A Man of Samples. Something about the men he met "On the Road" Part 19

"Yes," said another, "but the man who sits in his office usually makes the biggest mistake in supposing that he is a great deal smarter than the men he sells. Because he is a peg higher in trade, as jobber, importer, or manufacturer, he imagines he is also greater in ability, and he has no hesitancy in advising these poor devils about their business. I was selling scythes several years ago, and worked for just such a man as I have been describing. He was a good mechanic, but pig-headed; goods must be made and finished a certain way, because that was the way they had been made for thirty years. The result was we were losing our trade. I knew he was blaming me for the trade falling off, so I persuaded him to make a flying trip with me to Buffalo, Cleveland, Toledo, Detroit and Chicago. The dealers at Buffalo were rather old fogy, and we got our order there from our regular customer, but when we struck Cleveland I saw the old man open his eyes. It was one of Blossom's off-days, so he didn't waste much time on us, but said he didn't want any of our goods. Deming hadn't got into silver mining, so we couldn't get an order from him by buying a share of stock, but Van was about half-full, and he opened up on us.

Then Toledo piled it on. There were four jobbing houses there in our line, but not one would buy. I knew one buyer pretty well. After we had been the rounds we came back to his place, and I asked him to tell us frankly how we could get some of his trade. He gave in detail the ideas that were current among retailers and consumers regarding shape and finish of scythes, putting it down in a clear-headed way, so that a baby could have understood him, but showing the shrewdness of a man who was studying all the points in connection with his trade. It did the business. We went up to Detroit, and had a long talk with Charlie Fletcher, and the old man bought a lot of samples and went home. On my next trip, you can bet, I had salable goods."

"You can study a man as he is only when you see him in his own store,"

said a third. "When a country merchant comes into Chicago, and walks into your store, he is very desirous that you shall be pleasantly impressed by him; so he puts on his best manners. You are on your native heath, you are surrounded by your clerks, and you are considerable of a man in a city of big men, while he realizes he is a very small toad in a little country puddle. But just put the shoe on the other foot, and go into his store. Now, he is on his own ground; you are asking favors of him in the shape of orders, and all the petty smartness comes out, if there is any in him. It is an opportunity that permits a mean man to be his meanest, and draws out of a generous, kindly soul all the milk of human kindness there is in his heart."

"Well," said a dry-goods man, "there are a good many kinds of men in the world, but the man who makes me fighting mad is in Pittsburg. He's most infernally polite, but he never wants anything. As I go back to his desk he is either reading or writing. I say: 'Good morning, Mr.

Blane,' and hand him my card. He scarcely looks at it, but in the most solemn and dignified way says: 'We do not need anything in your line to-day.' Then I open up on my leading items: 'I have a very nice line of novelties in so-and-so.' He looks off from his paper to say: 'We are full of so-and-so to-day,' then goes to reading again. 'I have some desirable patterns in new goods in silks.' He looks up to say, 'We have enough silks for the present.' 'I can give you special prices on hairpins.' He looks up again to say: 'Our stock of hairpins is full.' And then I bow myself out. I asked the boss one day if he ever sold the firm when he was on the road. He said he did once. Blane was out of town and he sold his partner. Still, I call on him every time I go to Pittsburg."

"Pittsburg? Oh, that's where Joe Horne hangs out."

"Who's Joe Horne?"

"Why, Joe is the man whose orders are as well known in the west as Willimantie thread. Every New York drummer stops at Pittsburg, and every dry-goods man sells Joe Horne, or says he does, so that now, west of the Mississippi, the first greeting given a drummer is, 'Show us Joe Horne's order.' Joe must be a very good fellow to give his orders so impartially."

"Did you know Luce?" one dry-goods man asked the other.

"Luce, of Toledo? I should say I did."

"He was a tough man to tackle unless he felt just right. They tell of a put-up job on a drummer who used to call on him. He couldn't manage ever to get an order out of Luce. One day he said to a friend, who always sold Luce, 'How is it that you succeed and I fail? I sell the best trade in the country and to a good many men that you don't sell; now, why is it I can't catch on to Luce?' The other asked, 'Do you ever talk politics to him?' 'No.' 'Well, that's his soft side. He's a regular old moss-back, Vallandigham Democrat. If you want to succeed, go in on that line.' His friend thanked him, and the next time he went to Toledo he felt better. Luce wanted no goods, as usual. Then Mr.

Traveling Man opened on politics. He remarked that all over the State there was a good show for burying the d--d Republicans that election.

Luce glared at him in speechless wonder. Then Mr. Drummer launched out on the infernal meanness of the Republican leaders, but by this time Luce was ready for him, and the way that poor devil was talked to would make you sorry. When he next saw his friend there came pretty near being a fight, but the friend thought it too good a joke to keep and told Luce. No one enjoyed a joke better than Mr. Luce, and, by thunder, the next time the man called on him he gave him a good order, and they were the best of friends afterwards."

