Out of Place
奥里森·马登 / Orison Marden
“But I’m good for something.” pleaded a young man whom a merchant was about to discharge for his bluntness.
“You are good for nothing as a salesman，” said his employer.
“I am sure I can be useful，”said the youth.
“How？ Tell me how.”
“I don’t know， sir， I don’t know.”
“Nor do I，” said the merchant， laughing at the earnestness of his clerk.
“Only don’t put me away， sir， don’t put me away. Try me at something besides selling. I cannot sell， I know I cannot sell.”
“I know that， too，” said the principal， “that is what is wrong.”
“But I can make myself useful somehow，” persisted the young man， “I know I can.”
He was placed in the counting-house， where his aptitude for figures soon showed itself， and in a few years he became not only chief cashier in the large store， but an eminent accountant...
A man out of place is like a fish out of water. Its fins mean nothing， they are only a hindrance. The fish can do nothing but flounder out of its element. But as soon as the fins feel the water， they mean something...
A man out of place is not half a man. He feels unmanned. He cannot respect himself， hence he cannot be respected.
John Adams’ father was a shoemaker， and， trying to teach his son the art， gave him some “uppers” to cut out by a pattern which had a three-cornered hole in it to hang it up by. The future statesman followed the pattern， hole and all.
A man out of place may manage to get a living， but he has lost the buoyancy， energy and enthusiasm which are as natural to a man in his place as his breath. He is industrious， but he works mechanically and without heart. It is to support himself and family， not because he cannot help it. Dinner time does not come two hours before he realizes it； a man out of place is constantly looking at his watch and thinking of his salary.