I didn't fancy going to a town with a competitor. I have now been on the
road a good many years, and I do not fancy it to-day. If I can get in
there one train ahead of him I will strain every nerve to do it, but
rather than go in on the same train I would hang back and let him have
the first “go” at the town and take my chances for what he leaves.
When two men selling the same goods are in a town together the dealers
usually take advantage of it. They tell the first man that they may want
this or that, “if they can buy it right,” and, after getting his
price, say he can come in later. He knows very well that this means
his competitor is to be consulted also, and he must have a very stiff
backbone indeed if he does not cut his own prices at once.
So when my neighbor on the train told me he also was going to Rossmore
and was selling guns and revolvers, I felt my courage ooze out of my
fingers. He handed me a card, with a good-natured smile, and I read:
SHIVERHIM & GAILY,
Philadelphia.
I don't like to hand out a card as an introduction of myself to other
traveling men, so I told him my name and that of my house, and we
considered ourselves acquainted.
“Is this your first trip?”
Now, why in thunder should he have asked that? Did I look different from
other traveling men? I felt as if he showed very bad taste in asking
such a question and I made a note to never do it unless I wanted to be
mean. But I told Blissam (that was his name) that it was my first trip.
“Then you'll find Rossmore a tough place to tackle.”
I said we had three customers there.
“So have we; so has every dealer that ever went there. They buy a
handful of goods of everybody, and they buy most goll-darned cheap.
They'll lie to you until your head swims. First, there's Fisher; keeps
an eating room on the main floor and gun store upstairs. I'll go in and
quote him Remington guns at $36, when you call he'll ask your price; if
you say $36, he'll tell you that you're high, and he'll break you down
in spite of yourself.”
“But when a fellow gets to the bottom he's got to stop,” said I.
“Oh, there's no bottom to guns. It's the meanest business in the world,
and it used to be the best. In '70-'73 I could make big profits as easy
as a duck swims, but now it's all glory. I sold Simmons a bill of $600
last week, and made exactly eighteen dollars.
“Oh, well,” said I, “you can't expect to make much on Simmons, but there
are lots of places where you do make a good profit now.”
“No, sir; it can't be done. Say, are you going to cut prices much at
Rossmore?”
“Not at all, if I can help it. I'm out on the road to make money, and
not to show big sales. But I'm afraid your house will overshadow mine.”
“Oh, that's all nonsense; people don't go a cent on houses any more;
prices are what tell. I'll introduce you.”
Not much. No competitor of mine ever introduced me or ever shall. I
prefer to introduce myself in my own time and way.
We reached Rossmore about 7 o'clock in the evening. Blissam took it for
granted that I was going to the Everett House, but my hotels had been
fixed for me by our old traveling man, and he had instructed me to go
to the Forest; a cheaper house, but in all other respects equal to the
other. I was rather glad, too, that we were not going to the same house.
Be ever so sociable with a competitor, still the fact remains that he
is a competitor, and his success means your failure. Under such
circumstances a man must be less interested in his business than I was
to permit him to feel very desirous of his competitor's company.
After registering at the hotel it occurred to me that it would be a good
idea to catch any of the dealers that I could that evening and break
the ice. It might be worth something to make a good impression before
Blissam got around. After getting my bearings well established, I
started to call on Billwock.
Billwock was pretty generally known in the gun trade; first for being
mighty slow pay, and second for the fact that they had a baby at his
shop regularly every year or oftener, and the store was used as nursery
and play-ground. Traveling men had to see the last baby and count all
the old ones, and according as they praised them did old Billwock buy
liberally or not.
The head of the house had said to me, “Don't push goods on Billwock; he
owes us enough already. If you squeeze a good payment out of him you can
sell him a small bill.”
This kind of talk is all good enough, so far as it goes; but the poor
devil on the road often finds he can't get a cent, neither can he sell
any goods. The men at home think all he need do is to say, “Here I am;
what is it you want?” and then copy the order as fast as he can write.
But the men who order that way are the kind who never intend to pay for
what they order.
