My conscience was pricked again on a tour of Venice in 2010. I had taken refuge  from the crowds in a quiet canal-side cafe. Outside the cafe was an old woman kneeling on the ancient cobbled stones, begging. Steady streams of tourists were walking past her. A lone young back-packer stood away from the throng drinking something, but I noticed he was also observing the woman. A tourist group glanced at the woman and walked on. Another group of tourists arrived and, again, walked past her. The backpacker watched. Then, as I prepared to leave, I stopped at the sight of the backpacker stepping forward and placing some money in the woman's cup. He did this rather ostentatiously , just before the arrival of another tourist group. I watched as the leader of the group stopped and put some money in the cup. Having been shown the way, other tourists followed suit and added more coins to the woman's cup. The young backpacker repeated this process in front of the next tour party going past. Once again, the subtle peer  pressure worked on the tourists, who all added coins to the cup. His work done, the young man walked over to the old beggar woman, patted her shoulder and said, "I hope that helps a bit." I don't know if the woman understood his English or realized what had just happened, but I did. I placed some money in the woman's cup and continued my travels, light-hearted after witnessing such an astute act of caring. The backpacker placed some money in the woman's cup rather ostentatiously because  _  .
he wanted people to know that he was rich and kind he wanted the tourist group to follow him he wanted to stop the tourists by doing this he wanted to help the woman by himself