Let me say thank you

　　Grandfather was a philosopher, and like a lot of philosophers, I guess, he was a mild-mannered man who was always ready to admit that there are two sides to every question. So when people got to arguing with him, or around him, about things that they got heated up and illogical about, like politics and religion, he would tell this story that Doc Eaton told him one day up on the Hill.

　　It happened a long time ago, when the town wasn't all steel and concrete and automobiles1; when you could still hear the whir of a lawn mower2 without taking a streetcar out to the suburbs, and still see a horse lazily switching at the flies on his flanks（两翼） under almost any sycamore（美国梧桐） tree. The Forest City had a lot of trees in those days.

　　And it had a lot of people that didn't always see eye to eye（看法一致）, like a lot of other cities. And it had a rich man, like almost every other town. And this rich man was a pillar in the Baptist Church; and people didn't see eye to eye about him, either.

　　There were those—and Grandfather's eyes twinkled when he said it—that claimed the rich man was an old hypocrite5, that he was ruthless in his business dealings, that he was so tightfisted he wouldn't spend a nickel to see an earthquake, that when he went to church on Sunday morning he was almost as important as God to a lot of people.

　　Then there was the other school of thought. It asserted that just because a man had made money under conditions as they existed was no reason to call him a lot of hard names. In fact, they asserted stoutly3, the people that called him names were merely envious4 of his success. They maintained he went to church not because he was a sanctimonious5 old fraud but because he was at heart, and for all his money, a simple, deeply religious man.

　　It was while these two groups were hot at it that the rich man gave a party. Well, it wasn't exactly a party, Grandfather would explain. It was more like a shower for the pastor6（牧师） of the church. One group of parishioners saw in their invitation nothing but a kindly7, neighborly gesture. The other just said it showed how miserly the old buzzard was—getting other people to do what he could have done a thousand times over without feeling it a mite8.

　　Grandfather said even then he had the sneaking9 feeling that the rich man wasn't so insulated and isolated10 by his money that he didn't know what people were saying about him, and that was the real reason he gave the party.

　　But both sides of the question went to the party. A lot of them were pretty curious about the inside of a rich man's home.

　　They brought offerings for the pastor, as they were requested. Some people brought apples, and others brought sides of bacon and onions and other homey old-fashioned things like that. But nobody was really much interested in what the other guests brought. They were all waiting for one thing. What would the rich man bring out? Even Doc Eaton, the preacher, according to Grandfather, couldn't help wondering about what was coming. You could feel the undercurrent of suspense11.

　　And then the rich man brought out his offering.

　　It was a bushel of potatoes. They were nice potatoes, extra large and scrubbed white and clean. But still and all, they were only a bushel of potatoes that anybody could buy in the Old Market for a lot less than a dollar.

　　Well, sir, Grandfather chuckled12, you could practically see what people were thinking. They were the people who were saying to themselves and to everybody else, "Well, what did I tell you??And then there were those who made it perfectly13 plain that they thought it was mighty14 tactful（机智的） of their host not to make an ostentatious（招摇的） parade of his money before a lot of neighbors and friends.

　　But the host went around as if he didn't notice anything, though Grandfather always insisted that he detected a little twinkle in the rich man's eyes as he shook hands with all his fellow parishioners and wished them good night.

　　The preacher toted（手提） his gifts into his house, and just because they had been the center of interest, so to speak, he picked one of the big white potatoes out of the basket. Then he noticed that one end of the potato had been opened. He investigated, and discovered that a silver dollar had been neatly15 inserted through the opening. He examined every potato in that bushel（蒲式耳） basket, and there was a silver dollar in every single one of them.

　　At this point Grandfather usually sat back and plucked benignly16 at his white beard and smiled. Then he'd turn philosopher and say:

　　"It takes an almighty17 pile of gall18 for a man to sit up and say what is going on in another man's mind, don't it? I mean one way or another. When Doc Eaton told me that story he didn't bother to point out any moral. By the way, he don't do any preaching any more. He's been a congressman19 from New Jersey20 for years and years. But I guess the story has a moral, all right. Always sort of tickled21 me, like it must have tickled Doc's rich parishioner. "

　　"The New Testament22 says it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God. Well, I ain't saying it isn't true. But I am saying this: It took John D. Rockefeller to put a silver dollar through the eye of a potato in order that a lot of people could have some food for thought."