I thought the matter of Billwock's account all over by the time I found
his store. It was dimly lighted, but I saw a man and woman at the rear,
and went in. A mussy and dirty looking man came forward to meet me,
but when he had walked a little way he evidently concluded that I was a
drummer, and that I might walk the rest of the way to him.
“Is this Mr. Billwock?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I told him who I was, but he seemed little interested. I started to ask
about his business, but some one sang out my name and said, “Don't go
talking business out there; come back and see the baby.”
Blissam, by thunder!
I went back and found him beside Mrs. Billwock, with a young one on his
knee, and as much at home as if he was the uncle of all concerned. I
made up my mind that Blissam couldn't be any more sociable than I could,
and I set out to do my prettiest.
About 9 o'clock we both went out together, and, perhaps naturally,
drifted to the smoking room of his hotel. He was an old hand on the
road, and full of stories of his own and others' experience. I tried to
be a good listener.
“There are some mighty queer men in the trade,” said he, as he puffed
his cigar. “I took an order from a man in Indiana, not long ago, for
felt wads, Nos. 8 and 9, and for some cardboard. When I went to copy
my orders I remembered that the man had given no size for the cardboard
wanted, but I was pretty sure he wanted 12's, and wrote that size. As
it happened the house was out of No. 9 felt and let it go, as he only
wanted one-third of a dozen. What did the fellow do but send back the
card-board wads, saying he had ordered 9's, and giving us Hail Columbia
for sending 12's instead, as well as a long epistle about knowing his
own business, and not wanting our help in running it. The card-board
wads were worth about 33 cents, and the express charges on them back
were 25 cents. I tell you the world is full of smart Alecks.”
“I presume I have seen more about returned goods than you have,” I said,
“as I have been in the store so long, and see every package that comes
in. I do get my back up over some of the stupid things the average
retailer will do. It never seems to enter his head to drop the house
a card and await their instructions about the goods that are
unsatisfactory, but he fancies he is showing how smart he is by whacking
them back at once, and always by express, no matter how heavy the goods
are. A neighbor of mine, a hardware man, told me an instance of the
smart Aleck a few days ago. The house was handling a new tubular lantern
and selling it under the market price of regular goods. The traveling
man sent in three orders from a Michigan town, each of them for one-half
dozen lanterns. The stock clerk had a single half dozen of the new
lantern and found a half-dozen case of the genuine. He filled two orders
and put the other half-dozen on the back-order book. The genuine was
billed at the cut price and nothing said on the bill. In a day or
two back that case came by express, and an indignant letter from the
customer for palming off on him the old tubular, when the agent had sold
the new. The clerk erased the mark and sent the case back to the other
man in the town whose order was not filled. You can see how much time,
trouble and expense would have been saved had the smart Aleck dropped
a card to the house saying he did not want the lanterns and held them
subject to orders.
“Yes,” said Blissam, “but I have seen goods go back when I thought it
was the proper thing to do. You know one of the latest schemes is to
sell goods in cases, and throw in the show-case. It started with needle
and thread men and has gone into a good many other things. A concern
from somewhere in Ohio had a man in Illinois selling shears in this way.
In one town he sold the dry-goods man a case, at 45 per cent, off retail
prices, and gave him the exclusive sale of the town, and then sold a
hardware man across the street at 50 per cent, discount, and gave him
the exclusive sale. When each party opened up his stock and made a
display they soon discovered how the land lay, and, furthermore, the way
in which the dry-goods man swore when he saw the other's bill at so much
less than his, would have made your hair stand up. He boxed up these
goods and sent them back by express, and I thought he did right.”
I went down to my hotel and sat a while in the smoking-room. There were
several traveling men there, and they seemed to be very much interested
in some “she,” but I was never a good hand at making acquaintances,
and I made no effort here, but went to my room and soon fell asleep,
to dream all night about selling goods at 100 per cent profit. The next
morning I was out bright and early to see Jewell & Son. The clerk said
neither of the firm was in, so I made myself as pleasant to him as I
could, and posted myself as to the goods the house was handling, and the
prices they were paying. By and by the elder Jewell appeared, and as I
introduced myself he said:
“Gun men are plenty to-day; my son has just gone to the hotel with a Mr.
Blissam to look at his goods.”