I probably looked as disappointed as I felt, for Whipper's voice took on
a very sympathetic tone. “You could not touch $2.70?” he asked.
“No, sir.”
I felt like adding, “I can't touch anything; I'm going home.”
“What is your price on cartridges?”
“Combination price; same as every one else.”
“Is this your first trip?”
“Yes, and my last. I'm not cut out for the road. I don't suppose I could
sell you anything even if you wanted it; I'm not a success.”
“Pooh; pooh! I've been on the road myself; it is not always fair
sailing, and it is not always foul. Keep a stiff upper lip.”
Yes, keep a stiff upper lip, when goods were being sold at cost all
around you! I was not built that way. Just then the book-keeper, Tom,
handed a memo to Whipper and he turned to me. “Have you Quickenbush
rifles?”
“Yes; blued and plated. Regular price, $5. I'll make you special price
if you want any.”
“What will you do?”
They cost us $4.50 at the factory; I quoted $4.75.
“Great Caesar! You are high!”
“Yes? Well, it is the best I can do.”
“Make it $4.50 and we will take twelve.”
“No, sir; it can't be done. But I am afraid there is no use in my trying
to sell you. If you can get them at $4.50 you can buy as low as we can.”
“Well, send me a dozen.”
I entered the order. Was there anything else?
“What is the best you will do on bull-dogs?”
“$2.80 is bottom; but you say you have ordered them?”
“Oh, that is one of Tom's lies; you may send us 50.”
We went through the list, and the old man gave me a very nice order;
then followed me to the door with his arm in mine, and sent me off as
if he was bidding good-by to a son. I forgave him all his lies, and feel
kindly toward him to this day.
I ran into a hardware store with my samples of cutlery, hoping to do
something in a line where Blissam could not meet me, but the first man I
saw was Blissam, leaning over the show-case, as if entirely at home, and
in full possession of the stock. He introduced me to Mr. Thompson as if
we had been traveling companions for life, but added to me, “Thompson
does not do much in our line, except caps and cartridges, and I've just
fixed him up.”
I felt like taking him by the nape of the neck and dropping him down the
sewer, but I turned to Mr. Thompson and talked cutlery. I told him I had
a line of No. 1 goods at low prices, every blade warranted, and put up
in extra nice style for retailers.
“Whose make?” he asked.
“Northington's; but made especially for our house, and with our brand.
We are making a specialty of a few patterns, and intend to make it an
object to the retailer to handle them and stick to them.”
“You can't touch me on those goods,” said Thompson; “I've handled them
and had trouble with them. I am now handling nothing but the New York.
I don't know that they're better than any other, but Tom Bradley dropped
in here one day, and I had to give him an order, and I've not been able
to leave him ever since.”
“Does he come often?”
“No, about once in two years or so, but he's business from the ground
up. I like him and like his goods, and I don't want to change.”
I took out my samples more for the purpose of posting myself than with
hopes of selling him, and where my patterns were like those in his stock
he passed mine over without a word, but I saw that two patterns of mine
pleased him. They were even-enders, 3 1/2 in. brass lined, and cost us
$3.85. We had been getting, in half dozen lots, $4.80, but I felt that I
was in a dangerous place, and I quoted $4.25.
He went back to his stock and returned with a sample the exact
counterpart of mine, and said, smiling, “This is Bradley's; he's a tough
fellow to beat; I paid $3.65 for it.”
I lost all interest in pocket knives then and there and got out of
the store right speedily. I was feeling savage, and made straight for
Billwock's. He had made a raise of $40 for me, saying, with several
German-American oaths, that was all he could do, and when I talked
of selling him something he looked as if he would throw me out of the
window.
I called twice at Jewell's before I caught father and son there
together, and then I had a difficult task before me. The father was
inclined to give me the preference, the son favored Blissam, but they
had not yet ordered, and were needing some goods, and I felt as if I
could never forgive myself if I were to fail then and there.
They tackled me first on Flobert rifles; I quoted them at exactly 10
per cent, above cost to import, but they declared I was too high. I felt
sure Blissam's house bought no lower than we did, and that he could not
sell on less margin than that, so I stood up to the price. Then we took
up bull-dogs; I named $2.80, and they shook their heads at that; so they
did at price of Champion guns, till I began to feel that my case was
hopeless.
“I am afraid we can't give you an order to-day,” said the son.
“I have quoted you my best prices,” I said, “and am disappointed.”
They talked together a few moments and finally said, “You may send us
a case of Champion guns,” and this was followed by other items. I could
see that they were dividing the order between Blissam and me, and I felt
grateful for even this, and tried to make this evident. I succeeded in
getting several items that paid a good profit, and I went to my hotel
feeling that I had done pretty well.
At the desk I was handed a note from Whipper, saying: If you cannot make
the Quickenbush rifles $4.60 please omit them.
There was but $3 profit in the item, and I would have omitted them but
for a desire that Blissam should not get ahead of me; so I started for
the store to learn something about it. On the way I met Blissam, and I
put it right at him. “Are you quoting Quickenbush rifles at $4.60?”
“Not by a drum sight! Who says so?”
I handed him Whipper's note.
“Are you going there?” he asked.
I said I was.
“I'll go with you.” This suited me. We saw no look of surprise on
Whipper's face. I went straight to the point. “I can't sell the rifles
at $4.60, Mr. Whipper, unless I know some one else has quoted that
price; if they have, I'll meet it.”
“Just scratch them off,” said he, as calm as a day in June.
“But has any one given you such a figure?”
“Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies. If I can get them at
$4.60 I will take them.”
I could get nothing more out of him and we started back. On the way we
met Tom, Whipper's book-keeper. I asked him what it meant. “Oh,” said
he, laughing, “I guess the old man thinks he can get them at $4.60,
but we have so many on hand, perhaps it's only his way of canceling the
item.” And that was all I ever got from them about it.