When a man has been on the road a year or two he is never disappointed because a dealer refuses to buy something he was sure he was going to sell him. He is prepared for “No” on all occasions rather than for “Yes.” But a man is terribly disappointed on his first trip every time he starts out to sell a particular article and does not meet with success. I was sure Tucker would give me an order for some bull-dog revolvers, but in answer to my low price he had said he wouldn't take them as a gift!
I would have been very glad to go straight home and let Tucker get along without bull-dogs, but my silly head had brought me into this business and I must keep on. Probably he saw I was a good deal disappointed, for he added, in a rather kindly tone, “Every pistol of that kind I have ever sold came back on my hands for repairs, and I swore I'd never buy another.”
“You are making a mistake,” said I. “When the double action first came out they did get out of order easily, and manufacturers were obliged to take back broken ones and replace them at great expense to themselves. In self-defense they were obliged to make them better, and they are just as reliable as any other to-day.”
“Well, I don't want any.”
“All right, we will pass it. But I wondered what one of your competitors meant when he said he had the pistol trade; now I understand.”
“Does he sell these?”
“Yes, he had some from us not long ago, and gave me an order for more to-day.”
“What's the best you can do on them?”
How many times a day does every traveling man see men act as Tucker did? Here was a line of goods he was cocksure he did not want, but the moment he heard that his competitor had a trade on them he began to feel that he must have some. Seven-eighths of the goods sold are sold in this way. Very few men do business on their own judgment. Their competitors make their prices, select their styles, and force them to carry certain stock. The drummer's best card is always: This is selling like fire; Smith took a gross, Brown half a gross, Jones three dozen, and you will miss it if you do not try a few. Such dealers always have the larger part of their capital locked up in goods they bought because others had bought the same goods.
I repeated my price to Tucker, and he told me to send him a few. “By the way,” said he, “what are your terms?”
“Sixty days.”
“Does your house draw the day a bill falls due?”
“No; the house is slow about drawing upon customers, and they always give ten days' notice before making draft.”
“Well, I don't like to be drawn on. The house that draws on me can't sell me again. I can't draw on my trade, and I'm devilish glad to get my money in six months, but you fellows in the city expect a man to come to the exact minute. I don't want any drawing on me.”
It was an excellent place to have delivered a lecture on the beauties of prompt payments. I could have told Brother Tucker that if he did not see his way clear to pay his bill when due he should not buy it, and if his customers did not pay promptly he should dun them harder or keep his goods. But the traveling man is not sent out to inculcate business morals, and he is too anxious to sell a bill to run any risks by disagreeing with a buyer. I did what all others would have done in my place. I assured Mr. Tucker I would be as easy with him regarding payments as any house in the world would dare be, and that point safely out of the way, I sold him several items quite smoothly. We came to guns.
“What is Parker's worth?”
“Twenty-five per cent, off factory list.”
“What! Why, here's a quotation from Cincinnati of 25 and 10!”
“Let me see it, please. I have not heard of any such figures.”
“Bob, where is that list of Reachum's?”
“I don't know.”
“D—n it, you had it.”
“Then it must be in the drawer.”
Tucker emptied the drawer, looked through a pile of papers, but could not find the circular he was looking for He was annoyed by it, and I was sorry.
“Well, let it go,” said he, “but that was the price.”
“There must be a mistake somewhere,” said I, “for the goods cost that at the factory in largest lots.”
“There was no mistake,” he said sharply; “I know what I am talking about. The discount offered was 25 and 10.”
I hastened to assure him that I had not meant that he was mistaken, but that Reachum must have made a mistake.
“That's no concern of mine,” said he, “and I rather think that Reachum is a man who knows his business as well as any of you. If you are higher than he is on guns you probably are on other goods. I guess you had better cancel that order.”
Here was a pretty how-do-you-do! How was I to get out of this box? I confess I was in great doubts as to what to do or say. I dared not sell Parker's guns at any such price, yet the man would cancel the order and probably always have a grudge against the house unless I sold him now. I could not believe that Reachum had made this price, and yet there was no telling what that house might or might not do.
