PART II

X

"BIG BUSINESS"

In the preceding pages we have looked over the field of etiquette in

business in a general way, and have come to the only conclusion

possible, namely, that the basis of courtesy in business is common

sense, and that whatever rules may be given must not be followed

slavishly, but must simply be used as guide posts. In the pages which

follow we shall go into detail and watch courtesy at work among certain

groups and individuals.

Let us take, for example, a big concern which employs a thousand or more

people. We shall begin with the president.

_President of a Big Organization._ Here is a man who bears a heavy

responsibility. He has not only his own welfare to look after but that

of the men and women who work _with_ (we like this word better than

_for_) him. His first duty is to them. How can he best perform it?

It is a matter of fact that few men rise to such positions who are not

innately courteous. It is one of the qualities which enable them to

rise. For this reason we shall take it for granted that the president

needs no instructions. Already he has learned the great value of

courtesy. But this does not protect him always from discourtesy in other

people.

Every man who holds a high position in a big organization is besieged

with visitors, but no one so much as the president. He is a target for

cranks and idlers and freaks as well as for earnest business men who

want to help him or to get help from him. Thousands during the course of

a year come to call on him. If he saw them all he would have to turn

over the presidency to some one else and devote himself to entertaining

visitors. Many of those who come ask for him when he is not at all the

man they want to see, but they have been taught in the schools of

salesmanship or they have read in a magazine that it never pays to

bother with the little fellow, but that they should go straight to the

top.

Every minute of the time of the president of a big company is valuable

(all time is valuable, as far as that goes), and it must be protected

from the people who have no right to infringe upon it.

You would think that the vice-presidents and the managers and the

various executives would be his best protection. They are not. It is

the person who is placed at the front door to receive visitors. We shall

consider him next.

_The Man at the Door._ As a matter of fact, this person is usually a

girl, many times a very young and irresponsible one, because great

numbers of business men have not yet realized the importance of the

position. A well-poised girl or a woman who has had wide experience in

handling people can fill the place quite as efficiently as a man, and a

great deal more so if the man has not been chosen because he has the

quick sympathy and ready tact so necessary in taking care of the needs

of a miscellaneous assortment of callers.

In the house we are observing the person at the door is a young man who

began as a messenger boy, and who, because he did what he was asked to

do cheerfully instead of sullenly, with a "Certainly, sir," and a smile

instead of a "That's Bob's business" and a frown, was made manager of

the messengers, and then first assistant of the man at the door, and

later, when that man was given another position, was promoted to his

place. The job commands a good salary and offers chances of promotion.

The young man likes it.

A visitor comes, a young salesman, let us say, who has had little

experience. This is only the second or third time he has tried to storm

the doors of big business. He asks at once for the president. He does

not give his card because the school where he learned his trade

cautioned him against doing so. (He is perfectly correct, and he would

have been equally correct if he had given it. The more formal style is

to send in the card.) The man at the door sees at once what kind of man

he has to deal with.

"The president is busy," he answers--a safe remark always, because if he

is not he should be; "maybe I can do something for you."

The salesman explains that he has an attachment to increase efficiency

of typewriters. He would like to show the president how it works.

"Oh, you don't want Mr. President," the host answers. "You want Mr.

Jones. He attends to all such things for us. Will you be seated here in

the reception room," motioning toward the door which is at one side of

his desk, "while I find out if he is busy?"

This concern is very conservative about buying new attachments and new

machinery of any kind, but it is ever on the alert to discover means of

increasing its output and saving its manpower. Almost any new idea is

worth a demonstration.

If the man at the desk has an intelligent messenger boy--and he should

have--he sends him in to Mr. Jones. The boy finds Mr. Jones busy. He

will be free in about fifteen minutes and then will be glad to see the

salesman. The man reports to the visitor and asks if he cares to wait.

He does. The host offers him a magazine and asks him to make himself

comfortable while he goes back to his desk to attend to the next

visitor.

This one also wants to see the president.

"The president is in conference just now," the young man replies.

"Perhaps there is something I can do for you in the meanwhile if you

will tell me what you want."

"It's none of your business," he answers rudely. "I want the president."

The chances are against a man of this sort. He may be a person the

president wants to see, but the odds are ten to one that he is not.

"I'm sorry but you cannot possibly see him now. He is busy."

"When will he be free?"

"It is hard to tell. These conferences sometimes last an hour or two,

and I am sure he will not see you even then unless you tell him why you

want to see him. He is a very busy man."

The visitor sputters around a few minutes and it develops that he is

selling insurance. The young man knows that the president will not see

him under any circumstances. He is already heavily insured, as every

wise man should be, and he cannot be bothered with agents who are trying

to sell him larger policies.

"I'm sorry," the young man repeats, "but I am sure there is no use in

letting him waste your time. He is already carrying a heavy policy and

he positively refuses to talk insurance with anyone, no matter who it

is."

This should be enough for the salesman. What the young man says is true.

It would be a waste of his time as well as the president's. He does not

care half so much for the salesman's time--there is no reason why he

should--but notice how tactfully he tells him that the head of the

organization has no time to spend with him.

There is a certain rough type of salesman (we use the word salesman here

in the broadest sense, as the salesmen themselves use it, to cover all

the people who are trying to convince some one else that what they have

is worth while whether it is an idea or a washing machine or a packet of

drawings)--there is a certain rough type of salesman who tries to

bluster his way through. He never lasts long as a salesman, though

unfortunately he survives a good many years in various kinds of

business. Even he must not be turned away rudely.

"I'm sorry," the young man says to a person of this sort, "but the

president has given positive orders that he must not be disturbed this

morning. He is engaged in a very important transaction."

The next man who approaches the door has an authentic claim on the

president. It would be as great a calamity to turn him away as it would

be to let some of the others in. He presents his card and says that he

has an appointment. A truly courteous man, whenever possible, arranges

an appointment beforehand. The young man takes the card, waves toward

the reception room, and asks him to be seated while he finds out if the

president is busy. He telephones to the secretary of the president,

tells him who is calling, and asks if the president is ready to see him.

If the answer is affirmative he asks if he will see him in his office or

out in the reception room. It is much easier to get rid of a visitor

from the entrance hall or reception room than from an inside office. If

he says that he will see him in the reception room the girl reports to

the visitor that he will come in a few minutes, offers him a magazine,

and asks him to make himself at home. If the president says that he will

see the visitor in his office the young man sends one of the messenger

boys to usher him through the building.

Now it may be that this man had no appointment with the president, but

that he has used it as a pretext to break through. In this case, the

secretary answers, after consulting his schedule, that the president has

never heard of such a person and has no such appointment. A man of this

sort is not worth a minute's consideration. He has shown himself

dishonest at the outset with a petty contemptible dishonesty, and the

temptation is to pitch him out on his head. But the young man says

quietly:

"His secretary says that the president has no appointment with you. I am

afraid you have come to the wrong place. It must be some other Mr.

Beacon."

There is a note of finality in his voice which convinces the visitor

that there is no use in going further.

The next visitor is a woman who has come to have lunch with a friend of

hers who works in the accounting department.

"It is fifteen minutes before time for lunch," the young man answers. "I

can call her now, of course, but if you would rather not disturb her,

I'll tell her that you will wait for her in the reception room until she

comes for you."

The woman thanks him and agrees that it will be much better not to

disturb her. The young man offers her a chair and a magazine and

invites her to make herself comfortable.

It grows monotonous in the telling for him to ask each of the visitors

exactly the same questions (never exactly the same, of course) in the

same cordial tone of voice and to tell them to make themselves

comfortable in exactly the same way, but the means of attaining success

in such a place lies in the fact that he greets each visitor as if he

were the only one he had to attend to, and that he is, for the time

being, at least, completely at the visitor's service. It is not so much

what the young man says as the way he says it. "Good morning" can be

spoken in such a way that it is an insult.

_The Girl at the Telephone._ It is nerve-racking to stand at the door to

receive callers, but it is much more so to sit at the switchboard and

receive messages. The only point of contact is through the voice, but it

is remarkable how much of one's personality the voice expresses. If you

are tired your voice shows it; if you are cross your voice tells it; if

you are worried, your voice betrays it. It is possible for one

(everyone) to cultivate a pleasing voice. The telephone companies have

learned this, and there is no part of her equipment upon which they

spend more time and effort than on the voice of the telephone girl. It

is interesting to know that their very excellent motto, "The voice with

the smile wins" did not spring into being without thought. On the early

bulletins this clumsy phrase was printed: "A smiling voice facilitates

service."

The girl at the telephone, even though she receives a thousand calls a

day, must answer each one pleasantly and patiently. Some people call

without a very clear idea of what they want, and the fact that business

houses have so many different names for exactly the same job often makes

it difficult for them to locate the person they are asking for, even

when they are fairly sure who it is they want.

"May I speak to your personnel manager?" comes the query over the wire

to a girl who has never heard of a personnel manager.

"I'm sorry, I did not quite hear you."

The person at the other end repeats the word and the girl is sure she

had it right the first time.

"We have no personnel manager here. Maybe there is some one else who

would do. If you will tell me what you want----"

"I want a job."

"Just a minute, please, I'll connect you with our employment manager."

Advertising engineers, executive secretaries, and many others are old

jobs masquerading under new names.

More business men complain of the girl at the telephone than of any

other person in business. She must, under the handicap of distance,

accomplish exactly what the man at the door does, and must do it as

efficiently and as courteously.

No matter how angry the one who is calling becomes, no matter how

profane he may be, no matter what he says, she must not answer back, and

she must not slam the receiver down while he is talking. Perfect poise,

an even temper, patience, and a pleasant voice under control--if she has

these, and a vast number of the telephone girls have, she need not worry

about the rules of courtesy. They will take care of themselves.

