One of these times was when he had been trying to sell a Wall Street broker a fifty-thousand-dollar annuity.This man had been a hard nut to crack.He had one idiosyncrasy well known to his business associates.He was a crank on punctuality.When he made an appointment with a man，if this man was so much as five minutes late，he wouldn't see him.He had a great sense of his own importance and the value of time.Because he was out of the city a great deal，it was even difficult to make a date with him.
This particular morning，Bill McDaniel was lucky.He had given his man a ring and the prospect said he would see him at eleven A.M.sharp.Bill took the subway，allowing himself plenty of leeway to get to his appointment on time.At Times Square he had to change trains for Wall Street，and as he was hurrying through the crowd，he passed a little old lady of foreign extraction who was clutching an old-fashioned handbag，and sobbing from fright and be wilderment.No one was paying any attention to her.She was just one of the many minor tragedies that occur practically unnoticed any day in a big city like New York.But the mental image of this pathetic old woman stuck in Bill's mind as he ran down the subway steps toward his train which was pulling in.He glanced at his wrist watch.It was twenty minutes to eleven.There would be another train along in a few minutes.He could still make it.Bill turned about，ran back up the steps and approached the little old woman.
"Hello，Mother，" he greeted her."What's the matter？ You lost？"
She looked up at him，hopefully.“Yah，" she said.
"What's your name，Mother—where do you live？" asked Bill.
She shook her head.“I don't know."
"Do you have any relatives—a son or daughter？"
“I don't know！" she said，piteously.
The poor woman was so upset and dazed she couldn't think.
"Mother，" said Bill，"do you mind if I look in your pocketbook？"
He took hold of it and she handed it to him.Bill opened the tattered handbag and rummaged among its assortment of odds and ends.He came across a piece of paper with an address scribbled on it.There was a woman's name and a street number in Brooklyn.
Bill read this to the little old woman and asked： "Is this your daughter？"
"Yah，yah！" said the woman，her face lighting up." My daughter！"
“Is that where you're going？" asked Bill.
"Yah，yah！"
Bill took her by the arm."Come with me，Mother.Don't worry.Everything's going to be all right.I'll put you on the right train."
He led her down the stairs.A train to Brooklyn was just about to pull out.Bill waved at the guard on the nearest car.
"Hold it！" he cried.“This woman's lost.I've her address here.She's trying to get to her daughter in Brooklyn.Will you see that she gets off at the right stop and have the station master put her in a cab or phone her daughter，so she can come and get her？"
"Sure will，Mister！" said the guard，taking the slip of paper with the address."Step in，Mother.We'll take care of you！”
Bill saw the little old woman safely on the train.She turned，as the door was closing on her and said in a broken voice，filled with gratitude： "God bless you！"
How opportunity sometimes knocks！