“How many Parker guns do you want?” I asked.
“I don't want any. I only asked because it is a leading thing, and if a house is not low on that I conclude it is high on other goods.”
“I was going to say,” I said, “that I would meet the price.” I wasn't going to say anything of the kind, but as he didn't want any I was safe in saying it now.
“Then you may send me two. I think I know a place where I can sell two.”
Just so! I was in for it again, and in for it bad. Sometimes it pays to be smart, and sometimes it does not. This was one of the latter times. As a matter of fact I had no business to quote a discount greater than 20 per cent, but I had said 25 so as to make a good impression on him, and at 25 and 10 I was sure to catch Hail Columbia from the house.
Just then Bob, who had come over when appealed to about the list, said:
“There's that list you wanted,” and drew one out of a pile of papers on the desk. Tucker opened it with an air of satisfaction, but I could see his face grow black.
“D—n it, this isn't it.”
“Yes, it is; it's the one that came in yesterday, and there's the figures on it you made for Utley,” persisted Bob.
I did not wait on ceremony, but looked over Tucker's shoulders, and to my astonishment and delight, there was, in plain figures, discount on Parker guns, 15 and 10 per cent.
“How in thunder did I make such a mistake!” said Tucker, with a somewhat downfallen air.
“We all do it,” said I, anxious to help him out the best way I could. “Fifteen and 10 is low enough, but if they were offering 50 and 10 I would meet them.”
Don't you think, good reader, that this was a proper thing to say? It seemed so to me, and cost nothing, so I said it. I added, “You see, Mr. Tucker, my price of 25 per cent, straight was a better one than Reachum's. Shall I send the guns at 25?”
“Why, you just now said you'd sell at 25 and 10!”
“I said that because you said you were offered at 25 and 10, but as that was a mistake I take back my figures.”
“Well, let the Parker guns go.”
I was quite glad to do so. But it made it up-hill work for a few minutes, until Tucker had got over his chagrin about the guns. But we managed to get in smooth water again, and when we were through I had taken a fair order from him, and much of it was for little odds and ends that paid us a good profit. I bade him good-day with a feeling of gratitude, and assured him of my hearty thankfulness.
After dinner I tackled a general dealer. The hotel clerk told me the Pittsburg man, who was there a week before, had sold Cutter a bill, so I had no hopes of doing much with him, but I had two hours yet, and might as well improve them.
“Martin Cutter” was over the door, and I got an idea in my head that he was a long, thin individual, with black hair and whiskers. But he wasn't. He was of medium size, well built, and had an air of shrewdness and of business about him. He was waiting on trade, so I sat down and watched him and took notes of the stock. When he was through with his customer he came forward and met me pleasantly, spoke well of our house, but said he was just getting in a bill of revolvers and cartridges, and needed nothing in our line.
There was something about him that made me like him at once, and I had the feeling that I was making a pleasant impression upon him. We chatted about Pittsburg, about gun houses, about the cutting going on in prices, and the general dullness in all business. I think that when I went out of the store I had more respect for him as a man and as a merchant than I had for the two who had bought of me. Had he needed any goods, I would have given him my lowest prices at the first word. As I was walking back to the hotel I suddenly remembered that he was just the man to buy a certain pocket-knife that we had lately taken hold of, and I went back to speak about it to him.
“Are you sending goods here to any one?” he asked.
“Yes, two bills.”
“Then send me a dozen.”
I thanked him, and went off feeling better. The chances are always decidedly in your favor of selling a man whom you have sold before. The dealer who lets you leave town without an order this trip will let you go twice as readily the next time. I like to get him down in my order book even though it is for some very trifling thing, because of the influence it will have on the future.
I went to the hotel, copied off my orders, and mailed them, feeling that I had done extra well, and then sauntered leisurely to the depot. On the train a man behind me heard me ask the conductor about Rossmore.
He leaned over and asked, “Are you selling goods?”
“Yes.”
“Then we'll go to Rossmore together. What line are you in?”
“Guns and revolvers.”
“The devil you are! So am I.”
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