REBUFFS AND INSULTS—THE LAWYER, THE DOCTOR AND THE COON—AVOIDING A
LICENSE—WORKING THE CITY MARSHAL—JOKES WITH THE MILLINER—BANKING TWELVE
THOUSAND DOLLARS.
I do not care how careful and polite a man may be, he is always bound to
meet with occasional insults. I found the three classes who were most
apt to be insulting were those who were in straightened circumstances,
those jealous of the prosperity of another, and those who were by nature
rude and devoid of average sense. I always tried to confine my calls to
the better class of people, and for that reason met with few insults,
though I would occasionally drift into the wrong channels. Sometimes I
gave as good as I got, and if I stretched the truth a little my
conscience did not smite me so long as I felt I had gotten fairly even.
Once I dropped in on an attorney, who was actually doing nothing but
smoking a cigar and reading a paper covered novel. After I had
introduced myself and was stating my business he said bearishly: “No, I
don’t want your books.”
“But—” said I.
“See here, young fellow,” he interrupted without giving me a chance to
talk, “I don’t want you to bother me. That’s the trouble with you
fellows. You just bore the life out of a man. Get out of here as quick
as you can.”
With that he pointed to the door.
“Well, sir,” I said, “I will go. But I did not come up here to sell you
anything. I wanted to engage an attorney in a matter that involves a
great deal of money. One of the large concerns in your city is about to
fail. My brother, who is a jobber in Chicago, has a claim against this
firm, and, as I was coming here, he telegraphed me to look after it. I
was advised to call on you, and came in with the intention of giving you
the case. I am glad I found you out in time. I certainly would not throw
a thousand dollars into the hands of a man too ungentlemanly to allow me
to state my business.
All the time I was speaking he was rubbing his hands together in an
excited manner and was ready to apologize, but when done I walked off as
rapidly as I could. To this day he is probably regretting the loss of a
big fee. I hope so, and that it made him more polite in the future.
Shortly after this I called on a colored grocer of the name of White,
who was busy with some customers when I entered. Looking up he asked me
what line I was in, and I told him, “The Banner Encyclopedia.”
“Well,” he said, in a smart-Aleck tone, “I don’t want your ’cyclopedy.”
“But I have a special proposition to make and will drop in again when
you are not so busy.”
“Look heah,” he answered, “yo’ needn’t come ag’in; I kain’t wase no time
on you fellows, and I wouldn’t buy books from an agent nohow.”
“I am not selling books, sir,” I replied. “I am getting up an
encyclopedic directory of prominent business men. But excuse me, Mr.
White, I didn’t know the proprietor here was a colored man, and as we
don’t care to have niggers in our directory I’ll not bother you any
more.”
This last remark cut him deeply, but he had insulted me and I felt I had
a right to answer him back. I think I showed him the difference between
a colored gentleman and a nigger, if he never knew it before.
At another time I called on a physician, and when I explained my
business he said to me with a pitying smile:
“So you are selling books, eh? Well, young man, you have my sympathy.
You are the most useless article to be imagined, and you don’t seem to
know it.”
“Sympathy to the devil,” I exclaimed, angered more by his manner than
his words. “Look at me and see if I need your sympathy. Here am I, with
a fine tailor-made suit, a fifty dollar overcoat, patent leather shoes,
diamonds all over me, traveling over the country, stopping at
first-class hotels, having a good time and making money hand over fist.
Does that look as though I needed your sympathy?”
“Now,” I continued, “here you are, wearing a baggy pair of pants with
fringe at the bottom, a shabby coat and vest that are old enough to
vote, and a slouch hat that is not fit for a dog to wear. You sit in a
little dingy 2×4 office, waiting for some sucker to come in and give you
a dollar for a prescription. You eke out a miserable existence and see
no real living at all. You are the man who needs sympathy, and I assure
you, you have mine from the bottom of my heart.”
With that I left him, too thunderstruck to answer me back. Of course, my
talk to him was not business, but it was a heap of satisfaction.
I have already touched on the matter of license. Notwithstanding I
carried that decision of the United States supreme court in my pocket, I
found that in some places the marshals were inclined to enforce some
miserable city ordinance, without paying attention to the rulings of the
higher powers. As I canvassed one day and delivered another, the most of
them had to acknowledge that I was not selling outright, nor peddling.
