I WAS SO RAGING MAD THAT I WAS PREPARED FOR ALMOST ANYTHING
"I WAS SO RAGING MAD THAT I WAS PREPARED FOR ALMOST ANYTHING"
When I got home that night, Betty remarked:
"Why, look at the knuckles on your hand! They have blood on them! What have you done?"
"Oh, I just knocked into the cash register $37.00 which was walking out of the door," I returned jauntily. And then I told her the whole story.
She came over and kissed me and said:
"Good boy!" and her eyes flashed as she said it. "I'm proud of you!"
Those four words meant more to me than the success of this sale.
Betty and I went to Boston the next day. I wanted to call at Bates & Hotchkin's to buy a few things I needed, and also I wanted to call on Mr. Barker, to whom Mr. Sirle had given me a card of introduction some time ago. I intended that we should have a nice little dinner, and take in a show and stay at a good hotel for the night and come back the next day. All by way of celebration.
"You are an extravagant man," said Betty severely when I told her this. "What train do we leave by? I'll be ready."
We had a great time in Boston. In the evening we went to see "Pollyanna" and I told Betty I had fallen in love with Patricia Collinge.
"I'll get jealous," she said, and squeezed my arm.
When we reached the city I called on Bates & Hotchkin, ordered some goods, and told them about the sale. I had a talk with Mr. Peck, the credit man who called on me the time I had had trouble paying my bills.
"That was fine," he said, "but pretty risky work—pretty risky work. You succeeded with it all right this time, but next time I wouldn't risk so much on one sale.
"By the way," he asked, "how much did you sell during the period of the sale, other than the reduced-price goods, or does that $1,517.00 include the sale of regular goods as well?"
"Oh, no," I replied. "That represents the money we took in from the goods which were reduced. I haven't figured yet what the sales for general goods were the first three days of this week, but I know that last week we sold $824.00 worth of goods, so that we had a sale on general goods of $320.00. Our sale really helped rather than hindered our general turn-over."
"Splendid," he said. "To what do you attribute mostly the success of the sale?"
"Well, I don't know. But I do know that the enthusiasm of my fellows helped a lot, and the help I got from Fellows of the Flaxon Advertising Company. In fact, I think everybody had something to do with it. I know Mrs. Black did," turning around to Betty.
"I usually find," said Mr. Peck, "that, whether it's success or failure, there's a woman at the bottom of it."
The next morning I went to see Mr. Barker and presented the card which Mr. Sirle had given me. Barker had a fine, big store on Summit Street. I rather expected to get just an ordinary, formal reception, for I figured that he must be a very busy man. To my surprise, he gave me a lot of time. He was a most interesting man. I apologized for taking up his time, saying:
"I mustn't keep you, Mr. Barker, for you are such a busy man and have a lot of things to attend to."
"Oh, no, indeed, Mr. Black," he said. "I always figure that the head of a business should always have plenty of time on his hands. I arrange my work so that I can go any time I wish to have a round at the links. I believe one of the earmarks of a true executive is his ability to slam down the lid of his desk—that is, assuming he is so old-fashioned as to have a roll-top desk—beastly things, they are. I think a roll-top desk is an invention of the devil to induce lazy people to shove work into pigeon holes instead of doing it! Roll-top desks are one of my pet aversions. As I was saying, I think one of the earmarks of a real executive is his ability to leave his business at any time and know that it will run safely. An executive must reduce work to routine as much as possible. He mustdo thethinkingand let others do thedoing. It is easy enough to get people to do things when you tell them what to do. I remember," he said, reminiscently, "hearing a speaker once say that the value of a man, from his neck down, was limited to $2.50 a day, but, from his neck up, there was no limit to his value. Now, an executive uses his body from his neck up, to plan work for other fellows to do with their bodies below the neck."
"But, of course," I said, "you've a big business here. You can hire plenty of fellows to do all you want."
"True," he said, "but remember, it was not always a big business; and, however small your business may be, you can plan to let others do the less important work, and keep the more important work for yourself. Of course, the most important job any retailer has is to buy right, and to plan his sales policies and methods and advertising."
Mr. Barker's desk was on a kind of mezzanine floor, from which he could look all over the store, and while he was talking I noticed that his eyes constantly roved over it.
At one time he suddenly broke off in the middle of a sentence and pressed a button on his desk. A stenographer appeared and he asked her to send Riske to him. In a few minutes a young fellow appeared and stood before his desk.
"Jim," said Mr. Barker, "you had a customer a few minutes ago who wanted some automobile accessories."
"Yes, sir," replied Jim.
"When he came into the store he stood just inside the doorway, and kept glancing sidewise at his car?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, instead of going to him, you looked at him and waited for him to come over to you. Now, never do that again, for it is bad salesmanship. We want to express to our customers by our words and actions that we are glad to have them visit our store, and that we approach them more than half way. Now, for us to stand still and make a customer walk right up to us at the end of the counter is not expressing that attitude, is it?"
Jim was silent.
"Whenever a customer comes into the store, always go to him. The very act of walking toward the customer makes him feel more at ease; and incidentally, when you get a customer like the one you had, don't ask him to come to the rear of the store as you did, for he was nervous about his car. Instead, you should bring the article to him—that is, if it is some small article that can be easily brought.
"Now, this is apparently only a little matter, but you know most big things are made up of a bunch of little ones, aren't they? If you'll just remember that, Jim, I'll be much obliged to you."
And with this kindly admonition he dismissed Jim.
I wished I had the ability to give helpful suggestions like that.
I made some remark to Mr. Barker about that, and he said:
"If my salespeople are not successful, I am to blame, not they. I am in my position because I have, or am supposed to have, more knowledge of business and selling than they, and it is up to me to pass my knowledge out to them, and to help them to become better salesmen. I believe that, if ever a man wants to find out who is responsible for his failure, he should look at the fellow he shaves in the morning."
"But come," he said, putting on his hat, "won't you come and have lunch with me?"
And this big, busy retail merchant, who was not too big or too busy to take me, a little dealer in a small town to lunch, took me over to the Exeter House, where we had an excellent dinner, and a most enjoyable chat; after which he took me over to the association rooms, which I had for some time wanted to visit, where I met some other likeable fellows in the hardware business who happened to be in town.
I wished I could have stayed longer to talk with some of the interesting men there, but I felt we ought to get back to Farmdale; so I tore myself away, feeling, however, that our joy ride had proved to be of practical dollars-and-cents value to me.
