I parted with Blissam at the hotel, he going to the South and I West,
and about 7 o'clock that evening I reached B--. I had often heard our
traveling man speak of the hotel here, and the popularity it had among
salesmen, so I was prepared to find the smoking room tolerably well
filled when I went in there after supper. There were half a dozen or
more in one group, who seemed to be on the best of terms, and I listened
to their talk. I found that they were discussing the mistakes of the
shipping and stock clerks, and of course that touched me upon a tender
spot, and I was all attention.
“Some of our boys used to make the most absurd mistakes,” said one
talker; “but the old man was about as bad as any of them. I remember
getting most mighty scared once. I had been entry clerk and shipper
and jack-of-all-trades in the house. One night's mail brought us back a
letter we had mailed, with the notation of the postmaster, 'No such man
here.' Taylor, the boss, took the mail, calling out to the book-keeper,
'Fague, I guess we've got a mistake on you this time.' Fague looked at
it, saying, 'I don't believe I've made a mistake, but if I have I must
stand it.' The envelope was torn open and the address on the bill was
the same as that on the outside, John Smith, New Castle, Ind. Then I was
sent to the order book, but the order there was New Castle, Ind. Taylor
was getting mad. I was told to find the original order, which I did, and
discovered that it was from John Smith, New Carlisle, Ind. Says Taylor,
'There's altogether too many mistakes here. Now these goods are lying at
New Castle, and will have to be ordered back; the chances are Smith will
refuse to receive them, and we will lose at least $75. The man that made
that mistake ought to be known; if we owe him anything he can have it
in the morning, and then let him be discharged. What do you say, Dewey?'
'It's a bad mistake,' said Dewey, the partner, 'and we are making a good
many, but it's pritty hard to discharge a man. Let us see who made it,
and show him how much loss it causes us, and give him a pritty good
scolding.' 'No,' said Taylor, 'he ought to be discharged; d--n him, he
ain't fit to be around a store; if we owe him anything pay him up, and
let him go; it will be a lesson to the rest. 'Billy,' turning to me,
'bring the book here so we can see who made that mistake.' Now I was
mighty afraid that I had done it. I had been doing that work, more or
less of the time, and I trembled as if I had the ague. And in looking
at it before, I had paid no attention to the writing. I went back to the
desk for the book, and brought it to Taylor. Dewey came over to look at
it as Taylor opened the book and found the place. 'H--l,' said Taylor,
'I did it myself!' Jerusalem! but I felt good! 'Well,' said Dewey, 'if
we owe you anything you'd better take it.' I was just about dying to
holler. The next day all the boys knew it, and Taylor was mighty quiet
for several weeks after that.”
“I came near losing a customer once,” said another man, “by a little
carelessness. I went into his store in a great hurry; sold him a
bill, and collected pay for a previous one. I neglected to enter the
collection on my book and also to report to the house. They shipped the
goods ordered, but supposing that I had not collected amount due from
him, inclosed a statement of account with a 'please remit' at the
bottom. No bull ever flew at a red rag quicker than he flew at that
statement, and he wrote a saucy letter, saying he had paid me, and he
didn't like being dunned for a paid bill, etc., etc. You all know just
how a small man will act under those conditions. They forwarded his
letter to me and I acknowledged my carelessness; I wrote him taking all
the blame on my shoulders, and explaining how the mistake happened.
But his Irish was up, and in a few weeks he went into the store, still
talking 'bigitty,' proposing to settle up and quit. The book-keeper took
his money, handing him back his change and a receipt. He counted the
change and pushed it back, saying, 'That ain't right.' The boss stood
near, taking all the tongue-lashing, but feeling as if his cup would run
over if the book-keeper had now been guilty of making a mistake. He took
the change, ran it over hastily, and saw that it was correct. This was
nuts. 'It seems,' said he, 'you occasionally make mistakes, Mr. B., so
you ought to make allowance for others. It is a devilish smart man
who never makes a mistake, and a devilish mean one who will not make
allowances for the mistakes made by another.' 'Oh, I'm mean, am I,' said
B.; 'well, I pay my bills.' 'So do other people; you're not the only man
who pays.' But B. went off on his high horse. The next time I went there
I could'nt touch him with a ten-foot pole, but the trip after he came
around all right.”
“I wish I had no collecting to do,” said a man near me; “I can sell
goods, but collecting is the deuce-and-all. I envy the New Yorkers who
don't have any collecting to do. Their business is to sell, and the
house collects.”
“But when we do have to look after an account.” said a man whom I had
set down as a New Yorker from the first, “it is always a tough one. Not
long ago our house told me to stop at a town to see one Berry & Co., who
had let two drafts come back, and then had written an impudent letter.
They had given us an order for about $700 worth of goods, but they are
quoted light, and the old man concluded he'd send on a part of it, and
when that was paid send another part, and so on. They refused to pay
because they did not get all the goods ordered, and when asked for a
report of their condition refused to give one, saying parties could find
out about them from Dun or Bradstreet. I presented the account and was
told they wouldn't pay until they had to. I reasoned with them, but
the fellow was a big-head, and the more I talked the worse he acted. I
finally told him I was sent there to get the money or put the account in
the hands of an attorney, and went out saying I would be back again at
a given hour and I hoped they would be ready to settle up. I went to the
other dealers there whom I knew and they all said the fellow hadn't
a leg to stand on in court. I went back in the afternoon, and after
getting another tongue lashing, he gave me a check, but told me I had
lied, as he handed it to me. I haven't wanted to punch any one in years
as I did him, but I gave him my opinion of him in a few words, and he
won't soon forget it, either. Now, you Western men don't have that kind
of trouble in your collecting.”
“No,” said a grocer, “our men never say they will not pay; it's the
other way; they say they will and then don't. Seems to me I could get
along with a man who said he wouldn't but could be made to. I could do
something there; but the fellow who solemnly assures you he will send
in a large remittance next week, and then doesn't, is a hard one to
manage.”
“Do you want to know who, in my opinion, is the smallest man on earth?”
asked a Chicago traveler.
Of course they all looked assent.
“Well,” said he, “Ed. Smythe told about him the other day, and I know
the man. Ed. had his samples open at the Moody House and called on the
man. Yes, he would go look at them; he wanted a few German goods. He
went there, looked the cards all over (Ed. has three trunks), made a
sheet full of memo's, and said he would write out an order. Ed. called
around about 6 o'clock in the evening. There are two chairs in the
office; the hog sat in one and had his feet in the other; he was reading
a newspaper and kept on reading; Ed. stood around patiently, as any man
can afford to be patient if he is going to get an order. In the course
of half an hour a friend came in and wanted to know of the hog if he
wasn't ready to go somewhere. He jumped up, pushed his books in the
safe, talked to his friend, and ignored Ed. After a while Ed. said:
'Have you made out your order, Mr. B.?' 'No, sir; I'm not going to give
you an order. I don't intend to buy any more from your house,' and he
walked into Ed. in a way that he evidently thought would impress his
friend that he was a wonderful cuss. Ed. is a good-natured fellow, and
business is business; he didn't open on him then, but he got even before
long. I tell you the smallest man in the world; the meanest dog in the
kennel; the dirtiest whelp I know, is the fellow who thinks it's brave
to abuse a drummer when he has him in his own store.”
This received a universal amen.
“Let me read you a sketch from the _American Grocer_ on 'Smart Alecks,'”
said a man, drawing a copy of that paper out of his pocket. “It's
called, 'Solomon Smart visits the City.'”