The Sacrifice of a Beggar

The Sacrifice of a Beggar

The well-dressed gentleman on the park bench saw him approaching and
ducked behind his newspaper.
"You look like the sort of man where wisdom abounds," came the
patronizing voice of a disheveled beggar, who was leaning heavily on
one crutch. One leg was amputated below his knee.
"And you look like a man who is fishing for a drink," said the man
contemptuously, speaking from behind his paper.
"Then my conjecture is true. You are wise indeed. For it is true that
I need a drink," he said, feigning astonishment.
"Ah, but if I was as wise as you say, then I would be reluctant to
support your habit, as repulsive as it is." The man on the bench stayed
buried behind his newspaper hoping to be rid of the stranger.
The headlines caught the beggar's eyes and he continued his pursuit.
"I see it has been reported that a hydrogen bomb has been dropped on
Japan. A ghastly thing for sure, but necessary I suppose."
The man then lowered his newspaper and observed the beggar with
loathing before sermonizing. "See here man! Nothing is too ghastly for
their kind. They have paid a proper restitution for their deeds. Even
if it was paid in blood. They are a dastardly and murderous race. I see
no other alternative except to wipe them off the face of the earth or
bring them to their knees. Have you forgotten what those wretches have
wreaked upon our world? Pain and suffering-fear and distress-death and
displacement. It was absolutely necessary."
"Do you think they'll surrender now that the bomb has been dropped?"
asked the beggar.
The gentleman angrily lit a cigarette and said, "They had better, or
we'll erase them from the planet."
The cigarette smoke compelled the beggar to ask, "Would you be so
charitable sir as to loan me a cigarette of yours?"
"Loan did you say? And with what means do you intend to pay me back?
I'll bet my remaining pack of Chesterfield's that you have never worked
a proper day in your life! Nor have you contributed to society other
than as a weight around its neck. Tell me honestly; what sacrifice has
a man such as you ever made? Instead, you loaf your way through life,
soliciting pity and expecting handouts. You sir, are life's flotsam-a
shameless vagrant and moocher."
"Your right," answered the beggar sadly. "I am all those things.
Perhaps any sacrifice I may have paid pales terribly in light of what
our comrades overseas are presently suffering. Many good men have paid
the ultimate sacrifice with their life's blood, while I have escaped
the horrors of a lonely death on a scarred battlefield. I have implored
the Good Lord for answers to this dilemma, only to concede with tears,
that war is nothing but an irrational and senseless abomination."
The gentleman crumbled his paper in anger. "You speak as if you have
actually considered these matters of calamitous events, where it is
plain to perceive that you are only interested in inveigling something
for nothing from me. How could a man in your despicable condition, care
anything relating to world events?"
"You would be right not to indulge my craving sir, but since you are
obviously a man of means, I had hoped that you could dispense with a
paltry two-bits. It would help to end my suffering considerably."
The gentleman, tired of his plaintive importuning, decided that two
bits was worth ridding himself of the beggar. "Oh, very well!" he spat
as he reached into his coat pocket. "Anything is worth seeing you on
your way."
The beggar put the money into his pocket and pulled out a small box.
He handed it to the gentleman. "And what is this?" he asked,
surprised.
"I will consider the two-bits as a loan," said the beggar. "Keep this
as collateral, and if God is gracious, perhaps some day it will be
returned to me upon payment."
The gentleman lifted the lid and stared into the box. He sat
motionless for a moment then clenched his eyes and bowed his head, as
if some profound illumination of truth had been revealed. He had
instantly become enlightened by what he saw, and was condemned by his
hard-hearted arrogance. Trembling and shamed, he raised his head to
implore the beggar's forgiveness, but he had already merged within the
city's bustling crowds. With reverence reserved for those who willingly
sacrificed themselves for peace and mankind, he carefully placed the
lid upon the soiled box, which contained the highest decoration for
exceptional heroism-the Medal of Honor.