A Man of Samples. Something about the men he met "On the Road" Part 20

"But, after all," said the first speaker, "our wives suffer the most.

They have the responsibility of the home and children on their shoulders all the time, and they worry more or less over us. My wife never sees a boy coming to the door with a circular but she thinks he has a dispatch saying I am either maimed or killed in a railroad accident. Then if the children are sick she has to shoulder the burden alone, and it is all the greater because she always tortures herself by believing that she must be in some way to blame. I tell you our wives have the hardest part to bear."

"That's so," came from several.

CHAPTER XXII.

In a traveling man's experience no two days are exactly alike, and yet there is a monotony in the story of a trip because the history of one day is so much like the history of everyday. We sell to different men in different towns but the arguments on both sides are very much the same with all men. It is but rarely that a merchant admits that he needs anything in our line until after a certain amount of preliminary coaxing, and he never admits that prices are low enough.

Some buyers meet one pleasantly, and are perhaps all the more disappointing. Their manner seems to promise success, but the result is failure. Other men start in rather snappish, as if the salesman was a nuisance, but gradually grow sociable, and if they give him an order he is forever their friend. He can not take "no" for an answer, because his experience tells him that the majority of buyers start out with a "no," and end by buying a bill. He must be persistent, because he has heard numberless times, "I will look at your samples if it is any comfort to you, but I won't buy," and in nine cases out of ten he has taken the man's order after all.

The longer he is out on the road the easier his work grows, but it is not always true that his orders continue to grow larger. Friends.h.i.+p with buyers work two ways: the salesman may be able to press them to buy in a stronger manner than a stranger would dare do, and on the other hand the buyer can the easier put the salesman off. When he says: "You know well that if there was a thing in your line that we wanted you would get the order, but there is none," the salesman has to take it gracefully and hope for better luck next time. But a stranger, in the same line, calling there the next day, and mentioning each item in his list, may secure an order, and at no better price than the buyer's acquaintance would have given.

For these reasons I have not given details of my trip so far as they concerned my own sales. It is enough to say that I was doing fairly well, not only in selling goods, but in making "valuable acquaintances." My house wrote me very pleasant letters, praising the character as well as the amount of my orders, and I looked to my going in with such antic.i.p.ations of pleasure that the last six days of the trip seemed to have more hours than any arithmetic table of time ever put into them. Partly to kill time, and partly to make myself more "solid" with buyers, I spent nearly every evening with some of my customers, and listened to many bits of experiences that were worth more than money to me.

One merchant said to me in his talk: "I have bought a great many goods of Wiebusch, and feel as much at home in his store as I do in any place outside of my own. And, while I do it because of dollars and cents, still there is something back of these that always turns the scales in his favor when his prices are no lower than his compet.i.tors.

Twenty years ago I was clerk for a hardware house in the West, and about as ordinary a one as could be. One summer I made a trip East to visit some friends, and concluded to give myself a treat by taking a day or two in New York. I knew no one in the city personally; I knew the names of the houses my employers bought from, and for some reason that of F. Weibusch seemed most familiar. I put up at the Hoffman House. I laugh every time I think of it."

"Did you feel overpowered?"

"That's exactly the word. I was awfully overpowered. I had been used to dropping into the little country hotels where the landlord and clerk were at your service, and where you had to black your own boots, and carry your baggage around. When I dropped into the Hoffman with my grip in hand, and wrote my name in the register, and saw the overwhelming indifference in the eyes of the lordly clerk, I a.s.sure you I felt as small a potato as ever grew in a hill. I never felt quite so small and mean in all my life."

"How did you get around?"

"I got to the hotel about 2 o'clock in the afternoon. I sat down in the office and tried to get my spirits up to the pitch of my surroundings, but it was a dismal failure. I felt that I was 'country'

from crown to heel, and I was terribly uncomfortable. I happened to think of some familiar names, and among others of Mr. Wiebusch. The directory gave me his address, a porter posted me on street-cars and the way to Beekman street, and in due time I presented myself at the door. I felt timid about going in. I was only a clerk; I had no business on hand; I would simply be taking up some of their time in the store, and with no profit to them. But I went up stairs, and after telling a clerk who I was and whom I was connected with, was by him introduced to Mr. Wiebusch."

