“Take my coat,” he said, offering the garment to a shivering girl. She couldn’t be any older than sixteen, and yet the streets treated her no differently. At first she refused the hospitality, but John’s persistence finally won out. “Look,” he started, “It’s cold out here, I’ve got extras, and you need it more than me.” Finishing his spiel, he draped the coat across her back before she could reply. He didn’t have any extras, but she did need it more than him. With a good deed done, and his spirits bubbling, John continued on his way.

He had only gone five steps when he heard a hoarse voice cry out, “Sir!” John pivoted to face the girl. Cosseted up in the warm coat, her face had begun to regain it’s color. Then he noticed that her outstretched hand held a ball point pen. “Sir! You’ve left your pen in the pocket!”

John paused only a moment, and then replied, “Keep it.” Without another word, he turned and continued on his way. She watched him leave, still holding the pen out in front of her.