The numbers that a girl in a business office has to call frequently she

should have on a pad or card near the switchboard so that she will not

have to look them up. Many business men ask the girl at the board to

give them Blank and Blank or Smith and Smith instead of giving her the

numbers of the two concerns. She then has to look them up, quite a

difficult task when one has the headpiece on and calls coming in and

going out every minute. To stop to look up one number often delays

several, and it is a duty which should never devolve upon the girl

whose business it is to send the calls through. The man who is calling,

or his secretary, if he has one, or a person near the switchboard

stationed there for the purpose should look up the numbers and give them

to the operator.

An efficient girl at the telephone sends numbers through as quickly as

is humanly possible, but even then she is often scolded by nervous and

harassed men who expect more than can really be done.

Mr. Hunter has called Main 6785. It is busy. He waits. Hours pass. At

least it seems so to him, and he grows impatient.

"What's the matter with that number, Miss Fisher?"

"I'm still trying, Mr. Hunter. I'll call you when they answer."

The line continues busy. Mr. Hunter looks over the papers on his desk.

His nervousness increases. He takes down the receiver again and asks

what the trouble is. He does not get the number any more quickly this

way, but it would be hard to convince him that he does not. The girl

says quietly again that she is still trying. He clings to the receiver

and in a few minutes she answers triumphantly, "Here they are," and the

connection is made.

The telephone girl in a big concern (or a little one) is constantly

annoyed with people who have the wrong number. When it happens ten or

twelve times in the course of a day--fortunately it is not usually so

often--it is hard for her to keep a grip on her temper and answer

pleasantly, "This is not the number you want," but the snappish answer

always makes a bad situation worse, and the loss of temper which causes

it drains the energy of the person who makes it. It is not merely the

voice with the smile that wins; it is the disposition and temperament to

which such a voice is the index.

_The Secretary._ The next in the line of defense is the president's

secretary. To him (and we use the masculine pronoun although this

position, like a good many others, is often held by women even in the

biggest organizations, where the responsibility attached to it is by no

means small)--to him the president turns over the details of his day's

work. He arranges the president's schedule and reminds him of the things

he has forgotten and the things he is likely to forget. He receives all

of his visitors by telephone first and many times disposes of their

wants without having to connect them with the president at all. He

receives many of the callers who are admitted by the man at the door

and in the same way often takes care of them without disturbing the

president. He knows more about the petty routine of the job than the

president himself. He is accurate. He is responsible. He is patient. He

is courteous.

In order that he may be all these things it is necessary for the

president to keep him well informed as to what he is doing and where he

is going and what he is planning so that he can give intelligent answers

to the people who come, so that he can keep things running smoothly when

the president is away, so that he can answer without delay when the

president asks whether he has a luncheon engagement on Thursday, and

what he did with the memorandum from the circulation manager, and who is

handling the shipping sheets.

Men who have their minds on larger matters cannot keep all the details

of their jobs in mind, but it is significant to know that most

successful business men know with more than a fair degree of accuracy

what these details amount to. Some secretaries feel very superior to the

men who employ them because they can remember the date on which the

representatives of the Gettem Company called and the employers cannot.

The author knows a chauffeur who drives for a famous New York surgeon

who thinks himself a much better man than the surgeon because he can

remember the numbers of the houses where his patients and his friends

live and the surgeon cannot. The author also knows a messenger boy who

thinks himself a much bigger man than one of the most successful brokers

in Wall Street because the broker sometimes gives him the same message

twice within fifteen minutes, the second time after it has already been

delivered.

The secretary comes to the office every morning neatly clad and on time.

The hour at which his employer comes in has nothing to do with him.

There is a definite time at which he is expected to be at his desk. He

is there.

He opens the letters on his desk--and those addressed to the president

come first to him--and sorts them, throwing aside the worthless

advertising matter, saving that which may be of some interest, marking

the letters that are to be referred to various other members of the

house, and placing them in the memorandum basket, piling into one heap

those that he cannot answer without first consulting the president, and

into another those which must be answered by the president personally.

Intimately personal letters often come mixed in with the rest of the

mail. No man wants a secretary whom he cannot trust even with letters of

this sort, but almost any secretary worth having will feel a certain

amount of delicacy in opening them unless he is requested to do so. When

these letters are from people who write often the secretary grows to

recognize the handwriting from the outside of the envelope, and

therefore does not need to open them. In other cases it is sometimes

possible to distinguish a personal from a business letter. These should

be handled according to the wishes of the man to whom they are directed.

Many business men turn practically everything--even the settlement of

their family affairs--over to their secretaries. It is a personal

matter, and the secretary's part in it is to carry out the wishes of his

employer.

By the time the mail is sorted the president has come in.

He rings for his secretary, telephones for him, sends a messenger for

him, or else goes to his desk himself and asks him to come in and take

dictation. There is no special courtesy or discourtesy in any of these

methods. It depends on how far apart the desks are, how busy he is, and

a number of other things. He does not yell for his secretary to come in.

He manages to get him there quietly. It is not necessary for him to rise

when the secretary enters (even if the secretary is a woman) though he

may do so (and it is a very gracious thing, especially if the secretary

is a woman) but he should greet him (or her) with a pleasant

"Good-morning."

The secretary takes his place in the comfortable chair that has been

provided for him, with notebook and pencil in hand and at least one

pencil in reserve. He waits for the president to begin, and listens

closely so that he may transcribe as rapidly as he speaks. If he fails

to understand he waits until they come to the end of a sentence before

asking his employer to repeat. It is much better to do so then than to

depend on puzzling it out later or coming back and asking him after he

has forgotten what was said.

Telephone interruptions and others may come during the dictation but the

secretary waits until he is dismissed or until the pile of letters has

disappeared.

When the president has finished it is the secretary's time to begin

talking. He consults him about the various letters upon which he needs

his advice and makes notations in shorthand on them. He reports on the

various calls that have come in and the house memoranda. A good

secretary reads and digests these before turning them over to his

employer, and in most cases gives the gist of the memorandum instead of

the memorandum itself. It saves time.

The president's secretary usually has a secretary of his own, a woman,

let us say, or a girl whose preliminary training has been good and whose

record for the year and a half she has been with the company has been

excellent.

She comes to her desk on time every morning as fresh as a daisy and as

inconspicuous. The relation that she bears to the president's secretary

is much the same as the relation that he bears to the president. She

gets the letters that are addressed to him and sorts them in the same

way that he does those of the president. On days when he is absent she

takes care of all of his work, in so far as she is able, as well as her

own.

Her employer is considerate of her always. He does not make a practice

of taking ten or fifteen minutes of her lunch hour or five or ten

minutes overtime at the close of the day, but when there is a good

reason why he should ask her to remain he does so, asking courteously if

she would mind staying. If she is genuinely interested in her work--and

this young lady is--she will stay, but if she has an even better reason

why she should go she explains briefly that it is impossible to stay. He

never imposes heavier burdens upon her than she can bear, but he does

not hesitate to ask her to do whatever needs to be done, and he does it

with a "Please" and a "Thank you," and not with a "See, here" and a

"Say, listen to me, now." She is a very pretty and attractive girl, but

the man she is working for is a gentleman. To him she is his secretary,

and if he were ever in danger of forgetting it she would be quick to

remind him. She does not go around with a chip on her shoulder all the

time, and she talks freely with the various men around the office just

as she does with the women and girls, but it is in an impersonal way.

She never permits intimate attentions from her immediate employer or any

one else.

_Executives._ "Executive" is a large, loose word which rolls smoothly

off the tongue of far too many business men to-day. Office boys begin to

think in terms of it before they are out of knee trousers. "I could hold

down the job," said a youngster who had hurt his hand and whose business

was to carry a bag of mail from a suburban factory into New York, "if I

could get some one to carry the bag." "I can do the work," say smart

young men in the "infant twenties" (and many others--there is no age

limit), "but I must have a man to look after the details."

The way to an executive position is through details. Work, plain hard

work, is the foundation of every enduring job, and the executive who

thinks he can do without it has a sharp reckoning day ahead. In most

places the executives have worked their way up slowly, and at no time

along the way have they had that large contempt for small jobs which

characterizes so many young men in business. They have been perfectly

willing to do whatever came to hand.

But after all this is said, the fact remains that an executive is

successful not so much because of his own ability as because of his

power to recognize ability in other men. He is--and this is true of

every executive from the president down--the servant of his people in

much the same way that the President of the United States is the servant

of the American people. This means that he must be readily accessible to

them, and must listen as courteously to them as if they were important

visitors from across the sea or somewhere else.

Many executives--and this was true especially during the war--have

surrounded themselves with a tangle of red tape which has to be unwound

every time an employee (or any one else) wants to get near enough to ask

a question. This is absurd. Sensible men destroy elaborate plans of

management and find they get along better without them. The Baldwin

Locomotive Works, which has a hundred years of solid reputation behind

it, has no management plans. "There is about the place an atmosphere of

work, and work without frills or feathers," and this is essentially true

of every business that is built to last. Look at the organizations

which, because of war conditions, rose into a prosperity they had never

enjoyed before. Most of them have collapsed, and the little men who rose

with them (so many of them and so much too small for their jobs) have

collapsed with them.

In the big reliable concerns, and the small ones, too, the high

executives are easily approached, especially by the members of the

organization. In many of the open offices--and open offices have done

much to create a feeling of comradeship among workers--the desk of the

general manager is out on the floor with the desks of the rank and file

of the employees with nothing to distinguish it from theirs except the

fact that there is a bigger man behind it. A real man does not need a

lot of elaborate decorations. They annoy him.