"And your reception was a pleasant one?"

"You may judge so when I a.s.sure you that I remember it vividly and kindly to this day, and shall always do so. He could not have been more cordial to the head of the largest house he dealt with.

'Cordial,' mind you; not simply polite or pleasant. I was made to feel that I had paid him a compliment by calling upon him; that everything about the place was at my disposal; and that I could do him a still greater favor by permitting him to do something more for me. Now that was real kindness of heart; it was genuine courtesy, and I went back to my hotel not caring a continental d--m whether the clerk saw me or not."

"Did you make other calls?"

"Yes; the next day I called on a dozen houses, more or less, and was pleasantly met everywhere; I remember that; but I don't recall the name of a single one of them! You can see by this, from the distinctness with which I recall everything connected with my visit to Mr. Wiebusch, what a relief to me his kindness was."

"Do you still go to the Hoffman?"

"Not a bit of it. When next I went to New York I was partner in the house and the Cosmopolitan or French's were plenty good enough for me then."

"Are there many men on the road now that were traveling then?"

"Not a great many. Sam Disston was here to-day; he's one of the old stand-bys, and he doesn't look a day older now. These red whiskered men have the advantage of such fellows as you and I. I've grown gray in spots, but here's Sam still as red as when he first came out snapping a Disston saw. I'd like to have Sam to myself some Sunday afternoon and get him to tell the ups and downs of his goods. Henry used to talk saw and shout saw and swear saw, but he always sold them.

I hung on to Spear & Jackson about as long as anyone did in this section, but I had to finally give in, and I was an a.s.s for not taking hold of the Disston saw sooner."

"It's a high-priced saw, isn't it?"

"The Disston factory makes all kinds of saws. Look at this saw-- pretty neat, isn't it? Full size, 26-inch blade; good handle; what do you suppose it is worth?"

"I know nothing of saws; I couldn't guess."

"Yes, you can guess. You know whether it looks worth 5 cents or $5."

"Well, say $1.50."

"That's close. You are a good guesser on saws. I buy that of Disston for $3 per dozen."

"What! A Disston saw?"

"I didn't say a Disston saw. It is made by Disston, but their name is not on it, nor is it any such quality as they would brand with their name. But they have a tremendous trade in goods on which their name never appears. I guess they are the largest saw manufacturers in the world."

"Disston must have an easy job."

"Don't you fool yourself. Sam has just as hard a job as you have. In the first place much is expected from him; then his goods being standard, are sold close by all jobbers, and they are inclined to push other makes, which can be bought cheaper. And on cheap goods it is entirely a matter of price, so he has to meet all the compet.i.tion of every saw-maker in the country. I don't believe he has any easier job than you, or any other traveling man has."

After selling a couple of cases of cartridges to a wholesale grocer one evening, he was led to tell of his early days, and I learned that no one trade contained all the shrewd men. Said he, "I once felt that our house was a very important one, and about as large as the State of Michigan. But one July I went down to New York, and sauntered into Thurber's, on West Broadway. I didn't expect to buy anything, but I thought Thurber would feel complimented by such a man as myself calling upon him. Their lower room looked rather busy, but not any more so than I expected, but when I got up stairs and found myself facing from fifty to seventy-five clerks I began to think Thurber's was a bigger business than mine. A boy led me to H. K. Thurber's private office, but there were several men ahead of me and I waited my turn. The longer I waited the smaller I kept growing. Mr. Thurber's face was one that you could study. One moment it lit up with a smile or happy thought, the next his mouth closed with a snap as if it was the combination lock of a safe-door. At his table was a chair for 'the next,' and I felt as if 'next' was going to be called out whenever I saw a man getting ready to arise. It was a pleasure to watch Thurber.

The new-comer took his place in the vacated chair, told who he was, what was his business, and Thurber had a 'yes' or a 'no' ready before the man was through. 'We don't want it' came out sharp and decisive.

'But if I could--.' 'We don't want it;' and this time the mouth closed tighter, and the man saw there was no 'buts,' and bowed himself out.