My Monday night meetings were proving very beneficial, and one, in particular, had been very interesting. It had been something of an innovation.
The secretary of the hardware association had been in town, and I had asked him around to the house for lunch; and while there, I had told him about our weekly meetings. He thought it was an excellent idea.
"You are doing a good thing," he said, "and you'll get a lot closer to your boys. They work better for you, don't you know."
It was Betty who had suggested the idea. It hadn't occurred to me at all. She was in the kitchen, getting the lunch ready, and I didn't think she was paying any attention to what Mr. Field and I were talking about. Then, as she was placing the lunch of chops and grilled sweet potatoes (grilled as only Betty can grill them) on the table, she had remarked:
"If Mr. Field is staying in town to-night, why not ask him to attend your meeting with you?"
"That's a dandy idea!" I returned enthusiastically. "Will you come, Mr. Field?"
And the big, rosy-faced, jovial secretary chuckled and said:
"Very glad to."
I had been told a number of times that Mr. Fieldwas one of the best-natured men in the world, which perhaps accounted somewhat for his success. His readiness to comply with my request tended to show that what I had heard about him was true.
"And, boy dear," said Betty sweetly, "Mr. Field has several stores of his own. Why not make him an ex-officio member of the company for to-night? Perhaps he could give you some good ideas on selling."
"Say, that's bully!" I cried, smacking my knee. "I'll tell the boys this afternoon!"
Betty smiled:
"Wouldn't it be just as well to ask Mr. Field first, if he would do it?"
"Why, yes, of course," I replied, blushing. "How careless of me! You will, won't you, Mr. Field?"
"Only too glad to be of service," he returned, "if you think there is anything I can say that will help them."
"I'm sure there is," I said impetuously.
We then settled down to our lunch. A few minutes later Betty suggested:
"Won't it make it pretty late for Mr. Field to get his dinner after the meeting, since it doesn't start until 6:30?"
Then a brilliant idea struck me.
"Betty," I asked, "will you make us coffee and buy some doughnuts and send them down to the store about quarter past six? That will keep us from starving until the meeting is over."
Well, we had our coffee and doughnuts before the meeting started. Mr. Field had a chance to mix with the boys, and got them all into good humor. Then the meeting was called to order, and I announced that,before Mr. Field began to talk, we would clean up any left-over matters.
I brought up the matter of the Cincinnati Pencil Sharpener agency. The boys seemed to fight shy of doing any outside selling, and I, in a fit of bravado—caused, I think, by the keen twinkle I saw in Mr. Field's eyes—said:
"Well, I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll go out myself to-morrow, and see what can be done with it. If I start the ball rolling, you fellows will follow it up all right, won't you?"
And this was agreed to—somewhat half-heartedly, I must say.
Wilkes, who was delivery and messenger boy, and general boy of all work, then asked if it wouldn't be a good idea to sell toys at Christmas time. Jones laughed at this; but Larsen said nothing. I, myself, thought the idea rather ridiculous, although I didn't say so, of course; but a glance at Mr. Field's face showed me that he didn't think the idea was foolish.
"Tell you what we'll do," I said. "Let's leave that until next week, for we want to have some good ideas from Mr. Field while we have him here."
Mr. Field, in his good-natured, friendly manner, started in by inviting us to interrupt him at any time and ask any questions we wanted, because he wasn't going to make a speech, but was just going "to talk."
I wish I had put down verbatim what he said; but, as I didn't I will outline the main points he brought out—and some dandy pointers on selling he gave us.
He was talking about courteous service to customers.
"Courtesy is something more than mere politeness,"he said. "You have to have the real feeling of wishing to do something for the customer, and you have to show the customer you want to help him by every word and action. Such a feeling, don't you know, will make you, when you see a customer coming, go to him instead of standing still and waiting for him to come to you."
"That's just what Mr. Barker was telling me last week!" I exclaimed.
Mr. Field then spoke about introducing other lines to the customers while they were waiting.
"Have you ever noticed," he said, "when you go into a store to buy something and you are waiting for the parcel to be wrapped, or waiting for your change, that the salesman will usually make some remark about the weather, or talk about the ball game, or the election returns? That's all right and very interesting, perhaps, and it helps to make the customer like the salesman. But it would make the cash register work harder—and you know, boys, there's no Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Cash Registers—if, instead of talking about the weather, or something of that kind, the clerk talked about something that might make the cash register 'ting.' See what I mean, boys? Instead of saying, 'A nice day, isn't it?' why don't you say 'This is a nice safety razor,' or 'do you use a safety razor?'"
Larsen broke in with:
"You ask him to buy something after he got what he wants? He get mad? no?"
"Well," said Mr. Field, "he might, if you were to say to him, 'Wouldn't you like to buy this safety razor?' But, of course, you would merely pass thesafety razor over to him, as you mention it, saying, perhaps: 'This is a new kind of safety razor which works differently from the ordinary kind—what do you think of it?' You do not ask him to buy it; but you just try to get him interested in it. The difference between being interested in an article, and wanting to own it, is one of degree, and not of kind. See what I mean?
"There is another thing that's helped sales in my own stores very much—the use of suggestion. Whenever a customer buys anything, we always suggest something that can go with it. For instance, I sell stationery. Suppose a customer comes to our stationery counter and asks for a box of note paper. We always suggest post-cards, blotting paper, pen and ink, or anything else that is associated with the goods she has purchased.
"If a customer asked for a safety razor, don't you think it would be poor salesmanship not to offer him something else? A machine could do that much. But it takes a real salesman to sell him something else and I know you boys are real salesmen. You mustn't have the customer feel that he's been forced to buy something he doesn't want, but make him pleased with his new purchase. When you're asked for a safety razor, and have made this sale you should ask him what kind of shaving soap he uses, or tell him that you have some good shaving brushes which will help to make his shaving comfortable. If a man buys nails, suggest a hammer; if he buys screws, suggest a screw-driver. It doesn't matter what you're selling, there is always something you can suggest that will go with it, and which is quite natural to suggest. I tell you, boys, acustomer will very often thank you for reminding him of something that he wants."
Larsen brought up a problem, and the way Mr. Field answered it, I thought, was fine. Certainly it was something I never would have thought of, and I knew that none of the boys would have known how to get around it.