There are two sides to this, however. Visitors from the outside are not

the only ones who are likely to waste the time of other people, and a

busy man has to protect himself from indoor nuisances as well as those

that drift in from the outside. Some do it by means of secretaries, but

a good executive needs no barrier at all between himself and his own

men. They learn soon enough--we are speaking now of a good executive,

remember--that there is no use in going to him unless there is some

definite reason why they should, and that the more briefly and directly

they present their problem the more likely they are to have it settled.

When an executive receives a caller (or when any man in a business house

receives a caller) he should _receive_ him and not merely tolerate him.

A young advertising man who began several years ago had two very

interesting experiences with two gruff executives in two different

companies. Both consented to see him, both kept on writing at their

desks after he entered and gave him scant attention throughout the

interview. Apparently they were both successful business men. Certainly

they both held positions that would indicate it. Yet both of them a few

years later came to the young advertising man at different times looking

for jobs. Needless to say neither found a place with him, not because he

held a grudge against them, but simply because he knew what kind of men

they were and that they could not help in the kind of business he was

trying to build.

From the beginning of the interview the host should do all he can to

make his visitor comfortable. You see a lot in certain magazines about

setting the visitor at a disadvantage by giving him an awkward chair,

making him face the light and grilling him with questions. It is pure

nonsense.

It is very gracious for a man to rise to greet a caller and extend his

hand, especially if the caller is young and ill at ease. It is

imperative if it is an old man or a woman. He should ask the visitor to

be seated before he sits down himself.

"Well, young man, what can I do for you?" is hardly a polite way of

opening an interview. The host should wait with a cordially receptive

air until his guest begins, unless he is in a great hurry. Then he

frankly tells the caller so and asks him to make his business brief.

Interruptions come even in the midst of conversations with important

visitors, but no visitor is so important as to permit neglect of one's

employees. These should be met courteously and dispatched quickly. The

host must always ask the pardon of the guest before turning to the

telephone or to a messenger, and if the guest is an employee the rule is

the same.

At the conclusion of the interview the host rises and shakes hands with

the departing visitor but does not necessarily go with him (or her) to

the door or the elevator, as the case may be. This is an additional

courtesy in which a busy man cannot always indulge. The essential part

of every interview is that the visitor shall state what he wants, that

the host shall give the best answer in his power, and then the sooner

the visitor departs the better for all concerned.

_The Rank and File._ This is the largest group in every business. It is

the one that fluctuates most. It is the one from which the discards are

made. It is the one from which officers are chosen. It is the one in

which the real growth of a business takes place. And by the same token

it is the one, generally speaking, where there is most discourtesy.

Promotion depends upon the possession of this quality much more than

people realize. Many a man with actual ability to hold a high position

is not given an opportunity to do so because the men who employ him

realize that he would antagonize those who worked under him.

There are among the body of employees in every concern (even the very

best) discontented members. In most cases, indeed, in nearly all cases

except where there is a chronic grudge against life which is not

affected by external circumstances, these are weeded out, and those

with habitual grudges are weeded out along with the others or else are

kept in minor places. Perhaps it would be more nearly correct to say

they keep themselves there. Sometimes a subordinate feels that he is

unfairly treated by his immediate superior. He wishes to go to the man

above him in authority. Is it right for him to do so?

It is an unwritten law that each worker shall be loyal to the head of

his department. Suppose the head does not deserve it?

There are three courses open to the worker. He can leave the job and

find another in a different organization. He can go to the head of the

department and state the case to him. If this should fail he may appeal

to the man above him, but _he should never go over the head of his own

immediate superior without first telling him that he intends to do it_.

This is an important rule. It holds whether one has a grievance to

present or a suggestion. Constructive plans should first be talked over

with one's immediate superior, and with his approval carried to the next

man, or he may carry them himself. If this superior is the sort of man

with whom you are constantly at loggerheads, you had much better get out

and get a place somewhere else. And if you find that continually you

are in hot water with the men who have authority over you, you may be

very sure that the fault is not altogether theirs.

Subordinates usually have an idea that the heads of their departments

leave all of the work to them. Well, as a matter of fact, they do leave

a large part of it. If they did not they would have no excuse for having

subordinates. The reward of good work is more work. This is less of a

hardship than it sounds. Sir James Barrie once quoted Dr. Johnson's

statement that doubtless the Lord could have made a better fruit than

the strawberry, but that he doubtless never did, and added to it that He

doubtless could have created something that was more fun than hard work,

but that He doubtless never did.

The subway guards in New York City say that the rush which comes just

before five o'clock (the closing time of most of the business houses) is

as great as the one which comes just after. They call the persons in the

former rush the clock watchers. They have left work about fifteen

minutes early, and to-morrow morning--business experience has taught

this--they will come in fifteen minutes late. For the most part these

are the discontented workers who spend "60 per cent of their time in

doing their job, and 40 per cent in doing the boss."

It has always been considered a breach of good manners to pull out one's

watch and look at it in company. It is true in the office as well as in

the drawing room. The clock watchers are impolite. It has also been

considered a breach of good manners to hold a guest against his will

against the conventional hour for his departure. The employers who

habitually keep their employees after closing hours are equally

impolite. It is a question of honor, too. Time is money, and the time

grafters, whether employers or employees, are dishonest.

When one employee goes over to the desk of another it is not necessary

for the second to rise. The first should wait until the one at the desk

looks up before speaking unless he is so absorbed in his work that he

does not glance up after a minute or two. Then he should interrupt with

"I beg your pardon." It makes no difference if one of the employees is a

woman and the other is a man. Work at an office can be seriously impeded

if every time one person goes to the desk of another the other rises. So

many times the whole conversation covers less time than it takes to get

out of one's chair and sit back down again. In some places subordinates

are required to stand when a superior speaks to them, but as a general

thing it is not necessary. In such houses it is correct to play the

game according to the general standard and to act according to the rules

set down by the men who are in charge of affairs.

There is no person so wretched or so poor or so miserable but that he

can find other people who are more wretched, poorer, or more miserable.

At the same time there is no person so superior, so wealthy, or gifted

but that he can find other people who are more superior, more wealthy,

and more gifted. It is a part of good manners to recognize superiority

when one finds it. Youngsters entering business can sit at the feet of

the older men in the same business and learn a great deal. Knowledge did

not enter the world with the present generation any more than it will

depart from it when the present generation dies. It is just as well for

young people to realize this. Age has much to teach them. Experience has

much to teach them, and so have men and women of extraordinary ability.

"I have never met a man," says a teacher of business men, "from whom I

could not learn something." All of us are born with the capacity to

learn. It is those who develop it who amount to something.

Petty quarrels should be disregarded and grudges should be forgotten.

This piece of advice is needed more by women in business than by men.

Men have learned--it has taken them several thousand years--to fight and

shake hands. They have a happy way of forgetting their squabbles--this

is a general truth--after a little while, and two men who were yesterday

abusing one another with hot and angry words are to-day walking together

down the hall smiling and talking as gently as you please.

_The Office Boy._ If the office boy in a big business house where much

of the work is done at a white-hot tension--the office boy in a busy

Wall Street office during the peak of the day's rush, for example--could

write his intimate impressions they would make good reading.

The temper of the great American business man is an uncertain quantity.

Famous for good humor and generosity as a general thing, he is, for all

that, at his worst moments the terror of the office boy's life. Nervous,

worried, tired, and exasperated, he is likely to "take it out" on the

office boy if there is no one else at hand. There is no defense for such

conduct--even the man who is guilty would not, the next day in his

calmer moments, defend it. Meantime, what shall the office boy do?

A hot, tired man with papers fluttering over his desk, his telephone

ringing, and three men waiting in line to talk to him about serious

problems connected with the business, yells, "What do you want?" when

the office boy comes to answer the bell.

"You rang for me," the boy answers.

"I rang half an hour ago," the man snaps.

In reality he rang two minutes before. Shall the office boy remind him

of this?

Not if he values his job!

Of course it is unjust, but one of the first laws of discipline is to

learn to be composed in the face of injustice, and the first law of

courtesy for the office boy (and other employees would do just as well

to follow) is: Don't be too harsh with the boss!

It is said that the grizzly bear, who is a very strict mother, often

spanks her cubs when she herself has done something foolish. Julia Ellen

Rogers tells a story of an explorer who came suddenly upon a bear with

two cubs. He was so frightened that he stood still for a minute or two

before he could decide which way to run. Meantime the bear, fully as

frightened as he, turned and fled, spanking the two cubs at every jump

in spite of the fact that each was already going as fast as its legs

could carry it. "It was so unexpected," continues Miss Rogers, "and so

funny to see those little bears look around reproachfully at their

angry parent every time they felt the weight of her paw, helping them to

hurry, that the man sat down and laughed until he cried."

It was not funny to the cubs.

Cases in which the office boy is maltreated are exceptional, though

cases in which he is misunderstood are not. Most office boys have not

one boss but many. There should always be one person from whom they

receive their general orders and to whom they go with their troubles. (A

youngster should have very few troubles to report. It is usually the

worthless ones who report.)

In most places the several office boys are stationed at a certain point,

a desk or a table, with one of their number more or less in charge. The

rule is that one person be always at the desk.

All right. Six office boys. Five out on errands. One at the desk. The

bell rings. The boy keeps his place. The bell rings again. The boy keeps

his place. The bell rings a third time, long and insistently, but the

youngster, with a steadfastness worthy of the boy who stood on the

burning deck, still keeps his place.

A second later an angry official bounces out and wants to know what on

earth is the matter and declares that he will report the desk to the

manager. Meanwhile one of the missing five has returned, and the

youngster who had held the place so long under fire takes the message

from the man and delivers it.