Sometimes I thought it better to make arrangements to do my business
through a local firm. By mentioning this fact to the chief of police and
the license inspector I was generally allowed to go unmolested.
I recall one experience in which I avoided difficulty with a bull-headed
official. It will serve as an example of methods sometimes used.
I went to an express office to get some samples my house had sent me.
The agent, seeing that I was a canvasser, gave me some pointers on the
license question. He told me he was once in the same business and wanted
to put me on my guard. I would find the new city marshal an obstinate
fellow, who could not be worked. He was a regular old crank who would
show no mercy to canvassers. I would either have to take out a license
or run my chance of being arrested. As the license was so high as to be
practically prohibitive the chances of doing business without a lawsuit
did not seem encouraging.
Well, I thanked the agent and then worked the town without paying any
license. How did I do it? This way:
Learning the marshal’s name, I called upon him, introducing myself as
the representative of a well-known eastern paper. I explained that I was
writing up the country, and that this city was considered one of the
most enterprising places in the state. I also stated that he was
recognized as one of the most prominent citizens, and that I had stopped
off on purpose to get his biography for publication.
He was tickled to death and smiled an 8×10 smile. I touched up his
vanity all through the conversation, and got his history from the time
he left the cradle until he landed in the city marshal’s chair—and it
made mighty good reading when I wrote it out. I’ll bet his hat didn’t
fit him that night.
When I finished the “write-up,” I conversed with him a few moments on
general topics, and then said:
“By the way, Mr. Marshal, my house is turning out a new encyclopedia in
twelve volumes. Do you think I could do any business here in that line?”
He said the best way was to try. I explained all about the encyclopedia,
stating that I only called on the upper ten, because they alone
appreciated the best books. We usually only made the larger cities, but
this was such a metropolitan little place I thought I might get enough
orders to justify a shipment and to pay the expense of the write-up I
was making. Would he kindly give me the names of the most prominent
people?
He not only gave me the names, but told me to go ahead; that no one
should bother me. I made one hundred and seven dollars in that town, and
went away with as large a smile on my face as the one the marshal wore
while I was writing up his life.
I also found it a good idea to be supplied with a stock of jokes which
could be used to fit almost any occasion. I had a natural sense of the
ludicrous, anyway; and if I came across anything in the comic papers
which might be of value I did not hesitate to salt it down for future
use. As an instance of application, the following:
I dropped into a millinery store after an order for the encyclopedia.
When I had spoken for a few moments to the proprietress, telling her
that the book was full, complete and unabridged, treating of every
subject that could be known or mentioned, she asked me jokingly if it
had any good cooking recipes.
“Why, certainly,” I answered; “I’ll read you a few of them.”
TO MAKE CLEAR SOUP.
Take two pints of water, wash thoroughly on both sides, pour into a deep
dish, and stir around in the kitchen until tired.
STOMACH CAKE.
Line a small boy with green apples and cucumbers. This can be prepared
on short notice.
LEMON PIE.
Line a pie tin with puff paste, put in your lemons, build a lattice over
the top and bake three weeks.
CALVES’ FOOT JELLY.
Get trusted for a Chicago calf—they have the largest feet. Cut off the
calf, which can be used for making hash or chicken salad, add a few
molasses, strain through a cane-bottom chair, pour in a blue bowl with
pictures on it, set it in the shade to get tough, and then send to a
friend contemplating suicide.
I have heard that the female sex are deficient in the sense of humor,
but the milliner laughed heartily at these jokes, which happened to be
new to her, and signed the contract for a set without a struggle.
Virtually I was in the book business for over nine years, in which time
I handled scarcely anything else.
You may be sure I was acquainted with every wile and artifice of the
trade. I had traveled all over the United States and Canada, visiting
all the principal cities and interviewing the governor and other
officers in each state and territory. I had crossed the continent, from
the Atlantic to the Pacific, thirty-two times. For years I seemed to
have success without a break, and I dreaded no more of being “busted.”
All the time my bank account was growing, and in one year of prosperity
I banked twelve thousand dollars in clear cash while selling
encyclopedias.
How was that for a fakir? I will not say that I was tired of the life;
but it began to look as though, like Alexander, I had no more worlds to
conquer. Was it a wonder or was it not that I found I could go a step
farther?
The succeeding chapters will tell.
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