When I returned with the mail I told the Superior what I heard the postmaster say about her and her boys. She seemed very much pleased, smiled, and said: “Boys are good when they are taught to say their prayers and to fear God.” Shortly after, I was appointed “mailman.” I went to the village every day after school. When the weather was fine I walked; if it was bad, I rode in or on the coach with Tommy. This was the first and only “appointment” of my life. I did not think it over then, but I know now I was not given it because I said “please” or my prayers⁠—I got it because I had told the Superior the nice things the postmaster said. “Please” is a good word in its place; but it does not get one appointed to anything. It has a proper place in a small boy’s vocabulary. And it is also much used by a certain class of prisoners and supplicants who are always “pleasing” somebody and are never pleasant to anybody.

Your capable beggar on the street does not say “please.” He rips off his spiel in such exact and precise language that he gets your dime without it. You so admire his “art” that you do not miss the “please.” His is an art. He omits the “please” because he knows you do not use it except when you want the mustard.