If the boy should see an opening--and most business men except those

funny little executives puffed up with their own importance are ready

enough to listen--he may explain how it happened, but if he has to enter

a shouting contest it is best to stay silent.

The law of business courtesy--no matter how far away from this a

discussion goes it always swings back--is the Golden Rule. The

subordinate who feels himself neglected by the men in positions above

him might check himself by honestly asking himself how he appears to

those beneath him. It is interesting to know that the one who complains

most is usually the one who is haughtiest when he enters into

conversation with the employees, who, he thinks, are not quite worth his

notice. He feels blighted because the president does not stop to say

"Good-morning" in the hall, but it is beneath his dignity to say

"Good-morning" to the girl who collects his mail or "Good-night" to the

janitor who comes to dust his desk when the day's work is over. The

means of attaining courtesy--and if you have it yourself you will find

it in other people--is by watching your own actions. Teach no one but

yourself. Worry about no one's behavior but your own. That is job enough

for any one.

XI

IN A DEPARTMENT STORE

Let us now see courtesy at work in a big department store.

Mr. Hopkins has taken a morning off to do a little shopping before he

goes away on his summer vacation. He wants to buy two shirts, a trunk, a

toy for his baby, and a present for his wife. He is not sure what he

wants for the wife and baby.

Mr. Hopkins does not like to shop. He remembers his last expedition. A

haberdashery had sent him a cordial letter asking him to open an

account. He did so, but one morning later when he went in to buy a

waistcoat the rude and inefficient service he met disgusted him so that

he has not been back since. He knew exactly what he wanted and asked for

it. "Oh, no," answered the smart young clerk. "You don't want that.

People have not been wearing waistcoats like that for years. This is

what you want," and he exhibited a different style altogether. It

happened that Mr. Hopkins knew better than the clerk what he wanted,

and the fact that people had not been wearing waistcoats like it made no

difference to him. As a matter of fact, the only reason the clerk made

the remark was that he did not have them in stock, and thought perhaps

he could sell by substituting.

There are other haberdasheries where the service is distinctly good, but

Mr. Hopkins decides to go to a department store instead. Haberdasheries,

however excellent, do not carry toys for one's baby nor presents for

one's wife.

Helpem's store has been warmly recommended. He will go there. It is his

first visit.

When he enters the door he is bewildered by an array of women's scarfs

and gloves and perfume bottles, handkerchiefs and parasols, handbags,

petticoats, knick-knacks, and whatnot. He almost loses courage and

begins backing toward the door when he catches sight of a man in uniform

standing near the entrance. He sees that this man is directing the tides

of shoppers that are surging in, and approaches him.

"Where can I find the trunks?"

"Third floor. Elevator in the rear," the man answers briefly (but not

gruffly). People who have to answer thousands of questions must be

brief.

As he passes down the aisle Mr. Hopkins, who is very observant, notices

that all of the girls--most of the clerks are girls--are dressed in a

pleasant gray. This gives an agreeable uniform tone to a large

establishment which would break up into jarring patches of color if each

clerk were allowed to wear whatever color happened to strike her fancy.

Good idea, Mr. Hopkins thinks, very necessary where there are many, many

clerks.

He does not have much trouble getting the trunk. He knows pretty well

what he wants, and the obliging salesman convinces him that the trunk

will probably last forever by assuring him that an elephant could dance

a jig on it and never make a dent. He asks Mr. Hopkins if he wants his

name on it. Mr. Hopkins had not thought of it, but he does. No, upon

second thought, he will have only his initials stenciled on in dull red,

W. H. H. The trunk will be delivered in the afternoon and he goes away

well satisfied.

The shirts are somewhat more difficult. He is attached to a certain kind

of collar and he likes madras shirts with little black stripes or

figures in them. The man shows him white ones and wide striped ones and

colored ones with the right collar, and he almost decides that the place

does not keep madras shirts with little black figures in them, when he

suddenly realizes that he was so intent on getting the collar that he

forgot to say anything about the material or color. He begins again,

tells the clerk exactly what he wants, and in a few minutes the proper

shirts are before him and he is happy. While the clerk is folding them,

he asks about ties. It is a good thing. Mr. Hopkins remembers that he

has forgotten ties. They have great bargains in ties. He drifts over to

the counter and presently has three lovely ones. One is red, and Mr.

Hopkins resolves to be more careful than he was with the last red one.

His wife burned it. He must keep this hidden.

The ties remind him that he needs a bathrobe. An agreeable clerk sells

him a dull figured bathrobe, comfortable and light for summer and

guaranteed to wash, and tells him that a pajama sale is in progress

about four counters away.

When he has bought six pairs of pajamas he begins to think of the baby's

present. Toys are on the top floor. The girl there--a wise department

store always chooses carefully for this place--is very helpful. She asks

about the baby, how old he is, what toys he has, what toys he has asked

for, and so on. Mr. Hopkins tells her, and after showing him several

ingenious mechanical contrivances, she suggests a train with a real

track to run on. Mr. Hopkins is delighted. The girl asks if the

youngster likes to read. He does not, but he likes to be read to. "Why

don't you take him a book?" and in a few minutes he has the "Just-So

Stories" tucked under his arm. As he leaves the girl smiles, "Come back

to see us," she says.

All the clerks have said this. The clerk who sold the shirts said, while

they stood waiting for the change, that he could depend on them. They

would not shrink and the colors would not run. "We are here in the

city," he continued (the store was in New York), "but we have our

regular customers just as if we were in a small town. We don't try to

make just one sale and get by with it. We want you to come back."

The girl at the toy counter tells Mr. Hopkins that there is a woman

downstairs who will help him select something for his wife. He goes back

to the man in uniform to locate her and finds her in a secluded booth on

the first floor. She asks several questions about whether he would like

china or silver, furniture or linen, but Mr. Hopkins wants to give his

wife something personal--something she can use or wear. He has been

married several years but not long enough to know that this is a

dangerous thing to do, but the woman is wise. She suggests a silk

parasol, a kimono, or a dozen handkerchiefs.

Such a service as this is not possible except in very large shops, but

in most places clerks are quick to respond with suggestions for gifts.

There is a pleasure about buying them and selling them that does not go

with ordinary transactions.

When he buys a parasol the clerk suggests that they have a very large

assortment of handbags, but Mr. Hopkins's day's work is done, and the

clerk does not insist. None of the clerks in a good department store is

insistent. They offer suggestions and stand ready to serve, but they do

not try to impose their ideas or their goods upon the customers. Mr.

Hopkins leaves well satisfied with himself and his purchases. He will

come back.

The trunk is delivered in the afternoon, not by the regular wagon, but

by an express company. It is a busy season. Mr. Hopkins is still further

delighted. These people keep their promises. And as he tips the man who

brought it up--he had to climb three flights of stairs--the man gives

him a card. "Here's one of the boss's cards," he says, "in case you want

any hauling done." Without doubt the man has been instructed by the boss

to distribute his cards, but he does it with such a grace that it seems

to be on his own initiative.

It rarely happens that a business man or woman can shop in the leisurely

manner described above. Most of their shopping has to be done during the

half hour after lunch or during a frantic few minutes snatched at the

beginning or the end of the day's work. One morning Mr. Hopkins had to

leave home without a collar because he forgot to send the dirty ones to

the laundry (his wife was away that week) and dashed into a little shop

to get one on the way to the office. He would have felt like murdering a

clerk who wanted to show him something nice in the way of gloves or

mufflers, and he would have had a hard time to restrain himself from

violence if the clerk had started in on a eulogy of a new shipment of

English tweeds.

An intelligent clerk can usually tell when his customer is in a tearing

hurry. It is an unpropitious time to make suggestions. The clerk must

see things from the customer's point of view. It is permissible to

suggest something else in place of the thing he has asked for but it is

not good manners to make fun of it or to insist upon a substitute.

Recently a woman wanted to buy a rug for her automobile. She knew just

what she wanted, but the bright young clerk insisted that she wanted

something else. She finally bought the rug, but it was in spite of the

clerk rather than because of him. Too many salesmen kill their sales by

thinking and talking only of their product. The customer is not half so

interested in that as he is in himself. Good salesmanship relates the

product to the customer, and does it in such a way that the customer is

hardly aware of how it is done.

XII

A WHILE WITH A TRAVELING MAN

_In a Big City._ We will suppose that our traveling man has his

headquarters in some big city--New York, Chicago, San Francisco, it does

not matter--and that he has several calls to make before he goes out on

the road.

There are two kinds of salesmen, those who make only one sale to a

customer and those who sell something that has to be renewed

periodically. The first sell pianos, real estate, encyclopedias, and so

on; the second sell raw materials and supplies. The salesman whom we are

to follow is in the second group.

He has--and so have most men who do this kind of selling--a regular

routine that he follows, adding new names to the list and deleting old

ones as seems expedient. At this particular time he has several old

customers to visit and one or two new prospects to investigate before he

leaves town.

It is unnecessary for him to make arrangements beforehand to gain

access to the old customers. They know him and they are always glad to

see him. But if there is a chance that the customer may be out of town,

or if it is during a busy season, he telephones ahead to make sure. He

prefers indefinite to definite appointments, especially if he has to see

two or three people during the course of a morning or an afternoon; that

is, he would rather have an appointment to come some time between ten

and eleven or between three and four than to have one for exactly half

past ten or a quarter of three. It is impossible to tell how long

interviews will last. Sometimes when the salesman counts on staying an

hour he is through in five minutes and sometimes when he thinks he can

arrange things in fifteen minutes he finds himself strung up for half a

day.