Said Larsen: "A lady, she come in the other day and ask for an oil lamp. I show her a nice one, bronze finish. But she says no, she want brass finish. We don't carry brass finished lamps—no call for 'em. I tell her bronze finish is better, keep cleaner and more stylish. But no, she won't have it. She want brass finish and I couldn't sell her. What would you do about it?"
"Of course," replied Mr. Field, "you can't sell to everybody. Some folks have certain likes and dislikes, and it's a waste of time to try to change their whims and fancies. I don't think I would have tried to swing her into line on the question of the finish of the lamp, I would have ignored that altogether and talked about some other advantages of the lamp. Do you see what I mean? Here, how's this? Instead of talking about the finish, why not say: 'Yes, madam, it's just a matter of taste whether you prefer brass or the bronze finish. Most people prefer the bronze and that's why we keep it. I know the brass finish looks well but, after all, it's only a small matter. Isn't it more important to get a lamp that does its work properly? Just notice this duplex burner,' and then I would go on to describe all the other features of the lamp, its burning qualities, its economy, its durability, and things of that kind. You see, I would have tried to side trackthat objection to the finish of the lamp by talking about other things. If necessary you could tell her that she wouldn't have to clean the bronze finish as often as she would the brass. Now, if that isn't clear to you, Mr. Larsen, say so. Don't hesitate to speak up. You know I get more out of this than you boys do, if you ask questions."
As no one asked a question Mr. Field went on:
"I don't believe you should argue with a customer on something which is a matter of taste or fancy. If it was something about whether or not the lamp gave a good light, you could prove that it would, for that's not a question of taste, like the color or finish. In my stores we make it a rule to give way to the customer on little matters. That makes him feel good tempered, don't you know, and it's easy then for us to win our point on something important if its necessary to getting the order."
"I saw in one of the Sunday papers," remarked Jones, "an editorial which said to give way on little things, and you will gain the big ones."
"That's about the idea," replied Mr. Field. "I think that's very well put."
There was one other point that Mr. Field brought out, and one on which I was not certain whether he was right or not—the advisability of showing better class goods all the time. He said that if he had a store like mine he would want to offer solid silver goods during the Christmas trade for presents, and nice cases of cutlery.
"Don't you know," he said, "that people in this town buy those nice things? If you go into the better-class homes you will find beautiful silverware, andcut-glass, and expensive cutlery, and all that kind of thing; but they don't buy them in the town because your business men seem afraid to stock up on really good stuff like that. When folks want that good stuff, they have to go to the big cities for it."
"Think of the money it runs into, though," I said.
"Yes, but think of the extra profit you make by it."
"Huh," interjected Larsen, "that sounds nice, 'extra profit.' Suppose you don't sell the goods! There you are flat on your back, with a lot of expensive silverware and things on your chest!"
We laughed at Larsen. When order was restored, Mr. Field said:
"With a little maneuvering it is possible to get such goods on consignment. We make a point, in all my stores, of offering the best goods we have to the customer. It's easier to come down than to go up, don't you know. I know a store in a small town, that never used to sell pocket-knives for more than fifty cents. They told me they didn't think it possible to sell anything more expensive, there, forgetting that there was a lot of money there. A salesman one day got them to put in a line of pocket-knives selling, retail, up to $2.00 each. They were afraid of them, in spite of the salesman's confidence that they could sell them, if they showed them so the salesman finally agreed to send them a lot on consignment. That was—let me see—a couple of years ago. When I was in the town a few days ago, I was talking with the owner of that store and he told me that now they very seldom sell anything less than 50 cents, and that their average price for pocket-knives is a dollar to a dollar and a quarter. He said they sell a lot of them up as high as $3.50 each,and they sell more knives now than ever they did when they carried only cheap ones."
A buzz went around the store from my little force as this fact sunk home. Then Mr. Field sat down, and we broke into hearty applause.
Larsen got up, before we closed, and suggested a vote of thanks to Mr. Field for his most instructive talk, which suggestion was followed out; and the meeting then adjourned.
I felt that it was a mighty good thing to have an outsider come in and talk like that, and I decided to try to get some people to do it. Barlow was a mighty clever man, but I thought some of these little stunts I was pulling off were better than anything he could think of.
The next day I called on a number of people in the town that I knew and some that I didn't know, with the Cincinnati pencil sharpener.
I had delivered the eighteen, that Downs sold, when they arrived, and since then I had sold only one other. I had begun to wonder whether I had done right in buying that eighteen extra, for the Cincinnati man evidently had sold pretty well all the people in town who wanted pencil sharpeners—or so it seemed to me.
I plugged hard all day,—and sold one sharpener! I started off soon after nine o'clock and made my first call on Jerry Mills, who was a certified public accountant. We knew each other very well, so I got right down to business when I went into his office, and said:
"Jerry, I want to sell you a pencil sharpener. It's a dandy, and I know you'll like it," and then I brought out the Cincinnati.
"Glad to see you, old man," replied Jerry, "but I've already got a pencil sharpener. I bought it in Chicago, when I was there some time ago. Very similar to yours, isn't it? Well, how's business?" and we then drifted into general talk.
I spent about half an hour with him; but, of course, as he already had a pencil sharpener, I couldn't sell him another one.
My next call was on Dunn, who ran a clothing store.I knew Dunn by sight, but I didn't think he knew me. I walked up the three flights and back to the rear of the building, and stopped in front of the railing of his office. I waited for two or three minutes, and then a boy came in and asked me what I wanted.
"I want to see Mr. Dunn," I said.
"What about?" asked the youngster, rather impudently.
"You tell him I'm—" and then I hesitated, and I said to myself that I wouldn't tell him I was Dawson Black. "Tell him that a salesman from Dawson Black wants to see him."
A minute or two later the boy returned. "Mr. Dunn says whatdeyuh want ter see him for?"
"Tell him I want to show him a new pencil sharpener that we have just got the agency for." I was a little bit exasperated.
The young demon grinned and said, "A'right," in a funny manner, marched into the private office and returned, it seemed without pausing, saying: "Nuttin' doin'."
I hesitated as to what to do, when he added:
"'Tain't no use. Boss got a grouch on this mornin'."
I remembered the rude reception I had given the Cincinnati pencil sharpener man when he called on me, and the way he had come back at me, and I said to myself that, if I could only see Dunn then I'd give him the same kind of medicine. While I stood there wondering what to do, my wish was gratified, for Dunn's door flew open, and out he came hurriedly. He was short, stout, red-faced man, almost bald, and has bristling red whiskers.
