What goes round, comes round
There once was a man.
His name was Fleming, and he was a poor Scottish farmer. One
day, while trying to make a living for his family, he heard a cry for
help coming from a nearby bog. He dropped his tools and ran to the bog.
There, mired to his waist in black muck, was a terrified boy,
screaming and struggling to free himself. Farmer Fleming saved the lad from what
could have been a slow and terrifying death.
The next day, a fancy
carriage pulled up to the Scotsman's sparse
surroundings. An elegantly dressed nobleman stepped out and introduced
himself as the father of the boy Farmer Fleming had saved.
"I want to repay you," said the nobleman. "You saved my son's life."
"No, I can't accept payment for what I did," the Scottish farmer
replied
waving off the offer. At that moment, the farmer's own son came to the door of
the family hovel.
"Is that your son?" the nobleman asked. "Yes," the farmer replied proudly.
"I'll make you a deal. Let me provide him with the level of education my own son
will enjoy. If the lad is anything like his father, he'll no doubt grow to be a
man we both will be proud of."
And that he did. Farmer Fleming's son attended the very best schools and
in time, graduated from St. Mary's Hospital Medical School in London, and went
on to become known throughout the world as the noted Sir Alexander Fleming, the
discoverer of Penicillin.
Years afterward, the same nobleman's son who was saved from the bog was stricken
with pneumonia. What saved his life this time? Penicillin.
The name of the nobleman? Lord Randolph Churchill. His son's name?
Sir Winston Churchill.
Someone once said: What goes around comes around.
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