Louis Mitchell knew what the telegram meant, even though it was brief
and cryptic. He had been expecting something of the sort ever since
the bottom dropped out of the steel business and prices tobogganed
forty dollars a ton. Nevertheless, it came as an undeniable shock, for
he had hoped the firm would keep him on in spite of hard times. He
wondered, as he sadly pocketed the yellow sheet, whether he had in him
the makings of a good life-insurance agent, or if he had not better
"join out" with a medicine show. This message led him to think his
talents must lie along the latter line. Certainly they did not lie in
the direction of metal supplies.
He had plenty of time to think the situation over, however, for it is
a long jump from Butte to Chicago; when he arrived at the latter place
he was certain of only one thing, he would not stand a cut in salary.
Either Comer & Mathison would have to fire him outright or keep him on
at his present wage; he would not compromise as the other salesmen had
done and were doing.
Twenty-five hundred a year is a liberal piece of money where people
raise their own vegetables, but to a man traveling in the West it is
about equal to "no pair." Given two hundred dollars a month and a fair
expense account a salesman can plow quite a respectable furrow around
Plymouth Rock, but out where they roll their r's and monogram their
live stock he can't make a track. Besides the loss of prestige and all
that went with it, there was another reason why young Mitchell could
not face a cut. He had a wife, and she was too new, too wonderful;
she admired him too greatly to permit of such a thing. She might, she
doubtless would, lose confidence in him if he took a step backward,
and that confidence of hers was the most splendid thing in Mitchell's
life. No, if Comer & Mathison wanted to make any change, they would
have to promote him. Ten minutes with the "old man," however, served
to jar this satisfactory determination to its foundation. Mr. Comer
put the situation clearly, concisely.
"Business is rotten. We've got to lay all the younger men off or we'll
go broke," he announced.
"But--I'm married," protested the young salesman.
"So am I; so is Mathison; so are the rest of the fellows. But, my boy,
this is a panic. We wouldn't let you go if we could keep you."
"I can sell goods--"
"That's just it; we don't want you to. Conditions are such that we
can't afford to sell anything. The less business we do the fewer
losses we stand to make. Good Lord, Louis, this is the worst year the
trade has ever known!"
"B-but--I'm married," blankly repeated Mitchell.
Comer shook his head. "We'd keep you in a minute if there was any way
to do it. You go home and see the wife. Of course if you can show
us where you're worth it, we'll let you stay; but--well, you can't.
There's no chance. I'll see you to-morrow."
Ordinarily Mitchell would not have allowed himself the extravagance
of a cab, but to-day the cars were too slow. He wondered how the girl
would take this calamity, their very first. As a matter of fact, she
divined the news even before he had voiced his exuberant greetings,
and, leading him into the neat little front room, she curled up at his
side, demanding all the reasons for his unexpected recall. He saw that
she was wide-eyed and rather white. When he had broken the bad news
she inquired, bravely:
"What is your plan, boy?"
"I haven't any."
"Nonsense!"
"I mean it. What can I do? I don't know anything except the steel
business. I can lick my weight in wildcats on my own ground--but--"
The wife nodded her blonde head in complete agreement. "But that lets
me out," he concluded, despondently. "I can sell steel because I know
it from the ground up; it's my specialty."
"Oh, we mustn't think about making a change."
"I've handled more big jobs than any man of my age and experience on
the road, and yet--I'm fired." The husband sighed wearily. "I built
that big pipe line in Portland; I sold those smelters in Anaconda, and
the cyanide tanks for the Highland Girl. Yes, and a lot of other jobs,
too. I know all about the smelter business, but that's no sign I can
sell electric belts or corn salve. We're up against it, girlie."
"Have people quit building smelters?"
"They sure have--during this panic. There's nothing doing anywhere."
The wife thought for a moment before saying, "The last time you were
home you told me about some Western mining men who had gone to South
Africa--"
"Sure! To the Rand! They've made good, too; they're whopping big
operators, now."
"You said there was a large contract of some sort coming up in
London."
"Large! Well, rather! The Robinson-Ray job. It's the biggest ever, in
my line. They're going to rebuild those plants the Boers destroyed. I
heard all about it in Montana."
"Well!" Mrs. Mitchell spoke with finality. "That's the place for you.
Get the firm to send you over there."
"Um-m! I thought about that, but it scared me out. It's too big. Why,
it's a three-million-dollar job. You see, we've never landed a large
foreign contract in this country as yet." Mitchell sat up suddenly.
"But say! This panic might--" Then he relaxed. "Oh, what's the use?
If there were a chance the firm wouldn't send me. Comer would go
himself--he'd take the whole outfit over for a job like that. Besides,
it's too big a thing for our people; they couldn't handle it."
Mrs. Mitchell's eyes were as round as buttons. "Three million dollars'
worth of steel in one contract! Do you think you could land it if you
went?"
"It's my line of work," the young man replied, doubtfully. "I'll bet
I know more about cyanide tanks than any salesman in Europe, and if I
had a decent price to work on--"
"Then it's the chance we've been waiting for."
The girl scrambled to her feet and, fetching a chair, began to talk
earnestly, rapidly. She talked for a long time, until gradually the
man's gray despondency gave way to her own bright optimism. Nor was
it idle theory alone that she advanced; Mitchell found that she knew
almost as much about the steel business as he did, and when she had
finished he arose and kissed her.
"You've put new heart into me, anyhow. If you're game to do your
share, why--I'll try it out. But remember it may mean all we've got in
the bank, and--" He looked at her darkly.
"It's the biggest chance we'll ever have," she insisted. "It's worth
trying. Don't let's wait to get rich until we are old."
When Mr. Comer returned from lunch he found his youngest salesman
waiting for him, and inside of ten minutes he had learned what
Mitchell had on his mind. With two words Comer blew out the gas.
"You're crazy," said he.
"Am I? It's worth going after."
"In the first place no big foreign job ever came to America--"
"I know all that. It's time we got one."
"In the second place Comer & Mathison are jobbers."
"I'll get a special price from Carnegie."
"In the third place it would cost a barrel of money to send a man to
England."