"Oh, Mr. Dunn!" I called.
He turned around and snapped:
"What do you want?"
"I am from Dawson Black's—"
"Oh, I know all about that. We don't want any pencil sharpeners. Didn't the boy tell you?"
"Yes, but—"
"Then what the devil are you waiting for?"
I gulped and replied, "Nothing." He turned and walked away.
Let me confess it. I was afraid of him! I hate to admit it, but I was. I went down the stairs, feeling like a naughty boy who had been spanked—and yet he was altogether in the wrong! That little experience gave me a lot of sympathy for traveling salesmen, and also made me realize that those salesmen who called on me were bigger men than I was. And I realized that Dunn was a bigger man than I was, in spite of his rudeness. I could no more have answered his insolence, the way Downs answered mine, than I could have flown to the moon.
That reception knocked most of the heart out of me, and I wasn't very cheerful when I called on Blickens, the president of the bank. I picked him out because I figured that, at least, he would be civil to me.
When I told him what I had come for, he said:
"We have several of those around here, but—send one around." He put his hand in his pocket and passed me a dollar bill. I thanked him and retired, but I knew in my heart that he didn't want one, and that he had given me the order just to get rid of me, without offending me or hurting my feelings, because I was a depositor in the bank. I felt like a panhandler.
And that was the result of my morning's work. It was getting along toward twelve o'clock, so I went home for lunch.
I made only two calls in the afternoon, both on people I knew. In each case they said they would be glad to buy one if it would help me, but really they—dash it all, I didn't want people to buy things of me just to help me! So I told them I didn't want them to have it, and I'm afraid I was very bad tempered.
When I got back to the store, Larsen asked:
"Well, Boss, how did you make out?"
"Oh," I replied, "I haven't been very busy. I only sold one. But I haven't really worked very much. I've been kind of doing some visiting." And I felt all the time that Larsen knew I was lying to him, for I certainly did work hard, and I felt more nervously tired that night than I had been for a long while.
I told Betty about my experiences. "Poor boy! Never mind, boy dear," she said, "forget it now. Take off your shoes and I'll bring your slippers for you." She brought me my slippers and my old meerschaum pipe, which she had filled, and placed it between my teeth, and lit a match for me, and then sat on the floor beside me. It was fine to have a wife like Betty to buck me up! She certainly gave me back my self-respect.
Never again would I be rude to the fellow who called on me at my store. I wish every store owner would try the work I did that day. I think there'd be more kindliness and courtesy in the relationship between buyer and salesman. Barlow was a kind-hearted man, but even he wasn't always courteous when he was busy or didn't want to talk to a salesman.
As I was leaving the house the next morning Betty asked me:
"Boy dear, did you read this little booklet?" It was the booklet which Downs had left me. I had forgotten all about it. Going down to the store, I glanced at it, and realized then, that my methods had all been wrong, and that probably I had been to blame for my failure the day before.
For instance, it said: "The name of the firm and of yourself are of secondary importance in selling the Cincinnati pencil sharpener. It is what it will do that counts. When calling on a prospect, don't say, 'Can I sell you a pencil sharpener?' but ask him to lend you a pencil and tell him you will show him how he can keep it pointed easily and make it last longer." And then it went on to explain how to demonstrate the device. "In brief," it said, "show the prospect how the sharpener works—for preference get him to sharpen a pencil for himself; and then, when he once sees how easily it operates, he is more than half sold. Then talk about the price."
And I had done just the opposite! I first of all had told where I was from, then that I wanted to sell them a pencil sharpener, and I hadn't demonstrated it at all! I realized when I read the book that the trouble was that they had made up their minds not to buy before I had a chance of telling them what it was. I decided to try again, following the suggestions in the book and see if it worked any better.
One good point I learned from the book, which I put on the schedule for the next Monday's meeting, was that a salesman should always get the customer to see for himself how a thing works—that, when you gethim to handle it, it helps to make the sale. Thinking of this reminded me of the time when Betty's kid sister had visited us. I had asked her if she would like to have a doll, and she had said yes, but she hadn't seemed particularly keen over it. Then I had pointed one out to her when we were passing Riley's store—he ran a stationery store, and sold dolls, school supplies, and toys as well—and she had thought it was a nice doll, but I had had no difficulty in getting her to come to the office with me first. But later on, when I took her into Riley's and she had got a big doll in her arms, I couldn't take it away from her to get it wrapped up! No, sir-ree, she had just hung tight to her doll, and nothing could induce her to part with it, and she had carried it away without having it wrapped.
Now, that was interesting, wasn't it? When I had just spoken to her about the doll, her interest was only mild. When she had seen it her interest was a little stronger. But when she actually had got it into her hands her desire was uncontrollable. I could see how the same idea would work out in selling goods to customers. If we simply told them about the goods, there would be only a passive interest. If we pointed the article out to them in the case, it might be stronger, but still not strong enough to make a sale. But if we put the article right into the customer's hands and told him to see for himself how it worked I could readily see how it was going to make the desire to buy much greater than anything else could.
I remembered, too, how Weissman, one of our neighbors, had been talking for a long, long time about buying an automobile, but had never reached the point of actually paying out the money for it. Well, a friendtook him out in a car one day and showed him how to drive it, and Weissman came back so keen about having a car that he ordered one the same day, with instructions to have it shipped rush!
We'll adopt that idea as a rule at our next Monday night's meeting.
A day or two later, I again tried my hand at selling pencil sharpeners—and I sold five! The fellow that wrote that little book on how to sell Cincinnati pencil sharpeners had known what he was talking about, all right.
The first man I struck was Blenkhorn, who ran the meat market. He was considered the meanest man in town. I had make up my mind to start with a good, tough customer, because I wanted to give the new plan a thorough test, and I felt that if I could sell to a tough one I could sell to anybody. Well, the toughest customer I could think of was Blenkhorn, so I started on him. You see, I had my courage back.
Well, I went into his store. Blenkhorn nodded to me. "Hello, Black," he said.
"Hello, Mr. Blenkhorn," I returned. "How many pencils do you use in a year here?"
"Pencils? I don't know, I'm sure, but I think my people eat 'em. I'm everlastingly buying 'em."
"Suppose I could tell you a way to make them last about twice as long."
"H'm! If you can tell me how to make these people more careful with pencils, I'll be mighty glad to know it."
