A good hotel is a blessing, but the best hotel is still a hotel, and can
be nothing more. One feels all right until the bellboy has fixed the
key in the door and gone. Then you begin to realize that you are alone.
There's but little difference, I imagine, in the feelings of a prisoner
going into his cell at the close of day and those of a man in his lonely
bed room in a hotel. There may be noises and voices, even songs and
laughing, on either side of you, but these only serve to show you how
lonesome you are.
I dislike to go to my room until I am forced to do so by the hour. I
want to be among people and to see them about me. I go to my room under
protest; I turn the key, fix the bolt, look at the window, open my
valise, and wish I was at home. I think of fires, of sudden sickness, of
to-morrow's trade, of to-day's orders, and of all the pros and cons of
business. Through the night I hear scurrying feet in the hall, the
late arrivals, the early risers, the bell-boy's raps on the doors, and
finally the chambermaid's clatter, and her occasional turn on the knob,
as a broad invitation to get up and out of the way that she may do her
work.
I started out in the morning at B----, determined to do all in my power
to make a good showing for myself. There is but one gun-store, but all
the hardware dealers handled something in my line. It is a sleepy town.
Time was when it had a large trade in the surrounding States, but of
late it sells near home. A town of its size might and ought to support
two or three good gun stores. I called on Bell & Co., gave the man who
looked most like the buyer my card, and proceeded to say a word or two
about something else than business.
“We have had some goods from your house,” said Mr. Bell, “but we never
get our orders filled. There's always something left out. I don't like
it. When I order an article I want it.”
Our house had always made a specialty of filling orders complete, and I
was surprised at what I had just heard. I remarked this, and that I was
the stock-clerk, and that I feared he was visiting on our heads the sins
of others.
“No, I am not,” said he. “In the last bill we sent you there were two
items left out;” and he found the bill and showed me our own memorandum
regarding the items. To be sure they were goods we never kept in stock
and never intended to. I explained this, but he took the ground that, in
the first place, a house should keep everything in its line, and if they
happened to be out of anything should buy it.
I did not attempt to contradict him, for it's a mighty poor time for
that when you are hunting for an order, but I tried to change the
conversation into some other channel.
“How is your stock of guns?”
“Full. What do you ask for the Lafoucheaux, twist barrels?”
“Ten fifty.”
“Oh, you're way out of reach.”
It's a pretty good plan not to disagree with a man at any time, but it's
especially a wise course about this time.
“I can buy them,” said he, “at $9.”
“Yes? That beats me; $10.50 is best I can do. Who quotes at $9?”
“Why, Reachum does. So does Tryon's man. Do you know him?”
“I do not.”
“He's a lightning fellow; well posted; good natured; sharp as a needle,
and a mighty sight better than his house. If he was in business for
himself I'd buy all my goods of him.”
Yes, that was interesting; but I had other fish to fry.
“Do you need any Lafoucheaux guns?”
“Yes, if I can buy them right.”
“I will meet any price given you by Reachum, Simmons, or Hibbard
Spencer.” I didn't want to; I wanted to get better prices than they were
quoting to their mail trade, but I proposed to make myself solid with
him at once.
“Well,” said he, “I'm waiting for Clayton. I rather promised him an
order the last time he was here, and he's to be here in a day or two.”
If there's one thing in the wide world that would make a man work for
an order that is the kind of speech to do it. I had no grudge against
Clayton, but I was bound to get that order or know why I couldn't. I
remarked that Clayton was a first-rate fellow.
“Yes, he is; he's quiet and modest, and knows his business; if he only
let up on his whistle he'd be perfect.”
“I didn't know he was a whistler.”
“He is; he's always whistling under his breath as if he was trying to
catch the extra 2 1/2 on cartridges.”
“Are you handling the U. M. Co. cartridges?”
“Yes; got them of Simmons. He offered to discount Reachum and I gave him
the chance. What are you doing on cartridges?”
“60 and 10.”
This was cost, but I saw he had a good stock.
“What are you doing on Champion guns?”
“25 and 10.”
“And Zulus?”
“$2.40.” This was bottom on both these articles, and I would get my hair
pulled if I sold at these prices, but I was in for it, and proposed to
keep on. The partner came up to me and asked about revolvers, and very
soon we were chatting about our line in detail.
If men really want goods, it is often difficult to get them to order.
They have thought, like Bell, of waiting for a particular man, or they
fancy there may be advantage in delay, or they have no figures but
yours and are not sure you are quoting bottom prices. There is a
disinclination in all men to buy even in good times, and in these days
there is almost a determination in every dealer's heart that he will not
order anything at any price, or under any circumstances. Of course, when
a call comes for something he has not got he realizes that he has gone
too far.
I spread out my samples, talked my prettiest, sang the special praises
of my goods, and finally heard the welcome words: “You may send us,”
etc. When one gets that far, it is his own fault if he does not go on.
Several times in our work we were interrupted, so that the forenoon was
pretty well spent when I was through. It was the hour when many men
go to lunch, and I fancied Mr. Bell to be a man who occasionally might
enjoy a glass of beer, so I suggested that we go out. He assented, and
led the way to the nearest place.
What is there in the act of eating or drinking together that draws men
nearer? It surely does do this, but I don't know why. In his store we
were in the position of proprietor and drummer, at the beer table we
were two sociable men.
“I do not often drink,” said he, “and there are times when I feel
provoked at being asked out. Some drummers throw out the invitation as
if it was part of their samples, others as if they saw I was cross,
and proposed to spend five cents in beer to make me good natured. I
occasionally enjoy a glass of beer, and when I don't feel like drinking
it all Chicago couldn't make me drink.”
I remarked that I was pretty much in the same way.
“I've known a good many traveling men who went to the dogs from too
much treating,” said he. “When I began business in '65 one of the best
salesmen out of New York sold me my first stock. He was paid $5,000 a
year, and was worth it. He went on a drunk here, but braced up in a day
or two and went off all right. The last I heard of him he was dying in a
hospital in Cincinnati of delirium tremens.”
“You must have known a good many men in your time?”
“Yes, sir; and knew a good many to go up, and a good many to go down.
I was in the hardware trade then, and bought of Billy Smythe and John
Milligan. Look at those boys now! Both of them in splendid positions.
Poor Hank Woodbury, who sold me thousands of dollars from Sargents',
went insane and died. I remember a man dropping in one day who looked
a good deal more like a school teacher than a salesman. His name was
Bartlett and he was selling chisels. He didn't know much about the
goods, or about hardware, but he had a frank, open way of confessing his
ignorance and his prices were all right. Do you know him?”
“Yes.”
“All the wholesalers know Bartlett; he's getting shiny on the head, but
he can talk Miller's cutlery sweeter than the angels can sing. They tell
me he's grown rich and lives like a lord; owns an island in Long Island
Sound, and a yacht and other good things, but he's the pleasantest man
who comes here.”
I like to hear about traveling men who have prospered; they ought to get
on in the world if any class of men can get on. There may be houses that
are prosperous in spite of their salesmen, but such houses are very few.
And the man who can make money for others ought to be able to do that
for himself, but this does not always follow. I have met some traveling
men who were once superior salesmen and then steadily ran down. Perhaps
whisky is back of it, or, perhaps, circumstances are against them,
but every business man will have known just such cases. Mr. Bell and
I discussed this until it was time to part, and then he said, “Come in
again, I may see something else.” I felt that I had won his good will.