Everyone felt sorry for the poor old man who lived in the weather-beaten house on the corner, even though he wasn’t very sociable. In fact, he only opened the door once a month to receive groceries, for which he paid exactly $2.50, enough for three pounds of rice, a few cans of sardines and some dried apricots. But when he opened the door to get these pitiful supplies, neighbours glimpsed the wretched clothes he wore and the unkempt condition of the rooms behind him, and they couldn’t help but feel sympathetic.

Then, one month, the old man didn’t answer the grocery delivery boy’s knock. Someone phoned for help. The police came and found him lying in a mildewed cot surrounded by piles of litter and junk. A doctor pronounced the old man dead of malnutrition.

Afterwards, the police searched for a clue to any relatives they should notify. Just as they were about to give up sifting through old magazines and newspaper and bits of string and tin cans, an officer noticed a loose board in the floor.

“Hey,” he called, “look at this!” He pulled away the board, stuck his arm into the dark hole, and extracted a small, black, dog-eared bank book. He opened it slowly.

“Well I’ll be switched!” he said, and paused it to the next man. Each in turn took the book, read, and muttered incredulously.

For there, carefully lettered on the page left after the last withdrawal had been and the book cancelled, was a recipe for rice, sardine and dried apricot casserole.