"Well, I'll show you," and here I put my sharpener on the counter. "You know," I said, "when a mansharpens a pencil what a lot of wood and lead he cuts away?"
"Cuts away? Why, here they hack 'em all to pieces! But what's that contraption?"
"I'll show you. Just lend me a pencil." He passed over a pencil that looked as if the wood at the end had been bitten off, instead of cut off.
Blenkhorn was watching my actions rather curiously. I put the pencil in the sharpener, gave it two or three turns, and out it came with the point nicely rounded and sharpened.
"You notice," I said, "that it didn't cut away any of the lead at all, only the wood."
"H'm," he returned, and then he walked away and came back with a half a dozen more pencils. "Let's see it sharpen some more."
"Go ahead, try it yourself, Mr. Blenkhorn."
I held the outfit firmly and he sharpened one after the other.
"H'm," he said again. "How much is that thing?"
"Only a dollar."
"You can buy a lot of pencils for a dollar," he mused.
"That's true," I replied, "but you'll save a lot of dollars by the use of this." I had got that from the chapter in the booklet headed: "Answers to objections."
"Send me one of those, Black," said Blenkhorn. "I'll try it."
"Thank you, Mr. Blenkhorn," I said. "By the way, do you want any butcher's supplies now. I have some mighty good knives."
"No, I have all of those I want. Oh, the missis did tell me to go down to Stigler's to buy a good short-handled ax for splitting kindling."
"I'll save you the trouble and send it down for you, right away."
"How much are they worth?"
"Dollar and a half."
"The last one I got cost me only a dollar."
"How long did it last?"
"Not long. The blamed head kept coming off."
"Well, I'll sell you one for $1.50, and guarantee the head won't come off, and if it does I'll replace it for you free of charge."
Without further words, he went to the cash register, took out $2.50 and handed it to me, saying with a grin:
"You're right after business, aren't you, Black? Good luck to you."
Well, I found that this method worked well, and I sold five sharpeners during the day—six in fact, for when I got back to the store I found that they had sold two more, and one of them had been to Blakely, the lawyer, on whom I had called earlier in the day, and who had said he might get one later on. Evidently he had changed his mind, and dropped into the store when he was passing by. In addition to the sale of the sharpeners, I had sold $11.00 worth of other things. That was going some, wasn't it?
And to think, if it hadn't been for that little book, I would never have started the plan!
Well, we all seemed to have the pencil sharpener craze, and I was glad of it, and determined to push pencil sharpeners all I could, if only as a kind of thank-you for their putting me onto a new channel of getting business.
I met Barlow as I was coming home. I told him what I had done, and how I had got the order for the ax which Stigler would have had. He laughed heartily at that, and said he was very glad to hear it.
"I think you're going to make a real big man yet, Dawson," he said. "Is Stigler still hurting you with his mark-down prices?"
"Yes, he is," I confessed. "But I think I've got a plan that's going to put it all over him."
"What's that?"
"I'm going to start using trading stamps."
"What-at!" he said, in a surprised tone.
"Yes," I continued. "The man was to have come last Thursday; but he had to leave town Wednesday night, and he wired me that he was coming up to-morrow, and I'm going to take them up."
Barlow stopped short in the street, swung me around until I was facing him, and said in a stern tone:
"Young man, do you know what a fool thing you are trying to do?"
"Fool thing nothing!" I returned. "And I don't see how you are able to judge that." I rather felt that he was butting in where he had no concern.
"You're right," he said, "it's no concern of mine at all. But for heaven's sake, lad, think twice before you tangle yourself up with anything like that."
When I told Fellows about my trading stamp idea, he suggested that I think over the question once more, before taking them up, and he asked if he could be present at the interview when the Garter trading stamp man came around.
It was hard to tell what to do. I thought trading stamps were a good thing; but Fellows of the Flaxon Advertising Agency apparently didn't like them, and Barlow didn't either. When I talked it over with Betty, first she said, "Don't touch them at all," then she said, "I don't know, try them!" Finally she said she didn't know what to think of them. The decision was, after all, up to me and no one seemed to know much about them.
Well, I agreed to think it over again, and when Bulder, the Garter trading stamp man, came, I put him off until the next day. Fellows was going to be there when he came, and I thought I'll let those two have it out and put my money on the winner.
Stigler was up to a new dodge.
Until the first of the month there had been a small men's furnishing store next door to me. Well, Dorman, who ran the store, had ended by running it to the wall. Poor fellow, he'd been in that location for over forty years, and at the time was a man of nearlyseventy. He never had done much business, at least not since my knowledge of him, and, towards the last, the place had been getting seedier and seedier each month, and finally he had had to give it up. He told the Mater—he knew her quite well—that he never had made over $20.00 a week in the store, and, after paying up all his debts, he had less than half the money he had originally put into the business.
"I'd have been much better off clerking for some one else," he had told the Mater, "for I would have saved a little money. As it is, here I am, three score and ten, and, if I live two years more, I'll have to go to the poorhouse, I suppose."
Old Dorman had made me think pretty seriously when he got out. I was wondering how many more small storekeepers were in Dorman's position; how many of them had bungled along from year to year, making a bare existence; I hoped I could do better than that! It had made me feel the need of not only keeping up-to-date, but up-to-to-morrow in business ideas. I remembered what Barker, the big hardware man in Boston, had said to me when I asked him why there were so many little stores, after he had mentioned that there were a lot of little stores which were not represented in the association.
"The reason," he returned, with a sad shake of his head, "is that the men who run them are little. They wear blinkers all their lives. Their outlook is extremely narrow. They never grasp what is going on around them. They don't keep up to date in their ideas and methods of doing business. They never grow, but remain little all their lives."
But I started in to tell what it was that Stigler did.That afternoon, to my surprise, I saw him in Dorman's empty store with a carpenter, measuring the floor space. When he came out I was on the doorstep bidding good-by to Betty, who had dropped into the store to remind me that I was to take home some cheap kitchen knives.
"Hello, Black," called Stigler, as he came out of the store. At the same time his lips gave that contemptuous curl which always got under my epidermis.
"Hello, yourself, Stigler," I replied.
"Well," he said, stopping for a minute in front of me, "you and me's going to be pretty close neighbors, Black, ain't we?"
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"I've just rented old Dorman's store. You know, I think there's room in this town for a good five-and-ten-cent store, specializing on kitchen goods. This looked like a good location to me, so I'm just going to try it out. Open up the first of the month."
