THE firm of Jingleson & Jams, which manufactured wooden hams, has closed
its doors, and in the mill, the wheels and shafting all stand still.
This mighty business was upbuilt by Humper, Hooperman & Hilt, who kept
the factory on the go and made all kinds of fancy dough. Their products
went to every mart, and cheered the retail merchant’s heart, and made
consumers warble psalms, and ask for more of those elm hams. These
owners hired the ablest men that could be got for love or yen;
throughout the mill fine workmen wrought; their every motion hit the
spot; and expert foremen snooped around, and if some shabby work they
found, the riot act they’d promptly speak, in Latin, Choctaw, Dutch and
Greek.
The finest salesmen in the land were selling hams to beat the band. Old
Humper said, “No ten-cent skate can earn enough to pay the freight;
cheap men are evermore a frost—they’re dear, no matter what they cost.
We want the ablest men that grow—no other kind will have a show.” And so
these owners gathered kale until the game seemed old and stale, then
sold their mill and stock of hams to Messrs. Jingleson & Jams.
These were a pair of cautious gents, who had a reverence for cents. They
looked around, with eager eyes, for chances to economize. They had the
willies when they gazed upon the payroll—they were dazed! “Great
whiskers!” Jingleson exclaimed, “this wilful waste makes me ashamed!
This salesman, Jasper Jimpson Jones, draws, every month, two hundred
bones! Why I can hire F. Flimson Flatt, who’ll work I know, for half of
that!”
“And by old Pharaoh’s sacred rams,” remarked his partner, Peter Jams,
“it’s that way all along the list; old Humper must be crazed, I wist!
We’ll cut these salaries in two—that is the first thing we must do!”
And so the high-priced expert men were told to go, nor come again; and
soon the shop began to fill with chaps who’d neither brains nor skill.
The payroll slumped—which made Jams glad; but so did trade—which made
him mad. The product lost its high renown, and merchants turned the
salesmen down, and they sent frantic telegrams to weary Jingleson &
Jams.
When things begin down hill to slide, they rush, and will not be denied,
and so there came slump after slump until the business reached the dump,
and poor old Jingleson & Jams are mournful as a pair of clams.
Economy’s the one best bet—but some kinds cost like blitzen, yet!
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