day. One extremely hot summer day， I wentinto the dining car to have lunch. The crowded car was almostlike a furnace and the service was slow. When the steward finallygot around to handing me the menu， I said： ‘the boys back therecooking in that hot kitchen certainly must be suffering today.’
the steward began to curse. At first， I thought he was angry.
‘Good God Almighty，’ he exclaimed， ‘the people come in hereand complain about the food. They kick about the slow serviceand growl about the heat and the prices. I have listened to theircriticisms for nineteen years and you are the first person and theonly person that has ever expressed any sympathy for the cooksback there in the boiling kitchen. I wish to God we had morepassengers like you.’
“The steward was astounded because I had thought of thecoloured cooks as human beings， and not merely as cogs in theorganisation of a great railway. What people want，” continuedProfessor Phelps， “is a little attention as human beings. When I meet a man on the street with a beautiful dog， I always commenton the dog’s beauty. As I walk on and glance back over myshoulder， I frequently see the man petting and admiring the dog.
My appreciation has renewed his appreciation.
“One time in England， I met a shepherd， and expressed mysincere admiration for his big intelligent sheepdog. I asked himto tell me how he trained the dog. As I walked away， I glancedback over my shoulder and saw the dog standing with his pawson the shepherd’s shoulders and the shepherd was petting him.
By taking a little interest in the shepherd and his dog， I madethe shepherd happy. I made the dog happy and I made myselfhappy.”
Can you imagine a man who goes around shaking handswith porters and expressing sympathy for the cooks in the hotkitchen—and telling people how much he admires their dogs—canyou imagine a man like that being sour and worried and needingthe services of a psychiatrist? You can’t， can you? No， of coursenot. A Chinese proverb puts it this way： “A bit of fragrance alwaysclings to the hand that gives you roses.”
You didn’t have to tell that to Billy Phelps of Yale. He knew it.
He lived it.