BUSINESS EXPERIENCES.
Walter began to think that selling books would prove a harder and more
disagreeable business than he anticipated. He had been brought face to
face with meanness and selfishness, and they inspired him with disgust
and indignation. Not that he expected everybody to buy his books, even
if they could afford it. Still it was not necessary to insult him by
offering half price.
He walked slowly up the street, wondering if he should meet any more
such customers. On the opposite side of the street he noticed a small
shoemaker's shop.
"I suppose it is of no use to go in there," thought Walter. "If they
won't buy at a big house, there isn't much chance here."
Still he thought he would go in. He had plenty of time on his hands,
and might as well let slip no chance, however small.
He pushed open the door, and found himself in a shop about twenty-five
feet square, littered up with leather shavings and finished and
unfinished shoes. A boy of fourteen was pegging, and his father, a man
of middle age, was finishing a shoe.
"Good-morning," said Walter.
"Good-morning," said the shoemaker, turning round. "Do you want a pair
of shoes this morning?"
"No," said Walter, "I didn't come to buy, but to sell."
"Well, what have you got to sell?"
"A subscription book, finely illustrated."
"What's the name of it?"
"'Scenes in Bible Lands.'"
"Let me look at it."
He wiped his hands on his apron, and, taking the book, began to turn
over the leaves.
"It seems like a good book," he said. "Does it sell well?"
"Yes, it sells largely. I have only just commenced, but other agents
are doing well on it."
"You are rather young for an agent."
"Yes, but I'm old enough to work, and I'm going to give this a fair
trial."
"That's the way to talk. How much do you expect to get for this book?"
"The price is three dollars and a half."
"It's rather high."
"But there are a good many pictures. Those are what cost money."
"Yes, I suppose they do. Well, I've a great mind to take one."
"I don't think you'll regret it. A good book will give you pleasure for
a long time."
"That's so. Well, here's the money;" and the shoemaker drew out five
dollars from a leather pocket-book. "Can you give me the change?"
"With pleasure."
Walter was all the more pleased at effecting this sale because it was
unexpected. He had expected to sell a book at the great house he had
just called at, but thought that the price of the book might deter the
shoemaker, whose income probably was not large. He thought he would like
to know the name of the lady with whom he had such an unpleasant
experience.
"Can you tell me," he inquired, "who lives in that large house a little
way up the street?"
"You didn't sell a book there, did you?" asked the shoemaker, laughing.
"No, but I got an offer of two dollars for one."
"That's just like Mrs. Belknap," returned the other. "She has the name
of being the meanest woman for miles around."
"It can't be for want of money. She lives in a nice house."
"Oh, she's rich enough,--the richest woman in town. When her husband was
alive--old Squire Belknap--she wasn't quite so scrimping, for he was
free-handed and liberal himself; but now she's a widow, she shows out
her meanness. So she offered you two dollars?"
"Yes, but she afterwards offered twenty-five cents more."
"Then she must have wanted the book. She makes it her boast that no
peddler ever took her in, and I guess she's about right."
"I hope there are not many such people in town. If there are, I shall
get discouraged."
"We've got our share of mean people, I expect, but she's the worst."
"Well, I suppose I must be going. Thank you for your purchase."
"That's all right. If I like the book as well as I expect, I'll thank
you."
Walter left the shoemaker's shop with considerably higher spirits than
he entered. His confidence in human nature, which had been rudely shaken
by Mrs. Belknap, was in a degree restored, and his prospects looked
brighter than a few minutes before.
"I wonder who'll make the next purchase?" he thought.
He stopped at a plain two-story house a little further up the road. The
door was opened by an old lady.
"What do you want?" she asked.
"I am agent for an excellent book," commenced Walter.
"Oh, you're a peddler," broke in the old lady, without waiting to hear
him through.
"I suppose I may be called so."
"Are you the man that was round last spring selling jewelry?"
"No, I have never been here before."
"I don't know whether to believe you or not," said the old lady. "Your
voice sounds like his. I can't see very well, for I've mislaid my specs.
If you're the same man, I'll have you took up for selling bogus
jewelry."
"But I'm not the same one."
"I don't know. The man I spoke of sold my darter a gold ring for a
dollar, that turned out to be nothing but brass washed over. 'Twa'n't
worth five cents."
"I'm sorry you got cheated, but it isn't my fault."
"Wait a minute, I'll call my darter."
In reply to her mother's call a tall maiden lady of forty advanced to
the door, with some straw in her hand, for she was braiding straw.
"What's wanted, mother?" she asked.
"Isn't this the same man that sold you that ring?"
"La, no, mother. He was a man of forty-five, and this is only a boy."
"I s'pose you must be right, but I can't see without my specs. Well, I'm
sorry you're not the one, for I'd have had you took up onless you'd give
back the dollar."
Under the circumstances Walter himself was not sorry that there was no
chance of identifying him with his knavish predecessor.
"What have you got to sell?" asked the younger woman.
"A book beautifully illustrated, called 'Scenes in Bible Lands.' Will
you allow me to show it to you?"
"He seems quite polite," said the old lady, now disposed to regard
Walter more favorably. "Won't you come in?"
Walter entered, and was shown into a small sitting-room, quite plainly
furnished. The book was taken from him, and examined for a considerable
length of time by the daughter, who, however, announced at the end that
though she should like it very much, she couldn't afford to pay the
price. As the appearance of the house bore out her assertion, Walter did
not press the purchase, but was about to replace the book under his arm,
when she said suddenly, "Wait a minute. There's Mrs. Thurman just coming
in. Perhaps she'll buy one of your books."
Walter was of course perfectly willing to wait on the chance of a sale.
Mrs. Thurman was the wife of a trader in good circumstances, and
disposed to spend liberally, according to her means. Walter was not
obliged to recommend his book, for this was done by the spinster, who
was disinterestedly bent on making a sale. So he sat quiet, a passive
but interested auditor, while Miss Nancy Sprague extolled the book for
him.
"It does seem like an excellent book," said Mrs. Thurman, looking at the
pictures.
"Just the thing for your Delia," suggested Miss Nancy; "I am sure she
would like it."
"That reminds me to-morrow is Delia's birthday."
"Then give her the book for a birthday present."
"I had intended to buy her something else. Still I am not sure but this
would suit her quite as well."
"I am sure it would," responded Miss Nancy.
"Then I will take it. Young man, how much do you ask for your book?"
"Three dollars and a half."
Mrs. Thurman paid the money, and received the book.
"I am much obliged to you," said Walter, addressing Miss Nancy, "for
recommending my book."
"You're quite welcome," said Miss Nancy, who felt some satisfaction at
gaining her point, though it would not benefit her any. "I'm sure you
are quite polite for a peddler, and I hope you'll excuse mother for
making such a mistake about you."
"That is of no consequence," said Walter, smiling. "I think if your
mother had had her glasses on she would not have made such a mistake."
He left the house still farther encouraged. But during the next hour he
failed to sell another copy. At length he managed to sell a third. As
these were all he had brought out, and he was feeling rather tired, he
went back to the tavern, and did not come out again till after dinner.
He had sold three copies and cleared three dollars and seventy-five
cents, which he was right in regarding as very fair success.