THE modern draper's guide to wealth is a wonderful short cut.
Perseverance, honesty, integrity, and such twaddle have got to be drugs
in the market. To get on the highway of fortune, you must rush headlong
down the Road to Ruin, continue straight on till you come to the
Insolvent Court, and—there you are. Let business grow dull, and capital
object—like a fat turtle—to be turned over and over, and the
haberdashers have still the safe expedient left them of being ruined
before taking in their spring goods. About six "fearful bankruptcies"
will make an enterprising tradesman comfortable for life. There is
nothing like "dreadful failure" for insuring complete success, and
selling off at the most "frightful loss" is the cleverest way of getting
the very handsomest profits. As for a shopkeeper writing up over his
door "established these hundred years," it's sheer madness. He might as
well say at once that he didn't intend selling off at 60 per cent. under
prime cost. His father might have put up such a sign, but the nation has
grown wiser.
A clever linendraper, who wishes to succeed in business, should look
cautiously at the splendid establishments of his neighbours, and then
try to eclipse them all. If his rival's shop-front reaches to the second
floor, let his touch the third. Double the size of the plate-glass, have
fifty times more brass, and a hundred times more gas, and he will take
all their business away from them as easily as a watch in a crowd. Never
mind the goods, but for heaven's sake look to the French polish!
Remember this—A crust on silver is known to be better than venison on
crockeryware. The "extensive alteration of premises," if well
advertised, will fill the house like the first night of a new theatre;
velvets with cotton backs, silks thin as tracing paper, calicoes half
plaster of Paris, will fetch prices higher than a murderess's ringlets.
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As soon as this novelty has died away, an enterprising tradesman should
have a "disastrous fire," by way of a jolly, house-warming. Hang up a
few scorched blankets outside the shop, with a placard stating that
20,000 are for sale, and down will rush the ladies like sparrows to a
pea-sowing. Dresses soiled a little in one corner—so as not to show—by
the water from the engines in the back scullery—will look _dirt_ cheap
at twice their original price.
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ALARMING SACRIFICE
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But the grand _coup_—the end and aim of a real downright spirited man of
business—is his own ruin. For decency's sake he must defer this until he
has been in business six months at least. With the first-rate poster of
"Frightful Bankruptcy!" up come the ladies, each one with the week's
housekeeping money, to pick up something from the most distressing
wreck. The idea of such a vast concern going to pieces draws down the
beauteous wreckers like an Indiaman on a rock. To keep up the
excitement, issue every Monday morning a notice that the stock "must be
sold in a week," and go on every month increasing the amount of loss
from fifty until it reaches two hundred per cent. under prime cost. If
the tickets to each article are well scratched through and marked anew,
and marked again in red ink, the success is certain. Three ruins, and a
spirited salesman may change his name, take a Clapham villa, and keep
his nag like a gentleman.
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It is a cruel thing, but such is the spirit of competition abroad, that
defy it as you will, it is not to be intimidated. Like goose for dinner,
there is no keeping it down. If Smith and Co. challenge Europe in
shirtings, Jones and Co. challenge the world in sheetings. Get a good
idea and all your rivals instantly seize upon it; it's positively
disgusting.
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The other day a genius in the silk trade hit upon so excellent a plan,
that it is a positive disgrace to the nation he is not allowed to patent
it. He was in the ruin line (his sixteenth), and wishing to go to the
dogs in style, advertised in all the papers that, previous to the doors
being opened, a grand scramble of bonnets would take place. Thirty
thousand Dunstables would be positively thrown away into the gutter from
the first floor. Of course the attendance was terrific. A band was
engaged, and at night the shop was illuminated, and the word "ruin," in
blood red lamps, appearing over the shop-door. With the first shower of
bonnets the scene was exciting in the extreme, the music playing "Hurrah
for the bonnets so new."
A most shameful piracy of this touch of mercantile genius has already
taken place. The firm of Smith and Co. have advertised a grand scramble
of left-handed gloves on Monday, and the right-handed ones on Tuesday.
The house of Green and Co. have announced that, previous to their annual
ruin, they intend to give a grand raffle for three hundred silk gowns,
with leg-of-mutton sleeves and trimmings. Doubtless some firms will
shortly imitate the plan of gambling-houses, and hand round wine and
cakes to the customers, and by this manœuvre perhaps a lady might see
double, and take six yards instead of twelve.
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Moreover, why allow the ruin principle to rest with the mere
announcement of the fact, why not act a little melodrama or so to make
the destruction more real and palatable. Thus the enterprising tradesman
might take a hint from the plague of London, and when a carriage rolled
by, or a crowd collected at his shop front, he might throw up his
window, wring his hands, and scream, instead of "death! death!"—as of
old—"ruin! ruin! despair!" and then disappear suddenly. Or why not, when
the shop was crowded, let the shop-walker (who might be a leading
tragedian engaged for the express purpose) suddenly rush down the
middle, with his shirt collar open, followed by six despairing clerks,
and holding an empty pistol to his forehead, which, after a desperate
struggle, he might allow them to wrest from him. This would certainly
succeed. Again, what a grand effect would be produced by letting an
advertising cart perambulate the streets, surmounted by a _tableau
vivant_ of the luckless linendraper, having his bed taken from under him
by the sheriffs' officers, his wife and six interesting children weeping
over him, and the whole surmounted by flags of posters announcing that
the effects were selling off at desperate prices. In the evening there
must be a transparency of "Despair seizing the till," and a grand
display of fireworks from the attics on closing the shop at midnight
previous.
[Illustration]
After all, perhaps, the linendrapers are not more to blame than lovely
woman. She drives them to the despair they glory in. Let the fond mother
see her Tommy want shirts, and she will, like a prudent body, wait for
the next bankruptcy rather than visit some house where honest prices
prevent clap-trap trickery. But no! there is a moment's vain-glory to be
had, a few words of praise to be earned, when, untying the brown paper
parcel before the wondering husband, she can hold up the bargains that
could "never have been made for the money."
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