"Fine," I said. "Good luck to you!" putting as much heartiness into my tone as I could. And then I went into the store before my rage, and let me say, anxiety, should show themselves to Stigler.
"Gee whitakins!" I thought. "A five-and-ten-cent store, next door to me, specializing in kitchen goods, and run by Stigler!"
I knew, without his saying a word about it, that he was opening that store with the money he had just inherited from a brother out West, and that he was doing it just to try "to run me off my feet," as he had expressed it before.
I think I did the best thing I could possibly have done under the circumstances, for I went right overto Barlow's. Barlow had told me repeatedly that, any time I needed help, I should go right to him. I certainly felt that I needed the advice of an old war-horse like he was. Somehow the fact that he was a bit old-fashioned and staid in his ways made him appear a rock of comfort to me.
I told him the whole story, and he certainly looked grave.
"What can I do?" I asked anxiously. "I haven't the money to fight him. He is cutting into my profits very much as it is. Would you advise me to make a big display of five-and-ten-cent goods before he has a chance to open the store?"
"When is he going to get started?"
"Well, he said he was going to open by the first of the month."
I think for five minutes Barlow said nothing, but just see-sawed backward and forward on his swivel chair.
"What ratio would cheap kitchen goods bear to your total sales?" he finally asked.
"I don't know what you mean."
"I mean, suppose you sell a hundred dollars' worth of goods, how many dollars' worth of that would be in five- ten- and fifteen-cent articles?"
"I can't tell you that."
"Surely you have some idea as to whether the cheap goods are the ones that sell best in your store?"
"Well, I'm sure I don't know."
Some of those old-timers' were pretty shrewd fellows after all. I had never thought of analyzing my sales in that way.
"Tell you what to do," he said. "Find out whatproportion you are buying of five- ten- and fifteen-cent kitchen goods, and how much of the better-class goods."
"What then?" I inquired, still in the dark.
"If your big sales are on the cheaper goods, I would advise you to make a window display of half cheap and half good articles. Put a sign in the window to the effect that you have cheap articles to sell, and good ones to use. If you find your sales are mostly on the better-class goods, I would advise you to start an educational advertising campaign, if you can afford it."
"What is an educational advertising campaign?"
"It means advertising the better-class goods and giving reasons and facts why they are better than the cheaper ones. Advertise that you have the low-priced articles, but, if they want the cheapest, thebestis the cheapest in the end. For instance, here is a ten-cent Dover egg-beater. I have one here, a glass affair, which sells at a dollar. Actually, I am selling almost as many of the dollar egg-beaters as I do of the ten-cent ones."
"Why?"
"Because I show them that the ten-cent egg-beaters cannot last very long—they can't expect a ten-cent article to do that—but this glass one will last indefinitely; it is more sanitary; the tinning on it is very heavy and it won't rust; it is cleaner, more serviceable, easier to work," and then he gave me half a dozen more facts about that dollar egg-beater which I would never have thought of. "If you were buying an egg-beater," he continued with a smile, "which would you buy now?"
"Buy the best one unquestionably, because I can see,after what you have told me, that the other isn't to be compared with it!"
"Exactly. And if you tell those facts to your trade, they will buy the better article in just the same way."
"Then, if I am selling more of the better-class goods than the cheaper ones, you would advise me to give Stigler the cheap business—give up the fight for it?"
"No," he returned with a smile. "Don't give up the fight, but fight him in a way that will hurt him most. That is, to educate the people away from the cheap goods."
"I see! Kind o' put him out of business by killing the demand for his goods!"
"That's the idea, and it sounds easy if you say it quickly. Candidly," he said, "I don't think it will hurt your business much. I wouldn't, personally, mind another hardware store opening next to me, particularly if they played the game according to Hoyle."
"But Stigler won't do it!" I cried.
Betty agreed with Barlow that the thing to do was to try to develop the sale for the better-class articles. "For," said she, "if a woman buys a ten-cent egg-beater, you make three cents profit on it. If she buys a dollar egg-beater, you make over thirty cents profit on it, and the sale of one of those dollar articles is about equal to a dozen of the cheap ones."
"By Jove, you're right!" I exclaimed. "Perhaps Stigler's latest move to 'run me off my feet' may be the petard which will hoist him off his own; at any rate, as regards his five-and-ten-cent venture."
Naturally, I could think of nothing but Stigler and five-and-ten-cent competition, and finally I had an idea.This idea was awfully simple—unless it proved to be simply awful.
There were in Farmdale about a dozen stores to rent. I had no thought of renting them; but I was going to see the landlords of those places and see what they would charge me to rent thewindowsfor a week! and then I'd ask Barlow to let me hire his men for an evening to trim each of those windows with the better-class kitchen goods, and then I'd put a big sign in each window something like this: "If you want kitchen goods that wear, you'll find them at Dawson Black's." I'd have smart little talking signs worked up and put on the goods, saying why they were better than cheap articles, and asking customers to come to my store at 32 Hill Street, and we would demonstrate why it paid to get the best. "It pays to get the best." That was to be the slogan, and I would print it on the bottom of all price tickets and talking signs!
I began to feel rather pleased that Stigler was starting that five-and-ten-cent store next to me! It seemed to have shaken me into action. I believed that, with a good window display in those empty stores for a week, I could work up a lot of business and get a lot of valuable publicity into the bargain.
When I mentioned the idea to Betty, she didn't say anything for a few seconds, and then she said very demurely:
"Dawson, you can have two more buckwheat cakes this morning."
Bulder, the Garter trading stamp man, called according to arrangement.
"Goodmorning, Mr. Black," he said heartily, as he entered the store. "Well, Idon'tthink we'll have much difficulty in getting this little matter fixed up to-day. It is going to mean abigthing for you, and you can bequitesure that the Garter Trading Stamp Company is going to be at the back of you to make this thing abig success."
He spoke quite confidently, as if he were sure I was going to take them up. And indeed I had been all along practically decided to adopt them.
"That's fine," I said in response to Bulder's greeting. "I want you, however, to meet Mr. Fellows, who is waiting in my office." I saw a faint change take place in Bulder's manner. He seemed at once to become a little suspicious and on his guard.
"Fellows? Fellows?" he replied. "Oh, one of your men?"
"Well, yes and no," I returned with a laugh. "He is connected with the Flaxon Advertising Agency and he does all my advertising, and I like to get the benefits of his ideas."