Then to the next, and if his luck was better the bell was touched, and the boy who answered told: 'Show this gentleman to Mr. Whyland.' Here a letter was placed before him by a clerk, and after a glance at it an answer was dictated to the stenographer, who sat in a corner nearby.

Long before it was my turn to bother him I felt so cheap that I would have sneaked off, but I was afraid some of the boys would take me by the collar and drag me back. Mr. Thurber met me pleasantly, and said a few words about our business that told me he knew something about us, and professed to be very much pleased at my call. Then he sent for Mr.

Whyland and insisted upon my allowing him to show me about the store.

Whyland had but lately returned from his European trip, and was just aching all over to sell goods. You know how that is, don't you? Take any good salesman who has been out of the harness for awhile and when he gets back again to work there's more enjoyment in selling a bill of goods than in drinking a bottle of champagne. I swore to myself that I wouldn't buy a cent's worth, but before I got away from Whyland I was down for $13,000 worth of goods."

"Whew! It was a dear visit."

"Not at all. I needed the goods and bought them low, so that it was all right. But Whyland turned me over to Frank Thurber. Frank is the politician of the concern; the greenback, anti-monopoly, mugwump man!

He beamed on me as if he was Venus rising out of the sea; patted me on the back; said I would own all of Michigan in a few years, and he was coming out to get some points from us wide-awake Westerners; then filled my pockets with his anti-monopoly speeches and papers, led me to the top of the stairs, gave me his benediction, and I left. It was an experience. No opera that I ever listened to, no ball that I ever attended, contained so much genuine pleasure for me as I got out of that visit. But I went away satisfied that our house had still room to grow before it would be the biggest in the trade. It does a man good to see what a small concern he is occasionally."

CHAPTER XXIII.

"I can tell you one thing," said a hardware man to me, "there is a good deal of forcing down of prices done by traveling men that is entirely uncalled for. Here comes a man to me selling auger-bits. I am full, and I tell him so. He enlarges on the superior quality of his goods. I admit them to be good, but my stock is too full for me to think of adding to it. He thinks it possible there will be an advance, as at 70 and 5 per cent. off the list there is a positive loss to the maker. I have no fears of an immediate advance, and say so. Then he says: 'Mr. X., I am very anxious to get a small order from you; trade is not very brisk with me, and, as an inducement, I will give you an extra 5 per cent.' Knowing this to be lower than others are quoting, and feeling well satisfied that the goods are liable to advance rather than decline, when they change, I make out an order for him. But how is he going to justify that cut to his factory? It was absolutely uncalled for. It was not done to meet compet.i.tion, but to beat compet.i.tion, and was simply a bait to lead me to order when otherwise I would not have ordered."

"But," said another man, "go back of that a little. At 70 per cent.

discount the maker is barely getting back 100 cents for what actually costs him one dollar. He is tr.i.m.m.i.n.g as close as he can in everything to keep him from loss; wages are cut down, economy in material practiced, and every detail scrimped to the last possible limit Then this order comes in from the salesman at a still lower figure. No further scrimping can be done in material--that has a limit that cannot be pa.s.sed--where, then, can any saving be made? Only in the wages. The workmen are shown the prices that the goods are now sold at, and told that there is but one thing for the factory to do: to meet this 'compet.i.tion,' or close up. And, of course, the meaning of this is another reduction in the already well-reduced wages. I declare, a man must have a good deal of gall to be drawing a salary of from $1,800 to $3,500 per year and ask a workman to take 10 per cent.

off his wages of $1 per day."

"Yes, and you will notice," said the first speaker, "that all this was done that the traveling man might have an order to send in, and not because of any requirements of compet.i.tion or of demand and supply.

When I read of workingmen striking I think of these things and wonder what they would do if they could see what we merchants see of unnecessary cutting in prices. Manufacturers and jobbers send men out to present the merits of their goods, but their sole idea of a 'smart'

man is one whose sales are large. If they have a dozen men on the road, the man who sells the most goods is the champion man. He sells big bills and is expected to cut prices. But one of the men who makes less show may be much the most profitable for them."

"You would keep account of profits rather than of sales?"