Arnold Bennett, the British novelist, had a publisher who boasted about the extraordinary efficiency of his secretary. One day while visiting the publisher’s office, Bennett asked her: “Your boss claims you’re extremely efficient. What’s your secret?”
“It’s not my secret,” said the secretary, “it’s his.” Each time she did something for him, no matter how insignificant, she explained, he never failed to acknowledge and appreciate it. Because of this, she took infinite pains with her work.