"I often wonder if any one ever fools a man equal to the way he fools himself. I always laugh over a customer of mine in Cincinnati who always insists he must have 'a leetle adwantage.' The boys on the road like Old Pap and laugh over his 'leetle adwantage.' He says: 'I must haf a leetle adwantage ofer New York and Philadelphy. They ton't pay no freight. They get their goods at their door; I must haf a leetle adwantage to cover the freight.' The old man has this so firmly fixed in his head that we have to humor him by giving him 'a leetle adwantage.'"

"Some men think that in giving an order all they need to do is to state their own terms and time, and every one will dance to their tune. A concern in the Northwest that failed (and they ought to), used to write their orders on a blank that was headed:

All prices guaranteed. Privilege of increasing, decreasing, or countermanding No charge for boxing or drayage.

"How was that for smartness?"

"You say they failed?"

"They did."

"They ought to have got rich!"

"Yes, they are a fair type of the average buyer; it's cut here, screw down there, pare over yonder. No matter what your price may be, it's always, 'What are you going to do for me?' as if he must have a special cut. I showed Hibbard & Spencer's buyer a new tool the other day, and gave him my price. 'What's the best you can do?' I told him that was the best I could do. 'But what is your price to Hibbard & Spencer?' As though every salesman must have laid away in a snug corner, a special price for that important firm! 'I have given you my price; it is the best I can do with anyone.' They are not willing anyone shall make a cent but themselves; they want the whole apple, and are not willing to give the manufacturer the core."

CHAPTER XXI

When I reached T. I had a very disagreeable duty before me, namely, to fix a misunderstanding with a customer. The house had written me: "Atkinsen & Co. bought a bill last October from Ned on 60 days' time; goods went exactly as ordered. When the bill became due we sent a statement, with a mem. that if not heard from in ten days we would draw. In reply they sent us a letter saying the goods were sold them under arrangement by which they are to be paid for when sold, and that we had better hold our draft, etc. We wrote that we did not do that kind of business; that our terms were plainly stated on the invoice, and that upon receipt of that, if not correct, they should have notified us at once. To this they sent a 'Smart Aleck' letter, and when we drew on them allowed our draft to be returned. Settle the matter up; take back the goods, if no better way suggests itself, but close it up. And close up our deal with them; they are the kind of men we do not want to do business with."

To be ordered to get money out of a slow customer is bad enough, but to have to settle an account with a mean one is a thousand times worse. The slow customer is usually ready to dun himself, and full of apologies for his slowness, but the "Smart Aleck" who wants to be small has a hundred arguments ready at hand to prove that he is a very superior person who proposes to stand on his rights. Every traveling man has such customers as this "on his list," and is occasionally called upon to tackle them.

I had made up my mind that I would find Atkinson rather tall and slim, but he wasn't; he was a pleasant-looking man, and I handed out my card as if I had called around to sell him a big bill. His face lost some of the smile when he saw the firm's name, but I began to talk of trade and the weather, and kept it up until I had forced him into an appearance of being sociable. Eventually I led the talk around to his stock and was fully prepared for his decisive "We do not need any." I mentioned guns, rifles, cartridges, caps--everything--but he was full.

I was determined that he should introduce the subject of the account, and this he did when I made a move as if to go.

"Did your house tell you about our account?"

"They told me to stick to all the money I could get," I said, pleasantly.

"Have you a statement of our account with you?"

"I think I have." And I appeared to be searching for it, though, of course, I knew the exact page and line it was on. "Here it is: $43.30."

He went to his ledger, found it correct, I suppose, and then from his cash drawer counted out the amount and asked for a receipt. I gave him one, thanked him for the money, and then remarked that I was sorry there had been any misunderstanding about the terms.

"I like to see a house live up to its agreement," he said, in a surly tone.

"Don't we?"

"No, sir; these goods were to be paid for when sold."

"But the invoice is plainly marked sixty days; why didn't you report such an agreement when you received the invoice?"

"I don't care for the invoice. Don't I get any amount of invoices where all of the discount does not show? When I pay them I deduct the extra, and that is the end of it."

I concluded a little plain talk would neither do us or him any harm; he was probably in a state of mind that would prevent him buying of us very soon again. I said: "I am satisfied that you have been long enough in business to know that staple goods, such as you had from us, are never sold on any such terms as you state you bought these at. I made inquiries about you of your neighbors, and every one said they had misunderstandings with you, and are not on good terms with you, and if I could see your correspondence I am pretty sure I would find we are not the only house out of town that you have had just such disputes with. I simply say to you, and for your own good, Mr.

