I left Mr. Bell, and went a square farther down the street to a hardware
store, where our house had occasionally done some business. I was very
familiar with the firm's name, and had heard a great many stories of Mr.
Harris, the buyer. There was an air of push and prosperity in the store,
and when I inquired for the buyer I was shown into the office. There
were two men at the desks, and a man lying on a lounge; the latter
proved to be the man I wanted.
“I don't feel like doing any business just now,” said he, “come in after
dinner.”
This was pleasanter than to be told not to come in at all, so I made
another call on the street, but did no business. As I took my place at
the dinner table a man opposite me (we two were alone) nodded, and asked
if I was selling hardware, saying he had seen me come out of Mr. Bell's.
I told him my business, and he gave me his card: Tibbals, of Meriden,
Conn. I've seen many handsomer men than Tibbals, but I have not often
met one who was better company. He had been on the road, so he said, for
twenty years, selling plated ware, and I expect “Rogers Bro., 1847,” was
tattooed all over him.
“Have you sold Harris?” he asked.
“No, he told me to come in after dinner.”
“What a lazy fellow he is! That man is the laziest one on my route. I
took his order this morning while he lay on a lounge. I asked him if he
was sick, and he said he was not, but he was tired. Great Scott! just
think of a man getting tired doing nothing.”
I saw Tibbals liked to talk, so I led him on to more details about
Harris.
“Some folks are lucky,” said he. “When I came out here in '65 Harris
was a traveling man, but the next January he was given an interest. The
house was old, rich, well known and well liked. They carried everything
in stock from a bar of iron to a knitting-needle. Harris took the books
and gradually got to be the buyer. He used to have some ambition, but
for the ten years last past he takes the world as easy as if he was a
fat old dog.”
“Do they still make money?”
“No, I guess not. They don't buy as they used to, and they are always
grumbling. But other men have made lots of money here in these twenty
years and didn't have one-tenth the start Harris had.”
“Does he drink?”
“Of course he does. Great Scott! when did you ever see a lazy cuss that
didn't drink? I've often gone over to the billiard-room and taken his
order there. I believe, by thunder, he would leave a customer any time
if a crony came for him to go off on a good time.”
I do like to hear an old traveling man. If he has the inclination he can
give one lots of points. Tibbals went on:
“I ran across a man in Seebarger's the other day that I used to know in
Toledo and Cleveland. He was stock man twenty years ago and ten years
ago, and is to-day. He's a first-rate man; solid, reliable, competent;
he seems to be content, and he used to seem content. But how, in the
name of H. C. Wilcox, can a man be so satisfied with himself? I don't
understand it. I should want to be going up or down; I wouldn't be a
setting hen all my life.”
“You have seen many houses go up and down,” I said.
“Well, I have. I remember a Detroit concern that in '65 had a nice,
small trade, but each year seemed to be doing better, until I used to
think they were about the sharpest set on my route. Business was always
good, and the goose was away up. One of the partners built the nicest
house in the city, and lived like a baron. But, by hokey, he's on the
road selling goods to-day, and another man lives in his nice house.”
“What brings them down?”
“Big head, almost altogether. They get the big head; they fancy they are
all Claflins or Stewarts, and they suddenly drop through a hole. It's
almighty hard to be successful and not take to worshiping yourself. And
the younger men fall into the trap easier than the old ones do or did.
Take such a man as Wm. Bingham, of Cleveland; I don't see any change in
him in twenty years. Yet the house has grown to be a very large and very
successful one. Did you ever know Tennis?”
“No, I did not.”
“In '65, Tennis & Son seemed to be the booming firm in hardware there.
They were rich and had a big trade. The old man died, the boys ran
through the business so fast that you couldn't catch it with a gun. Oh,
I've seen a good many fellows go under in twenty years.”
“And you think it's always their own fault?”
“Not always. I've seen some mighty good fellows go down. I remember a
Toledo concern--good workers, good habits, living economically, but '76
pinched them to the wall. I tell you it's hard to see such men fail.
It's like death to them. They fight against it until it's no use
fighting longer, and it's pitiful to meet them.”
“How is plated ware?” I asked, to be sociable.
“Like all other ware, mighty hard to sell. There's several Rogers, all
genuine, but I'm the head one. Our goods are the best known and the
best, but if another 'Rogers' offers 2 1/2 per cent, better, off goes my
customer. Do you have folks so confounded close?”
I assured him, laughingly, that I had.
“Well,” said he, “it's funny. I'm not so all-fired close when I buy
a suit of clothes; I don't leave a man if he won't throw in a pair
of suspenders; but dealers will go back on their best friend for a
tooth-pick. I'd like to sell a line of goods like Chris Morgan's, where
the price isn't mentioned.”
After dinner I called on Harris and found him scolding the boys in the
store-room. I saw he was irritable, and would have gone out if I could,
but he saw me and I had to advance.
“D--n those Eastern fellows,” said he, vindictively, “I'd like to wring
their necks.”
I had to appear interested and ask why.
“Because they're such infernal fools. Here's a case of 150 pounds just
in by express with $3.37 charges; could have come by Merchants Dispatch
for 69 cents. But the fool clerks they have down there have the most
insane idea about express, and every little while will shove something
like this in on us.”
“Can't you charge it back?”
“D---d if I don't!”
He went into the office and ordered the book-keeper to charge up the
difference. I could sympathize with him. As stock clerk I had seen many
a box come in from the East by express that we were in no hurry for, and
that was never ordered to be so sent. The parties doing most of this are
not in New York stores, but at the factories. In the small towns where
most factories are, express and freight bills are paid once a month in a
lump, and the clerks and shippers do not see the cost of each shipment.
This makes them careless as to such charges, and to receive or send a
big box by express is a matter that does not need a second thought. But
in the cities, where each package is paid for when delivered, the
clerks soon learn how express charges count up, and they do not ship so
carelessly.
Perhaps I said something of this to Harris, but he finally turned to me
sharply and said, “What are you selling?”
I handed him my card again.
“Oh, yes; well, we don't need any.”
Goodness! How disappointed I was! I guess I looked it, for he added,
“Unless you've got some d--d low prices.”
I assured him I had, and made up my mind to give him only our ordinary
figures; I had heard our senior say once that the man who talked this
way was never a very close buyer.
Just at this moment a very pert young man came in at the office door,
walked up to Harris, handed out his card in a way that pushed me to one
side, and said:
“Mr. Harris, we've got the best butcher knife there is in the market.”
“Better than Wilson's?”
“Yes, sir; better than anybody's.”
“How does your price compare with Wilson's?”
“We are about the same.”
“Then I don't want it. Wilson's are good enough for me.”
“But I can show you ours is better.”
“I don't want any better, unless it's at less price. Wilson's sell
themselves.”
The young man looked crestfallen and soon went his way; I took up my
story, but instead of asking about this, that or the other article I
handed him my price-list and asked him to look it through. He stretched
himself on his lounge, and taking the book was about to open it, but
stopped to ask, “Have you got a cigar about you?”