The new prospects--there are three on this particular morning--he

handles in different ways. To one he has a note of introduction from a

mutual friend. To another he has written a letter stating why he wishes

to call and asking when it will be convenient for him to do so. The

third, whom he knows by reputation as a "hard customer" (in the slang

sense of the word) who will have nothing to do with salesmen of any

sort, he decides to approach directly, trusting to his own presence to

get past the girl at the front door and whomsoever else stands between

him and the man he wants to see. He does not write, because he knows

that the man would tear up the letter and he does not telephone, because

he knows that the man would not promise to see him and that if he were

to call after such a telephone conversation his chances for success

would be lessened.

Our salesman is careful with his appearance. He bathes and shaves every

morning and takes special care that his linen is clean and that his

shoes are polished. He does not ornament himself with a lot of jewelry,

and the material of which his suit is made is plain. He presents, if you

should see him on the street, the appearance of a clean, solid, healthy,

progressive American citizen. He is poised but he is not aggressive. He

is persistent but he is not obstinate.

The best public speakers, it is said, never get over a sinking feeling

of fear during the few minutes just before time for them to speak. It

vanishes as soon as they get to their feet or a very few minutes

afterward, and, strange as it may seem, it is this very fear that gives

them their power on the platform. The fact that they have the dreadful

feeling nerves them to strenuous effort, and it is this effort that

makes the orator. In the same way the best salesmen are those who never

get over the fear that perhaps they have not thought out the best way

to handle the situation ahead of them. They forget the fear as they

begin to talk to the prospect, but the fact that it is subconsciously

present makes the difference between the real salesman and the "dub."

Did you ever get to the door of a house you were about to enter and then

turn and walk around the block before you rang the bell? Did you ever

walk around the block six or eight times? So have we. Especially on

those Wednesday and Sunday evenings when we used to go calling. There

are not many salesmen who have not had this experience and who have not,

upon hearing that a prospect they dreaded was out, turned away from the

door with a prayer of deep thanksgiving. All of which is by way of

saying that selling is not an easy job.

The salesman whose career we are following for a short time always has

that little feeling of nervousness before an interview. It is deeper

than ever when he approaches the "hard customer," and it is not lessened

in the least degree when he finds a painted and marceled flapper at the

door who looks at him without a word. (Incidentally, she likes his

looks.)

He takes out his card and asks her to give it to Mr. Green and say that

he is calling.

"He won't see you," the girl says.

"Will you tell him, please, that I am here, all the same? Wait a

minute."

He takes the card and scribbles on it, "I want only five minutes of your

time," and hands it to the girl again.

She carries it away and presently returns saying that Mr. Green is busy

and cannot see him.

"I knew he wouldn't," she adds.

"He must be very busy," the salesman says. "When shall I be most likely

to find him free?"

"He's no busier now than usual," the girl responds. "He's smoking a

cigar and looking out the window."

"Will you tell him, please, that I am coming back to-morrow at the same

time?"

The girl sees that he is very much in earnest. She respects him for his

quiet persistence and because he has not tried to "kid" her. She would

most likely have joined in heartily if he had, but he would never have

got past her.

She goes back into the office and returns with word that the salesman

may come in if he will not take more than five minutes. He thanks the

girl and goes into the office where the "hard customer" is seated. He

does not rise, he does not say "Good morning," and he does not take the

cigar out of his mouth, but this does not disconcert the salesman. He

wastes no time in preliminaries, but after a brief greeting, plunges at

once into his proposition, stating the essential points clearly and in

terms of this man's business. He knows what the customer needs pretty

accurately for he has taken the trouble to find out. He is not

broadcasting. He is using line radio, and everything he says is directed

against a single mark. The prospect is interested. He puts the cigar

aside. The salesman concludes.

"I'm sorry," he says, "but my five minutes are up. Will you let me come

back some day when you are not so busy and tell you more about it?"

"Sit where you are," the other says, and begins firing questions.

Half an hour later the salesman pockets the order he wanted and makes

ready to depart, feeling that he has found another friend. The "hard

customer" is ashamed of his gruff reception and apologizes for it. "I've

been so bothered with agents and drummers and traveling men that I've

promised myself never to see another one as long as I live," he says.

"I can well understand that," the salesman answers. "It is one of the

hardest things we are up against, the fact that there are so many

four-flushers out trying to sell things."

He goes next to see the man with whom he has made an appointment by mail

and finds that he has been called out of town on business. He talks with

his secretary, who expresses a polite regret that they were unable to

locate him in time to tell him that his visit would be of no use. He

asks if there is some one else who can take charge of the matter, but

the girl replies that all such things have to come before Mr. Thompson.

He will not be back until next week, and by that time the salesman will

be out on the road.

"I'll have another representative of our house, Mr. Hamilton, call," he

says. "He will write to find out when it will be convenient for him to

come."

The third man on his list is the one to whom he has the letter of

introduction. This is one of his best prospects. That is why he took

such pains to arm himself with the letter. He has no trouble getting

inside. The man is very busy but he thrusts it completely aside for the

moment. He does not have to say "Be brief." Our salesman has been in the

game long enough to know that he must not be anything else.

"Frankly," he says at the end of the talk, "I am not interested. I have

no doubt that what you say is true. In fact, I have heard of your firm

before and know that its reputation is good. But I buy my material, and

have for years, from Hicks and Hicks."

"It is a good reliable concern," the salesman responds, "and there is no

reason why you should desert them. They depend upon you as much as you

do upon them. But if they happen to be short of something you want in a

hurry, please remember that our product is as good as theirs. You can

depend upon it with as much certainty."

"Thank you, I will," the prospect answers and the interview is over.

Did the salesman act wisely? Would he have gained anything by proving

that his house was superior to Hicks and Hicks? Not if the customer was

worth having. This salesman never forgets that his part of the job is to

build up business for his own firm, and not to tear down business for

other firms. As it stands, he has in this case established a feeling of

good will for the house he represents, and has placed it in such a light

that if the rival concern should be afflicted with a strike or a fire or

any of a hundred or two disasters which might lessen or suspend its

output, the customer will probably turn to the salesman's house. And if

Hicks and Hicks should sell out or go into bankruptcy the salesman will

have won for his own house a steady customer of great value.

_In the Sleeping Car._ The wise traveling man--and our salesman is

wise--always engages sleeping accommodations on the train in advance.

This time he has the lower berth in No. 9.

When he comes in to take his seat he finds that a woman has the upper

berth in the same compartment. He is reading a newspaper and she is

reading a magazine. He says nothing until toward evening, and then he

offers to exchange places with her. She thanks him cordially, explains

that she was late in securing a berth and that this was all she could

get. She is very grateful and the transfer is made.

He goes into the smoking car and meets there several men who are talking

together. He joins them and the conversation runs along pleasantly

enough until one of the number begins to retail dirty stories. Some of

the others try to switch him off to another subject but he is wound up

and nothing short of a sledge hammer will stop him until he has run

down. Our salesman has a healthy loathing for this sort of thing. He has

a good fund of stories himself--most traveling men have--and in the

course of his journeyings he has heard many of the kind that the

foul-minded man in the smoking car is retailing with such delight. He

never retells stories of that nature, and he never, when he can avoid

it, listens to them. He knows that he cannot stop the man, but after a

little while he gets up quietly and leaves. Another man follows him and

the two stand on the rear platform of the train until time to go to bed.

Men who are traveling together often converse without knowing one

another's names, and it is correct that they should. Only a prig refuses

to speak to a man on a train or a boat because he does not know his

name. Opening conversation with a stranger is not always easy, and

should be avoided unless it comes about in a natural way. The stranger

may not want to converse. It is correct for a man who wishes to talk to

another first to introduce himself. "My name is Hammond," he says, and

the man to whom he says it responds by holding out his hand (this is the

more gracious way, but he may omit this part of it, if he likes) and

pronouncing his own name. The same rule holds when the travelers are

women.

Our salesman goes to bed early.

Two men have the compartment across from his. They seem very much

interested in each other, for they continue to talk after they have gone

to bed. In order to make themselves heard they have almost to scream,

and the raucous sound of their voices is much more disturbing than the

sound of the wheels grinding against the rails. It is hard to sleep on a

train even under favorable circumstances. Our salesman has a strenuous

day ahead of him--most of his days are strenuous--and the noise is

keeping him awake.

He could throw on his bathrobe, climb down and remonstrate with the two

men across the way. It would be correct for him to do so, but it would

hardly be expedient. People who are thoughtless enough to be noisy late

at night are often rude enough to be very unpleasant when any one

interferes. The salesman has no real authority over them, but the porter

on duty at night is supposed to see that a certain amount of peace and

quiet is maintained. The salesman rings the bell, and when the porter

appears, asks him if he would mind begging the two men across the aisle

to lower their voices. The porter has had years of experience. He has

developed a soft, pleasant way of asking people to be quiet, and in a

few minutes the car is still except for the inevitable sound of the

train and the snoring of an old lady near the end of the car. This last

cannot be helped. It must be endured, and our salesman composes himself

into a deep slumber.

Dressing and undressing in a sleeping car are among the most difficult

operations to perform gracefully. There are no rules. Most men prefer

staying in their berths to making the attempt in the crowded dressing

rooms. Some divide the process between the two, but no gentleman ever

goes streaking down the aisle half-dressed. He is either fully clothed

or else he is wrapped in a bathrobe or a dressing gown.

When our salesman comes in to breakfast the next morning there is only

one vacant place, a seat opposite a young woman at a table for two. He

crosses over and sits down, first asking if he may do so. In

well-managed dining cars and restaurants, the seating is taken care of

by the head waiter. He never places a person at a table with some one

else without asking permission of the one who is already seated. It is

never permissible for a stranger to go to a table that is already taken

if there is a vacant one available. The young lady bows and smiles. She

has already sent in her order. They talk during the meal quite as if

they had been introduced and had met by appointment instead of by

accident. She does not introduce herself, nor does he introduce himself.