"Mr. Black," said Bulder, "I am doing this business with you, and while I amsurethat Mr. Fellows is amightyfine man, you could hardly expect me to want to talk this matter over with him—at any rate, with the idea of helping you to decide what to do; for, you see, he is an advertising man andnaturallywants to spend all your appropriation himself."
"Fellows isn't that kind," I replied, somewhat curtly.
Bulder saw that he had been tactless, so he put his hand on my shoulder, and said, soothingly:
"That'sall right, Mr. Black, I was only joking. Glad to talk the matter over withanyfriend of yours."
I don't know why it was, but I seemed from that moment to feel a distrust of him. I had rather liked him before. But now he seemed to me too suave, too—oh, too fat and easy about it.
Well, we went into my little office and I introduced him to Fellows.
"Our mutual friend, Mr. Black," said Bulder with a smile, "wants me to talk over with you both thesplendidpossibilities of his store through the Garter Trading Stamps.Good idea.It shows he is cautious and has good judgment."
"Mr. Black is quite a busy man, you know, Mr. Bulder," Fellows replied, "and perhaps don't have time enough always to think over every angle of a proposition; so he very wisely believes in talking things over and getting an outside viewpoint. Mr. Black can analyze these problems himself just as well as you or I can; but he believes in conserving his time and energies as much as he can."
All this preliminary by-play interested and amused me. But then the real battle began. Imagine those two—that big, burly, good-natured, somewhat bulldozing Bulder, and the shrewd, courteous New Englander, Fellows; Bulder with his heavy, sledge-hammer methods,—the bludgeon method, you might call it,—and Fellows with his keen, sharp, rapier methods.
Bulder realized at once that Fellows was strongly against the stamps, and that it was going to be a battle of wits and logic. I had better confess that my sporting blood was roused, and I had decided that the fellow who won the argument would have me on his side.
"What do you know about the company?" I asked Fellows, so as to get things started.
"Not a thing," he said, "but I am sure that that is a matter of minor importance; for Mr. Bulder is too big a business man to connect himself with an organization that is not thoroughly sound."
Very neatly put!—and yet I could see that, even if the trading stamp proposition won, Bulder would still have to prove that his company was financially and morally sound.
How I wish I could write down in full detail all that was said by both of them, but I can't remember it all. Bulder started in with a few heavy blows by stating that the Garter trading stamps gave the merchant who handled them a decided advantage over his competitors; for their splendid premium catalog, their numerous supply stations, the fact that they would let me have a set of representative premiums for window display, the excellent line of advertising matter which he said was part of the service which I bought from them at the time I bought their stamps. . . . "Youquiteunderstand, Mr. Black," he said laboriously, "that you are not buyingjusttrading stamps from us,or trading tokens as we prefer to call them, but you are buying a merchandising service—you are buyingallthe selling ideas and helps which we can give you, besides thesplendidbacking which the name of Garter stamps gives you.
"And," he continued to Fellows, for he knew that Fellows was the opposition and not I, "when Mr. Black takes up our agency,noother hardware man in town will be able to get it. . . . In fact," he said, with a sudden burst of generosity, "so that there will be absolutely no question of full protection and no competition, we will notevensupply a glass and china store, a five-and-ten-cent store, a cutlery store, or a novelty store—in fact,anyother store which might compete with him inanyway.
"Thus, you see, I am offering you something, Mr. Black," he said with an ingratiating smile, "which is awonderfuladvantage to you. It will really putyourstore in a class by itself."
"Fine!" broke in Fellows, before I could say anything. "A thought has just occurred to me, however. While you promise that no other hardware man shall have theGarterstamps, can you promise that noothertrading stamp concern will offer stamps to any other hardware man in Farmdale?"
Bidder replied with a deprecating smile: "What other concerns are there of our importance and size?"
Fellows came back with the names of two concerns which were better known to me than the Garter trading stamp.
"Why, yes," drawled Bulder, "of course, theymightoffer stamps to some other hardware man. But, my dear sir, think a minute—what are the value oftheirstamps compared toours? Why, my good friend, youcan'tcompare them! Every woman in town knows that Garter stamps have a higher premium value thananyothers."
"Exactly," replied Fellows. "By the way, what other stores have you in this town at present?"
Bulder slowly turned until he was facing Fellows. Leaning his elbow on the desk, he asked:
"Didn't I tell you that I was giving Mr. Black the opportunity to reap thebig benefitof being the first with our stamps here?"
"That's funny!" I broke in impetuously, but a look from Fellows stopped me. I had been going to say that I didn't see how his last two remarks gibed; for in one breath he had said that every woman in town knew that Garter trading stamps were better, and in the next he had said that I was to reap the first big benefit of having the stamps.
Fellows had leaned forward and was saying to Bulder:
"Mr. Bulder, do you really believe it is good business to offer something for nothing?"
"Surely," cried Bulder, "you are not going to bring up that worn-out argument? Everybody knows that it is not something for nothing. . . . Look here, my good friend," said he, turning to me, "if you buy some goods and pay cash youexpecta discount for paying cash, don't you?"
"Yes," I replied hesitatingly.
"Surelyyou do! And if you didn't get the discount for cash, you would take all the credit you could,wouldn'tyou? . . . Very well," he continued, without waiting for a reply, "that's what our stamps willdo. They are not something for nothing. They are merely a discount for cash. People that don't pay cash don't get the stamps. . . ."
Then he went on to tell me about some stores which had changed from a credit basis to cash through the use of Garter stamps. In my imagination I saw Fellows being driven into a corner by Bulder's bludgeon, his rapier beaten down and his defenses gone.
Fellows kept trying to work a word in edgewise, but Bulder, by the continued force of his words, beat down all Fellows' attempts to break in. Finally Bulder leaned back and said:
"Surely you are not going to stick to your foolish idea that trading stampsaresomething for nothing.Allsensible people know that no one can give something for nothing and live, and I trust that the trading stamp concerns are sensible people. It is merely a cash discount."
"Why couldn't I give a cash discount, instead?" I asked—and as soon as I said it I was sorry I had, because I noticed a look of annoyance in Fellows' face.
"That is averysensible question," said Bulder. "Because if you did give the cash discount yourself it would be sotriflingthat the people would not realize it was of any advantage to them. If somebody comes in and spends a dollar with you, and you give them two cents discount, what is it to them? It is nothing at all! But if you give themtrading stamps, those have arealvalue in their eyes."