Atkinson, that you are making a mistake. My orders from my house were not to sell you, and while I know you can get along without us, you can't afford to keep driving houses away from you without hurting yourself. I'm obliged to you for paying me; that is all I came in here for."

He told me that I and my house could go to the devil, and in that pleasant frame of mind we parted. I suppose I cut down the bridge between him and us, but I venture to say other houses had the benefit of my frankness.

I spoke of this to an old traveling man whom I met at the hotel.

"Yes," said he, "there's too much coddling among us all. We smooth over this, and give in on that, and the result is we make it all the easier for the fellow to be small the next time. I'm selling axes, and, of course, I have to warrant them. Do you warrant guns?"

"Not to speak of."

"Then you ought to thank your stars. Warranting is the most infernal device ever brought out to make men mean and dishonest. I put it down to the dealer, when I sell him, in the plainest way I know how, that we warrant an ax only against being soft or breaking from a plain flaw. When I come around in the spring he pulls from under the counter two or three or more rusty axes that he hands to me, with the remark that "here are some poor ones." I pick up an ax and find some idiot ground it as thin as a razor, and the edge broke out so that it looks like a saw, I ask him what is the matter with it.'Too hard; brittle as gla.s.s.' 'But I didn't warrant against being too hard.' 'But you expect your axes to stand, don't you?' 'This would stand if ground properly.'

'Oh, yes; you fellows always have some loop-hole to get out of your warrant.' This rather staggers me, so I pick up the next one. 'What is the matter with this?' 'Soft.' As I hold the edge to the light I can see a slight bend in the bit. The man who used it had it stick, and in his efforts to loosen it, he had given it such a terrible wrench that the edge had bent a trifle. To a man knowing anything of the proper temper of an ax the fact of that slight bend is in its favor, and the work of grinding it out would have been much less than it was to remove the helve. But I pa.s.s that, as there is no use to argue that a slight twist does not show soft temper, and I pick up the third one.

It has a corner broken off; the break is still bright, but I am calmly told there was a bad flaw there. I start to explain why I know, from the shape of the break that there was no flaw, but he twits me again with wanting to go back on my warrant, and I stop right there. Now, this is the history of nine out of ten transactions. The retailer takes back everything a customer brings back for fear of losing that customer's trade. The jobber takes back from the retailer, knowing it is unjust, but he is afraid that any hesitancy on his part will damage his trade. And the poor devil of a manufacturer takes it off the jobber's hands and cannot help himself. There is a deuced lot of cowardice in business nowadays. It goes back through the dealers till it reaches the consumer, and it encourages him to make any kind of claim he sees fit to cover his negligence, ignorance, or maliciousness."

Sitting in the cars that evening, I overheard a traveling man say: "I find it a little bit harder each week to leave home. I have a little girl of three, and I see so little of her it makes me discontented.

Her mother knows just what time I ought to come up the street, and she and the baby are watching for me at that hour every Sat.u.r.day evening.

When they see me the little one comes running to meet me. Her excitement and her running just take her breath away, so that when she gets to me she cannot speak a word. But she can squeeze me and kiss me. How I do hang on to her all the time I'm at home! I go to bed two nights in the week like a man should. I wake up to find those little arms around me! And on Monday morning I have to pull myself away. I tell you it's almighty hard."

His voice had a tremor in it, as if a very little encouragement would bring tears.

"Yes," said the other, "it is hard. I've been there. I had a girl six years old that was to me all yours is to you, and all she ever can be.

I started off one Monday morning leaving her as happy as a lark. On Wednesday I was telegraphed to come in, and when I got home Thursday morning she didn't know me. Just as long as she could speak she kept asking for me. I never start out on a Monday morning but that I think of her, and I never walk toward the house Sat.u.r.day night that I do not miss her. I don't know, but it seems to me that a traveling man has no business to have a wife and family."

"I never knew you had lost a child," said the other; "if I should lose my baby I believe I would go insane."

"Oh, no, you wouldn't; you would do just as every one else does; you'd go on and suffer. But the men that can be with their families seven days in the week ought to thank their G.o.d every hour of the day."

"I travel a good deal by team," said a third, "and am frequently driving as late as 10 or 11 o'clock at night. As I go along the road and see the light s.h.i.+ning out of the windows, and see family groups in their homes, gathered around the lamp, I tell you, boys, I get homesick. It's the time of day I want to be at home with my family. I envy every man I see in such a home, and I contrast his condition, surrounded with his wife and children, and a long night of rest before him, with my work. I finish up my day at a late hour at night, then perhaps have to get up at an unearthly hour in the morning to catch a train. There's mighty little poetry in this kind of a life."