When she has finished she asks the waiter for her bill. She pays it

herself--our salesman has too much delicacy to offer to do so--and tips

the waiter. Then with a nod and a smile she is gone.

This salesman is a chivalrous traveler. Whenever there is an opportunity

to render a service to a woman (or to any one else) he takes pleasure in

doing it. He does not place women under financial obligation to him,

however, and he is careful not to annoy them with attentions. He has

many times found a taxi for a woman traveling alone or with children

when they have had the same destination; he has helped women decipher

time tables; he has carried bundles and suitcases and baskets and boxes

for old ladies who have not yet learned in all their long, long lives

that the way to travel is with as little, instead of with as much,

baggage as possible; and he has helped young mothers establish

themselves comfortably in place with their children. But he has

never--and he has been traveling a good many years now--thrust himself

upon a woman and he has never embarrassed one by his attentions.

He does not "treat" the men whom he meets by accident during his

travels. They often go in to meals together but each one settles his own

bill, and when they come to the end of the journey they are without

obligations toward one another. It is much pleasanter so.

The salesman does not, as a rule, tip the porter until he leaves the

train, and the amount that he gives then is according to what the porter

has done for him. If he has been in the car a good many hours and if he

has had to ask the porter for many things, such as bringing ice water at

night, silencing objectionable travelers, bringing pillows and tables

during the day, not to mention polishing his shoes and brushing his coat

every morning, he is much more generous than if he had been on the car

only a few hours and had not asked for any special service. Unless the

trip is long he never gives more than a dollar. Twenty-five cents is the

minimum.

_By Automobile._ From an economic point of view this problem has come to

be almost as large as the railroad problem, and the part the automobile,

including trucks and taxis, plays in business is growing larger and

larger every year.

Motorists have a code of their own. They--when they do as they

should--drive to the right in the United States, to the left in certain

other countries. They take up no more of the road than is necessary, and

they observe local traffic regulations scrupulously, not only because

they will be fined if they do not but because it is impolite in Rome to

do other than the Romans do. They hold out their hands to indicate that

they are about to turn, they slow down at crossings, and they sound

their horns as a warning signal but never for any other reason.

It is often necessary for a man who is trying to sell a piece of

property to take out to look at it the man who thinks he will buy it.

Needless to say, it is the former who pays for the trip. Other business

trips are arranged by groups, the benefit or pleasure which is to result

to be shared among them. Under such conditions it is wise (and polite)

for them to divide expenses. These matters should be arranged ahead of

time. If one is to furnish the machine, and one the gasoline, and

another is to pay for the lunch, it should be understood at the outset.

_In a Small Town._ The salesman is now completely out of the

metropolitan district. He is in a small town like hundreds of others

over the United States. The hotel is very good in itself, but compared

with the one in the city, which he has just left, it is inconvenient. He

has better judgment than to remind the people of this. Instead, when he

is talking to them--and he likes to talk with the people in the towns he

is serving--he talks about what they have rather than what they have not

and about what they can do in the future rather than what they have

failed to do in the past. It is in this way that he discovers how he

can best be useful to them.

He likes to work at the quick pace set by the big cities but he knows it

will not do here. He goes around to see Mr. Carter. Mr. Carter is glad

to see him, but he has had a bad year. The crops have not been good, the

banks have not been generous, his wife has been sick, and one of his

children has broken a leg. The salesman listens sympathetically to this

tale of woe, leads the conversation away from the bad year behind to the

good year ahead, and in a little while they are eagerly discussing plans

for business in the next month or so. The salesman shows how he can

help, and convinces Mr. Carter that the best time to begin is right now

and gets an order for supplies from him. It has taken the better part of

the morning, and Mr. Carter asks him to go home with him to lunch. The

salesman would prefer going back to the hotel, but he knows that it will

give Mr. Carter great pleasure to have him--his invitation is

unmistakably hearty--so he accepts.

Before he came the salesman had discovered, through consulting the

directories and by talking with friends of his who knew the town, who

were worth going to see and who were not. Mr. Carter he had learned was

immensely worth while and that is why he was willing to spend so much

time with him. No salesman can afford to stop and talk with everybody

who can give him the inside story of why business is no good. This

salesman always finds out as much as possible about a man before he goes

to see him. He never leaps blindly ahead when there is any way to get a

gleam of light first.

Once in South Carolina he was anxious to get a large order from a

wealthy old man who, he felt sure, would be a regular customer if he

could once be persuaded to buy. The old man paid no attention to what he

was saying until he mentioned the picture of a hunting dog that hung

above the desk. The old man's eyes kindled. This was his hobby and he

forgot all about business while he talked about hunting, and ended by

asking the salesman to go home with him and spend the night. The

salesman accepted gladly, and the next morning they went rabbit hunting

instead of going back to the office. The salesman was out of practice in

handling a gun but it was great fun, and the upshot of it all was that

he "landed" the order he wanted.

This method is pleasant but wasteful. The salesman never uses it except

as a last resource.

Much of the success of this salesman (and of the others who are

successful) lies in the fact that he can put himself so completely into

the place of the man he is trying to sell. He talks in terms of that

man's work, and he tries to sell only where he believes the sale will

result in mutual satisfaction. He never says anything about serving

humanity, but his life is shaped around this idea, which is, when all is

said and done, the biggest idea that any of us can lay ourselves out to

follow.

He is working for a firm that he knows is honest--no self-respecting man

will work for any other kind--and he wants its financial rating to stand

solid. He does not sell to every man who wants to buy. He investigates

his credit first, and if there is to be a delay while the investigation

is under way he frankly tells the man so, and assures him that it is for

his protection as well as for that of the house that is selling the

goods. "It is a form we go through with every new customer," he says.

"If we did not we'd find ourselves swamped with men who would not pay.

And that would work hardship on those who do." Every business man knows

that this is the only way in which reliable business can be carried on.

And it is reliable business that we are interested in.

XIII

TABLES FOR TWO OR MORE

A young banker from Smithville is in New York. It is his first trip.

You would like him if you could see him. Tall, sun-burned, clean-cut,

well-dressed, thoroughly alive and interested in everything. He is a bit

confused by the city but he is determined to learn everything that it

has to teach him. He does not hesitate to ask questions but he likes to

find out without, whenever possible.

He goes into the dining room of the great hotel where he is staying, and

for the first time in his life is confronted with an array of silver on

both sides of his plate. At home he always has a knife, fork, and spoon

laid together at the right of his plate, by which you can see that he

has not lived among people who place much emphasis on having food

daintily or correctly served. He is not exactly prepared for this. When

he left Smithville he was thinking more of his business connections than

of what he was going to eat, and how. He is embarrassed because, like

every sanely balanced person, he likes to do things as they should be

done, and not just blunder through them. There is no one he can ask

except the waiter, and the waiter seems such a superior person that he

is afraid to ask him (though it would have been perfectly correct for

him to do so). He gets through the meal the best way he can and finds

that when the ice cream is brought the only thing he has left to eat it

with is a slender fork with a long handle and three very tiny prongs. He

knows that he has tripped up somewhere along the line, but he asks the

waiter to bring him a spoon (he should have asked for a fork) and goes

ahead.

The next day he is invited out to dinner with a man who has all of his

life been accustomed to first-class hotels and restaurants and the

dining tables of wealthy and cultured people. He is somewhat older than

our young banker and he has had a great deal of experience in

entertaining men who have come into the city from small towns. He is

thoughtful, sympathetic, an excellent host. He leads the way into the

dining room (though they stand together in such a way that it seems that

neither is leading) and chooses a table. This nearly always means

accepting the one the head waiter indicates, though it is quite correct

for the host to suggest the table he would like to have.

"Does this suit you?" he asks the young banker before they sit down.

It suits him exactly. He says as much.

"Now, what will you have to eat?"

The waiter has given him a menu card, containing, so it seems to the

young man, a million things that he might have. A dinner served in

courses was something beyond his knowledge until the night before, and

the dinner then was _table d'hote_ instead of _a la carte_. He flounders

through the card and is about ready to thrust it aside and say, "Just

bring me some ham and eggs" when his host sees his predicament.

"Blue Points are usually good at this time of the year," he says. "Shall

we try them?"

The young man has not the remotest idea what Blue Points are but he

thinks it will be very delightful to try them.

"What kind of soup do you like?" the host continues when the waiter has

departed. "I see they have vegetable soup and consomme."

The young man clutches at the familiar straw. He will have vegetable

soup.

Throughout the meal the host makes comments and suggestions and guides

his guest through to the end, and does it so graciously that the young

man from Smithville is not aware that he is doing it, and feels that it

is all due to his own quick observation that he is getting along so

well. No business man is a perfect host until he can accomplish this.

Our young man knows already that one should sit up at a table and not

lean forward or lounge back, that he should not take large mouthfuls and

that he should not snap at his food, that he should eat without noise

and with great cleanliness. He knows that his napkin should be unfolded

(it should be unfolded once and not spread out) and laid across his lap,

not tucked into his collar or the top of his vest. He knows that he

should not eat with his knife.

He has never seen a finger bowl before but he has heard of them, so that

when one is placed before him he knows that he should dip the ends of

his fingers into it and dry them on his napkin. He has also heard that

toothpicks are never used by gentlemen, at least in public, and he is

not surprised when he does not see them.

He has read somewhere that when a knife or a fork is dropped to the

floor he should not pick it up himself but should allow the waiter to do

so, and that the waiter should be allowed to clear away the damage when

something is upset on the table. He knows that long apologies are out

of order anywhere, and he is not likely to say anything more than

"Excuse me" or "I beg your pardon" if he should by a clumsy movement

break a glass or overturn a plate of soup.

