Late last week, I was rushing around trying to get some shopping done for my daughter's forthcoming birthday. I was stressed out and a little irate. It was dark, cold, and wet in the car park as I was loading my car up with gifts that I felt obligated to buy. I noticed that I was missing a receipt that I might need later. So mumbling under my breath, I retraced my steps to the shopping centre entrance. As I was searching the wet pavement for the lost receipt, I heard a quiet sobbing. The crying was coming from a poorly dressed boy of about 12 years old. He was short and thin. He had no coat. He was just wearing a ragged old football shirt to protect him from the cold night's chill. Oddly enough, he was holding a fifty pound note in his hand. Thinking that he had got lost from his parents, I asked him what was wrong. He told me his sad story. He said that he came from a large family. He had three brothers and four sisters all of whom also had birthdays imminent just like my little boy. His father had died when he was nine years old. His mother was poorly educated and worked two full time jobs. She made very little to support her large family. Nevertheless, she had managed to skimp and save one hundred pounds to buy her children birthday presents. The young boy had been dropped off, by his mother, on the way to her second job. He was to use the money to buy presents for all his siblings and save just enough to take the bus home. He had not even entered the shopping centre, when an older boy grabbed one of the fifty pound notes and disappeared into the night. 'Why didn't you scream for help?' I asked. The boy said, 'I did.' 'And nobody came to help you?' I wondered. The boy stared at the pavement and sadly shook his head. 'How loud did you scream?' I inquired. The soft-spoken boy looked up, tears in his eyes and meekly whispered, 'Help me!' I realised that absolutely no one could have heard that poor boy cry for help. So I grabbed his other fifty pound note and legged it back to my car. Result or what?