When I had given Mr. Harris a cigar and he had lit it, and when he had
once more resumed his horizontal position on the lounge, I proceeded to
take his order. He was an easy man to sell. The stock was low on some of
my goods, and he had a favorable impression of my house, so he ordered
easily, saying but little about prices until we came to cartridges.
“Whose cartridges are you selling?” he asked sharply.
“We handle both the U. M. C. and Winchester.”
“No Phoenix?”
“We don't keep them in stock, but I can get them for you if you prefer
them.”
“I won't sell any other.”
I was curious to know why.
“Just because I like Hulburt; he's one of the nicest men there is in New
York, and I'm going to handle his cartridges every time.”
“But,” said I, and very cautiously, “don't you find some trade that will
insist on having the other brands?”
“Yes, and they can go somewhere else and get them. I wouldn't buy a U.
M. C. cartridge if there never was any other. Reachum uses their goods
to cut prices with, and, d--n 'em! they can sell him, but they can't
sell me.”
I finished the bill, then chatted awhile with him about trade.
“There's no money in business,” said he; “times were when you could make
a profit, but nowadays it is a struggle to see who can sell the lowest.
There's a revolver that I bought of Tryiton for 53 cents, and our men
say he has advertised it all over for 55 cents. How the devil am I to
pay freight and sell for 2 cents profit? There is no such idiocy in any
business today as in the gun trade. A jobber has to fight against every
other jobber and the manufacturers too. The U. M. C. folks are said to
back up Reachum, and Simmons is supposed to have Winchester behind him,
and away they go, seeing who can cut the most and be the biggest fool.”
“But is it not so in other lines?”
“No; the prices are not advertised to any such extent as with guns and
ammunition.”
“Then you think the factories could stop it if they chose?”
“Oh, the factories be d--d! Seven-eighths of the factories are managed
by school-masters. They get up their little schedule of prices just as
they draw off their 'rules and regulations' for their help, and expect
the dealers of the country to dance to their tunes.”
I thanked him for his kindness and went on my way very well content.
But when I sat down to copy off the order I was put in quite a quandary.
Traveling men meet such men as Harris frequently. He gave the order
because he was friendly to the house, but he had not asked for prices
on anything. What was I to do? I had several prices, for my figures were
elastic, to offer trade, according as the buyer was a close one or not,
and just where to put Harris I did not know. I proposed to ask him all
I dared and not get into trouble, but to decide on what this limit was
gave me some study.
The other trade in the city I attended to carefully, and was well
satisfied with my work. In the evening I started for C. As I went
into the car there were three men at one end talking rather loud and
sociably, and I went as near to them as I dared. One of them had lately
been out to Denver and that section, and was describing to his audience
the wonderful perpendicular railroads of Colorado, I soon found that all
three were connected with boots and shoes, but handling different grades
or styles, so they did not conflict. Of course they were from Boston,
and equally of course they were rather priggish. The talker was not
more than 22 or 23 years old, but the immense experience he had passed
through was more than wonderful, and the old chestnuts he got off as
having happened to himself were beyond Eli Perkins' power of adaptation.
“I had a customer in Peoria,” I heard him say, “who picked up a goat
shoe and said 'he supposed dat was apout tree sefenty-fife.' I told him
it was $5.25. 'O, tear, tear,' said he, 'can't you make him four tollar?
Shake dells me: Fader, ton't you puy ofer four tollar. You should see my
Shake; he is only dwendy-dwo, but he got a young head on old shoulters.'
I told him that, seeing it was he, I would make the price $5, and he
ordered twenty-four pairs.”
He told this as if it was the most comical story ever heard, and he
laughed both long and loud over it, as did his two friends.
“When are you going home?” one asked him.
“Next week; been out over two months; had a big trip, but I don't expect
to do any more traveling.”
“No! Why not?”
“I'm going to be married.”
“No! Who to? Are you telling the truth?”
“Yes, I am; honest; going to marry the boss's daughter. She and I used
to go to school together, and I honestly believe she made the advances
to me, rather than I to her. Oh, yes; I'm all fixed; going to stay in
the office and help the boss.”
I wondered what kind of a girl the “boss's” daughter could be, to marry
such an ass as this, and I would have been glad to see the photograph of
her that he passed to his friends, but I made up my mind that the “boss”
was getting a rare prize in a son-in-law.
Sitting in the smoking room of the hotel that evening I heard some men
mention names that were familiar to me, and I discovered the talker to
be a groceryman.
“If our goods are close,” said he, “the sales are large and folks have
to buy. I heard H. K. Thurber say that the best year's business that he
ever did was on a net profit of 1-3/4 percent.”
“Phew! How much did he sell?”
“Eighteen or twenty millions.”
“I've been in Thurber's store,” said another, “and I tell you they have
things down fine. I think H. K. Thurber had the best head on him of any
man I ever saw. He was quick as lightning; his judgment was good; he had
no soft spot for any one, and he didn't tell his plans to any one. But
Frank, his brother, seems to be just as successful, and yet is very
different.”
“He's the politician, isn't he?”
“Yes; he was a Greenbacker, and anti-monopoly, and lots of other things.
Some of these days he'll be Mayor of New York, or go to Congress, and
he'll be heard from. His public life is profitable now, for it helps to
advertise Thurber's business.”
“Well,” said another, “You've got to get up mighty early to get ahead of
Hoyt in Chicago. They don't sell as many dollars, perhaps, as Thurber,
but they have sand, and they don't put it in their sugar, either.”
“I like groceries. A dealer has to buy them, whether times are good or
bad. Folks must eat.”
“And take medicine?”
“Yes, and take medicine. And, by the way, do you know that the grocers
are giving druggists a lively time on medicines? They are. Thurber has
a drug department, and advertises them at 'a grocer's profit.' Lots of
others have gone in, and the day will soon be here when a man can buy
his sugar and quinine in the same place.”
“What will druggists do?”
“What have they been doing the last ten years? Sell teas and coffees,
cigars and tobaccos, and fancy goods. Look at a drug store in holidays,
and it is full of plush cases, placques, bronzes, and goods that were
supposed to belong to jewelers. The bars are dropping down in every
line.”
“Business is done in queer ways,” said a man who was sitting near me.
“Tobacco men give away guns in order to sell their tobacco; coffee is
sold by giving plated ware, baking powder by glassware, boots and shoes
by giving dolls and sleds, ready-made clothing by a prize of a Waterbury
watch, and soap by giving jewelry. Nowadays a dealer don't ask you about
the quality of your goods, but about the scheme you've got to sell them.
It's a demoralizing way of doing business, and ruining trade.”
“That's so! That's so!” was echoed from all sides.