But he does not know about the various knives and forks or about how

courses are arranged, and he does not know about tips.

It is correct for him to explain to his host, just as Pip did when he

was dining for the first time with Herbert Pocket, that he is unused to

such things and beg him to give him a few hints as they go along. But it

is less embarrassing to consult a book of etiquette about fundamentals

and to pick up the other knowledge by close observation.

He discovers--our young friend uses both methods--that knives are laid

at the right of the plate in the order in which they are to be used,

beginning at the outside, and that the spoons are laid just beyond the

knives in the same order. The butter knife (which rarely appears at

dinner time) is usually laid across the little bread plate at the left

of the dinner plate. Forks are placed at the left of the plate in the

order in which they are to be used, except the oyster fork, which is

laid across the knives or else is brought in with the oysters. The steel

knife is for cutting meats. The flat fork with the short prongs is for

salads. Salads are always eaten with a fork. It is sometimes not very

easy to do, but it is the only correct way.

This is the general standard, but there are deviations from it. Nothing

but experience in dining--and a great deal of it--will teach one to know

always what fork or what knife or what spoon to use when the table

service is highly elaborate. The best policy for a stranger under such

conditions is that of watchful and unobtrusive waiting.

The dinners that business men choose for themselves are rarely divided

into numerous courses. Often they have only two: meat and vegetables,

and dessert. The regular order for a six-course dinner is: first, an

appetizer such as oyster cocktail, grapefruit, strawberries, or

something of the sort, followed by soup, fish, meat and vegetables,

salad, dessert, cheese and crackers. One or more of the courses is often

omitted.

The rule for tipping is universally the same: Ten per cent of the bill.

* * * * *

Suppose the cases had been reversed and the man from the city had been

in Smithville to take dinner with the young banker.

He is not accustomed to seeing all of the food put on the table at one

time, nor to having to use the same fork throughout the meal. But he is

a gentleman. He adapts himself to their standard so readily that not one

of the people at the table could tell but that he had always lived that

way.

The young banker is a gentleman, too. When his friends from the city

come to visit him he gives them the best he has and does not apologize

for it. He does not begin by saying, "I know you are used to having

better things than this but I suppose you can stand it for one meal." He

simply ushers his guest into the dining room as cordially and with as

little affectation as if he were the paying teller of the Smithville

bank. No one need ever apologize when he has done or given his best.

It is interesting to know that the standard of our young banker is

growing higher and higher all the time. He likes to know how the people

who have had time to make an art of dining do it and to adapt his ways

to theirs whenever he can.

* * * * *

It is a grave mistake for a business man to feel that he must entertain

another to the standard to which the second is accustomed. A poor man

who finds himself under the necessity of entertaining a rich one should

not feel that he must do it on a grand scale if he has been so

entertained by a rich one. Aside from the moral question involved the

great game of bluff is too silly and vulgar a one for grown men to play.

But business men play it and their wives join in. Suppose Mrs. Davis,

whose husband is an assistant of Mr. Burke, wishes to invite Mrs. Burke

to her home to dinner. She and Mr. Davis have been formally entertained

in the other home, and the dinner they had there was superintended by a

butler and carefully manipulated by two maids. Now Mrs. Davis has no

maid, her china is very simple, and the food that she and her husband

have, even when they entertain their friends, is plain and wholesome.

Should she, for the great occasion, hire more beautiful china and engage

servants? Should she draw on the savings bank for more delicate viands?

To begin with, Mr. Burke knows exactly what salary Mr. Davis gets. He

knows whether it will warrant such expenditure. Will it make him feel

like placing more responsibility on his assistant's shoulders to see him

living beyond his means? Is it not, after all, much better for people to

meet face to face instead of hiding themselves behind masks? The masks

are not pretty, and in most cases deceive only the persons who wear

them.

Men who are friends in business often like their wives to be friends as

well. It is many times possible to bring about a meeting at the home of

a common friend, but when this is not convenient, one of the women may

invite the other. If the invitation is to dinner, it is not correct for

Mr. Gardner to invite Mrs. Shandon even if he knows her and his wife

does not. The invitation should go from Mrs. Gardner and should be

addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Shandon. If the invitation is for tea, Mrs.

Gardner simply invites Mrs. Shandon, and the nature of the invitation

depends upon whether the affair is formal or informal.

As to which of two women should proffer the first invitation there might

be some discussion. Usually it is the wife of the man whose position is

superior, if they both work for the same concern. It frequently happens

that a man whose position in business is high is married to a woman

whose social standing is not of corresponding importance. Perhaps such a

man has a subordinate whose wife is a social leader. In this case which

of the women should extend the first invitation?

Most women of eminent social rank realize and appreciate the fact

thoroughly. The social leader knows that the other woman might be

embarrassed and hesitant about inviting her to her home. If she does

apprehend this it is only gracious for her to extend the first

invitation herself.

In small towns the rule is for the old residents to call upon the new,

and the wife of a business man who has recently established himself in a

community must wait until the women who live there have called upon her

before she begins to entertain them.

In large cities where it is impossible to know everyone this rule is

practically disregarded, and business men invite one another and ask

their wives to do the same according to the way convenience and chance

make most natural. Women whose husbands are longest in the employ of a

firm, or whose husbands hold high positions, as a rule call first on the

wives of newcomers or subordinates.

It all comes to the same thing whether it is in a city or a small town

or the country. Those who are already established in the neighborhood or

the business extend the right hand of welcome and good fellowship to

those who are not.

In order to bring their employees together socially most big houses now

give various entertainments such as picnics, parties, dances, and

banquets. They are in no way different from other entertainments of the

same kind so far as the etiquette of behavior is concerned. Formal

dances and banquets in the evening require evening dress just the same,

except with that very enormous group (to which most of us belong) who do

not own evening dress. This does not mean that evening parties must be

foregone by this group or that they should hire gala attire for the

occasion, but simply that the men wear their business suits and the

girls their "Sunday" dresses. It is just as correct, it is just as much

fun, and it is infinitely wiser than giving a dollar down and a dollar a

week for a _decollete_ gown or a swallow-tail outfit.

XIV

LADIES FIRST?

Most girls who are in business are there to earn a living.

It is true that an increasing number of wealthy girls who are under no

necessity to work but who want a definite place in the economic life of

the world are entering business every year, but the great army of

workers is made up of those who enter business because they are driven

into it (driven, many of them, while they are yet very young), because

it is the only way in which they can have their own money, or because it

is the only way in which they can raise their standard of living.

The majority of business girls come from the homes of parents in

moderate circumstances. They have had advantages--a high-school or a

college diploma, a certificate from a business school, travel,

specialized training--and all these they have added to their business

capital. In many instances the opportunities they have had have not been

brilliant, but every opportunity, however small, carries with it the

responsibility to make the best of it. Upon these girls, since they

outnumber the others and because they have had advantages (a high-school

education is an enormous advantage if you are looking at it from the

point of view of a person who wanted one but was not able to get it),

rests the responsibility of setting the pace for others. And the

standard of behavior for the business girl, whether she be rich or poor

or in between, is the same.

The wealthy girls who enter business deliberately are usually followed

by the same sensible impulse that started them on their careers, and, as

a rule, they conduct themselves with dignity and modesty. The wealthy

girls who, through a turn of fortune have been forced into work and have

gone unwillingly, are another matter. "The rudest girls we have," is the

testimony of most people who have to deal with them. Conventional social

charm and poise they may have but they are without that finer sense of

courtesy which makes them accept whatever fate gives them and make the

best of it. The fading splendor of the days of plenty envelops them like

a cloud--remember that we are speaking of the unwilling ones--they lose

themselves in self-pity, and the great fun that comes from good work

they miss entirely.

Many of the poor girls in business have never known anything but

poverty, and their lives have been cast among people who have never

known anything else. They have had no home training in the art of

behavior (for the people at home did not know how to give it to them).

No one has ever told them how to dress or act but there have never been

lacking those to condemn them when they dressed foolishly or acted

indiscreetly. "The silly little things," they say (and oh, how superior

they are when they say it). Employers agree, for, after all, it is true,

and the silly little things hold their jobs until they are married,

until they are fired, or (and this happens frequently) until they wake

up, and then they are promoted to something better. We cannot expect

girls like these, who have grown up without contact with the gentler

side of life, to begin with a high standard of behavior, but we can (and

do) expect them, once they have been brought into touch with better

things, to raise their standard. It is no disgrace for a girl to begin

in ignorance and squalor; the disgrace lies in staying there.

First of all, the dress of the business girl. Most of the ill-breeding

in the world is due to ignorance. Ignorance of the laws of beauty and

taste causes one to make a display of finery, and over-dressing is a

mark of vulgarity whether one can afford it or not.

The girl does not live--we believe this is right--who does not love

pretty clothes. But the average girl does not have money to spend

lavishly for them. Her salary, as a rule, is not princely, and there are

often financial as well as moral obligations to the people at home. She

cannot have Sunday clothes and everyday clothes. She must combine the

two with the emphasis on the latter.

A few years ago it was almost impossible to accomplish this, but

manufacturers have recognized her needs and are now making clothes

especially for her--plain dresses in bright colors and dark dresses with

a happy bit of trimming here and there, neat enough to pass the

censorship of the strictest employer, pretty enough to please the most

exacting young girl.

A woman is no longer thought eccentric if she wears low heels. The

modern flapper is too sensible for such nonsense as French heels for

standing all day behind the counter. Manufacturers have discovered this

also, and are making shoes with low heels and broad toes quite as

pleasing as the French monstrosities and infinitely more comfortable.

A business girl--or any girl, for that matter--should take pains with

her hands and her hair. Coiffures that might be appropriate in a ball

room are out of place in an office, and heavily jeweled hands, whether

the jewels are real or imitation, are grotesquely unsuited to office

work. (So are dirty ones.)

Hair that is glossy and tidy, hands that are clean and capable, dress

that is trim and inconspicuous--add to these intelligence, willingness,

good health, and good manners and there is not much left to be desired.

Certain positions expose girls to the temptation of dress more than

others. She, for instance, who all day handles lovely garments or she

who all day poses before long mirrors in exquisite gowns that other

women are to wear--can one expect these girls to go merrily home at

night to a hall bedroom with a one-burner gas jet and a mournful array

of old furniture? They have a problem that the girl in a glue factory or

a fish cannery does not have to meet--at least not in so concrete a

form. At the same time they have an opportunity that these other girls

do not have, and it rests with them whether the opportunity or the

temptation gets the upper hand.

Positions in which girls are thrown into close contact with men expose

them to temptation of another sort. It is in its most acute form when

it brings a poor girl into more or less intimate association with a rich

man. Once, a very long time ago, a king married a beggar maid and they

lived happily ever after. People have not stopped writing and talking

about it yet, although it is many centuries since it happened. It is

true that once in a very great while a girl marries her father's

chauffeur or her brother's valet and finds later that she has acted

wisely; but these are rare exceptions to the general rule, for the

result usually is unhappiness. Such marriages are always the occasion

for big headlines in the paper, usually a double set of them, for, in

most instances, the divorce follows within a year or so.

It is a dangerous thing for a girl to receive attentions

indiscriminately from men, especially those who drift across her horizon

from the great world outside. It is dangerous (is it necessary to add

that it is incorrect?) for a manicurist to accept presents from the

millionaire whose hands she looks after. It is unwise for any girl to

accept expensive gifts from a man who is not her fiance.

There are exceptions to this rule, as indeed to every other. At

Christmas or at the time a ceremony or an anniversary employers

sometimes give their secretaries or another trusted employee a

beautiful gift, and it is within the bounds of propriety for the

employee to accept it. Often when he has been away from the office for

several weeks a man presents his secretary a gift to express his

gratitude for the capable way in which she has managed affairs in his

absence, and this gift the secretary is privileged to accept. Gifts are

seldom presented except where the association has been a long and highly

satisfactory one.

But the girl who goes to the theatre with a man about whom she knows

nothing except that he has the price of the tickets is running a serious

risk. She is violating one of the most rigid principles of etiquette and

she is skating perilously out beyond the line marked off by common

sense. Nearly every man can, and does, if he is the right sort, present

credentials before asking a girl if he may call or if he may escort her

to a place of amusement. There are instances in romantic stories and in

real life where a man and a maid have met without the help of a third

party and have entered upon a charming friendship. They are rare, rarer

in fact than in fiction. It is banal to say that a girl can usually

tell. But she can, and if she has any doubt (and this is true of all her

relations with men) she should have no doubt. She should stop where she

is.

Where men and girls work together in the same building or in buildings

near one another they often go to the same restaurant for lunch. It is

natural that they should sometimes sit together at the same tables. It

is correct for a man to sit at a table where there are already only

girls (if the girls are willing), but it is not correct for a girl to

sit at a table where there are already only men (however willing the men

may be). In these mixed groups each person pays for his or her own

lunch. It is not even necessary for the man, or the men, as the case may

be, to offer to do so, and it is a distinct breach of the rules of

etiquette for a girl to allow a man to pay for her lunch under such

circumstances.

The only time when it is correct for a man and a girl who are associated

together in business to have lunch, with him the host and her the guest,

is when the engagement is made ahead of time as for any other social

affair. On such an occasion he should be as attentive as he would in any

other circumstances, taking care of her wraps and placing her chair if

the waiter is not at hand to do it, suggesting dishes he thinks perhaps

she will like, and making himself as generally useful and agreeable as

it is possible for him to be. A point about which considerable breath is

wasted is whether a man should enter a restaurant with the girl

following or whether he should allow her to lead the way. It makes no

material difference one way or the other, but usually he permits her to

go ahead and follows closely enough behind to open the doors for her and

to receive whatever instructions the head waiter has to offer.

If a man should enter a restaurant and find a girl whom he knows already

seated he may join her if he thinks he will be not unwelcome, but this

does not make it incumbent upon him to pay for her lunch. He may offer

to do it, but it is a matter that rests with the girl. If she does not

care to develop his acquaintance she should not permit it, but if the

two are good friends or if she feels that he is a man she would like to

know, she may give him her check to settle along with his own. A girl is

herself the best judge of what to do under such conditions, and if

common sense does not show her the way out etiquette will not help.

Women in business sometimes bring up perplexing questions and create

awkward situations. Suppose a man has asked a girl several times to a

business-social lunch and she has accepted every time. It seems that

she should, as a man would in the same position, make some return. If

she works for a house where there is a dining room in which checks do

not have to be settled at the end of every meal she may do so without

the slightest difficulty, but if she is compelled to take him to a place

where the check must be given to the waiter or paid at the desk before

they leave, she must look out for a different way of managing things.

Business luncheons are usually paid for by the firm in whose interests

they are brought about, and if the girl works for an organization where

there are several men employed she may ask one of them to take her

friend out to lunch. Then, even if she is not present, her social duty

is done. The easiest way out of such a predicament, it is superfluous to

say, is never to get into it.

A girl who enters business presumably accepts the same conditions that

men have to meet. She has no right to expect special favors because she

is a woman. She does get a certain amount of consideration, as indeed

she should, but she is very foolish and childish if she feels resentful

when a busy man fails to hold open a door for her to pass through, when

he rushes into his office ahead of her, or when he cuts short an

interview when she has said only half of what she had on her mind.

Much is said about the man who keeps his seat on a train while a woman

stands. His defense rests upon two arguments, first, that his need is

greater than hers (which is not true) and, second, that she does not

appreciate it even when he does give it to her (which is not true

either). Unfortunately, there are as many rude women in the world--and

this statement is not made carelessly--as there are rude men, and in

almost half the cases where a man rises to give a woman his place the

woman sits down without even a glance toward her benefactor, as if the

act, which is no small sacrifice on the part of a tired man, were not

worth noticing. Every act of civility or thoughtfulness should be

rewarded with at least a "Thank you" and a good hearty one at that.

Old people, cripples, and invalids rarely fail to secure seats, however

crowded a car may be. A man seldom offers his place to another man

unless it is evident that the other, because of age, infirmity, or

extreme fatigue is greatly in need of it. Well-bred girls resign their

seats to old men, but if they refuse to accept, the girls do not insist.

At a reunion of Confederate veterans several years ago a girl rose from

her place on a street car to allow a feeble old man to sit down. He

gripped the strap fiercely.

"I ain't dead yet," he responded sturdily.

One of the chief petty complaints brought against women is that they do

not keep their places in line. Some of them appear to have neither

conscience nor compunction about dashing up to a ticket window ahead of

twenty or thirty people who are waiting for their turn. Men would do the

same thing (so men themselves say) but they know very well that the

other men in the line would make them regret it in short order. Two or

three minutes is all one can save by such methods and it is not worth

it. Even if it were more it would still not be worth it.

When a woman breaks into a line it is quite permissible for the person

behind her (whoever he or she may be) to say, "I beg your pardon, I was

here first." This should be enough. Sometimes there is an almost

desperate reason why one should get to a window. Many times everybody in

the line has the same desperate reason for being in a hurry, but now and

then in individual cases it is allowable for a woman (or a man) to ask

for another person's place. _But only if there is a most urgent reason

for it._ Much of courtesy is made up of petty sacrifices, and most of

the great sacrifices are only a larger form of courtesy. It all comes

back to Sir Philip Sidney's principle of "Thy need is greater than

mine," but it is only extraordinary circumstances which warrant one's

saying, "My need is greater than thine."

Since the beginning of time, and before (if there was any before) women

have done their share of the work of the world. Formerly their part of

it centered in the home but now that machinery has taken it out of the

home they have come out of the home too, to stand in the fields and

factories of industry by the side of their fathers and husbands and

brothers. Because they have recently been thrown into closer association

in their hours of work than ever before there has sprung up a certain

amount of strife between men and women, and a great deal is said about

how superior men are to women and how superior women are to men. It is

pure nonsense. If all the men in the world were put on one side of a

scale and all the women on the other, the scale would probably stand

perfectly still.

The woman in business should never forget that she is a woman but she

must remember that above all things she is a citizen, and that she

herself has value and her work has value only as they contribute to her

community and her community as it contributes to her country. Courtesy

is one of her strongest allies, this quality which, alone, can do

nothing, but, united to the solid virtues that make character, can move

mountains.

We have said a good deal as we came along about courtesy toward oneself

and other people, but perhaps the most valuable of all courtesies in

business is politeness toward one's job. It is desirable for every woman

to be pretty, well-dressed, and well-groomed, but it is much more

desirable for the woman in business to be able to do capable and

efficient work. She may be ornamental but she must be useful, and while

she is at the office her chief concern should be with her job and not

with herself. The end of business is accomplishment, and courtesy is

valuable because it is a means of making accomplishment easy and

pleasant. It is this that gives us the grace to accept whatever comes,

if not gladly, at least bravely.

It is a poor workman who quarrels with his tools (or with his job), so

the proverb says, and there are two lines of Mr. Kipling's that might be

added. He was speaking of a king, but in a democracy we are all kings:

The wisest thing, we suppose, that a king can do for his land

Is the work that lies under his nose, with the tools that lie under

his hand.

And the lines are just as true when "girl" is substituted for "king" and

the pronouns are changed accordingly.

THE END

End of Project Gutenberg's The Book of Business Etiquette, by Nella Henney