"Then why couldn't I give trading stamps of my own—just have them printed and give them out?"
"Becauseeverytrading stamp concern in the country could beat you on the value ofyourpremiums.Think of thetremendousbuying power that we have. It would beabsolutelyimpossible for you to give trading stamps of your own and haveanychance with competition. Now, I don't think for a moment that you are not as keen a business man as the next fellow, but the big concerns realize that it isspecializationthat means success, and we have simply specialized in this one branch of marketing to helpyoufellows do something which you could do yourselves, but notnearlyso effectively or cheaply as we can. Do you think the big department stores up and down the country would have trading stamps from us if theycouldhandle them as cheaply themselves? No, ofcoursenot!"
"Well," here broke in Fellows quietly, "I may be mistaken, but I believe that trading stamps are an outgrowth of inefficiency and laziness on the part of retail merchants. Of course, the people who sell trading stamps get value for their money, but the retailer and the consumer both pay for it. The retailer pays for it by losing, let us say, three per cent. on each turn-over of his stock investment. Suppose Mr. Black here turns his stock over five times a year, he is really paying fifteen per cent. of his investment to you people for something which you must admit is not exclusively his. Do you think it is possible for a retail merchant to continue that and live? If it is, he might spend that fifteen per cent. in increasing the quality of his store service rather than to pay it to an outside organization to supply a substitute for it. One thing is sure—no merchant can pay fifteen per cent. on his investment and stand that expenditure himself. If he handles the stamps, why, up go his prices, wherever he can manage it, to make the consumer pay for them.
"I am sure you will agree with me that in the end it is the consumer who pays the freight. This whole proposition looks to me like selling a man a sack of flour, and then making him pay for the sack of flour and a half dozen collars or a pair of suspenders besides. He doesn't want those collars or suspenders, mind you, but they are included with the purchase price, and, whether he takes them or not, he has to pay for them."
Bulder leaned back with a patronizing air. "My young friend," he said to Fellows, "you talkveryinterestingly, but the things you say aremeregeneralities. You have not given asingleconcrete fact showing where the trading stamps would hurt our friend here, while I havealreadygiven Mr. Black anumberof cases, which he can easily verify for himself, of merchants whohaveimproved their business by trading stamps.
"My proposition to Mr. Black is that he tries the stamps for a year, and if he does not find"—and here he tapped the table impressively with his fingers—"if he does not find that they haveactuallyincreased his business, why then we will call the deal off. We will risk—gladlyrisk—all theheavyexpenditures of working with Mr. Black. We will risk the lost prestige to ourselves of having a dealer give up oursplendidoffer; and I do this, Mr. Fellows, because Iknowfrom past experience—not from mere theories—that Garter stamps will mean anincreased profitto Mr. Black."
"Would you supply any other line of business in this town, Mr. Bulder?" asked Fellows quietly.
"Certainly, my young friend. Because by doing soit wouldhelpMr. Black. Don't you see that, if one hardware man, and one druggist, and one dry goods store, and so on, had our stamps,allthose merchants would be in a class by themselves? It would make them theleadingmerchants in the town, for people would trade with them so that they could collect the Garter stamps."
"I see," returned Fellows quietly. "And the man who gets stamps here from Mr. Black would be able to buy, let us say, a hat or some china ornaments through you people, which would, incidentally, deprive the local men's furnishing store or china store of the sale of those articles. And, of course, that same man might get trading stamps from other stores, and with those stamps he could buy a pocketknife through you people, and thus take the sale of that pocketknife away from Mr. Black."
Bulder waved the question aside as though not worth bothering with. "My dear man," he asserted, "the people who get things for those trading stamps get things they would not buy otherwise. That is surely averytrivial contention."
Fellows looked at me and said:
"Black, I have no reason to take any more of yours or Mr. Bulder's valuable time, as I see nothing else to say except that I strongly advise against the adoption of this or any other trading stamp or profit-sharing scheme which you do not control yourself. Of course, a few merchants in a town can get together and run this trading stamp system, whereby your stamps are accepted for cash in other stores and other stores' stamps are accepted for cash in your own, and by that system there might possibly be some benefit in thetrading stamps. But I believe that any merchant who uses trading stamps—and I do not refer to your excellent company, Mr. Bulder—is merely building up business for some outside organization. He is merely diverting some of his own profits into the pockets of the trading stamp concerns, which do not really build up any business at all; because, if the stamps prove successful for one merchant, it will not be long before other merchants take them up and then every one is giving profits to the trading stamp concerns without any of them getting any real benefit from it. I believe the use of trading stamps is more or less an admission of inability to think up plans of getting business for oneself."
Bulder smiled. He was once again the acme of courtesy.
"That argument of yourssoundsexcellent, Mr. Fellows," he said suavely. "Excellent! But why not apply it toyourbusiness? Why not say that if one merchant advertises,allmerchants will advertise and thus the benefits of advertising are nullified?"
Fellows was once again beaten down, I thought. He was plainly stumped for a few seconds. Then he replied:
"There is something in what you say, Mr. Bulder. But with trading stamp competition every one is offering merely trading stamps. There is no particular difference between them, and one offers no material advantage over another. But advertising is different. You yourself admit that, and appreciate the benefits of advertising, for in your own printed matter"—and here he held some of it up—"you advise the merchant to advertise the trading stamp proposition, 'thus'"—he quoted from a folder—"'tying up the prestige of the Garter trading stamps with the local merchant's own store.'
"Now, while in trading stamps there is no apparent difference, with advertising one can express one's personality and character, which trading stamps never do. There are so many ways in which one may advertise: newspapers, billboards, booklets, form letters, street car signs; and you can make your advertising such that it will be better than your competitors'. But trading stamps are trading stamps and nothing more. The story of advertising is as varied as language itself. With advertising you can vary the appeal so that it always has a freshness which trading stamps must soon lose."
Bulder was plainly perturbed.
"I claim," he said heavily, "just thesamedistinction, thatsamepersonality—why, the verydressof our trading stamps is an advertisement, just as is the design on those Kleen-Kut tools I see displayed there. They are well-known, they are recognized by the trademark, and that is their individuality. Our trading stamp has thesameindividuality—it has our peculiar design and trademark."
"I am unconvinced," said Fellows, shaking his head with finality. "Your arguments sound excellent, but the fact remains that once a dealer takes on trading stamps it is difficult for him to get rid of them. People come in and ask for the stamps—"
"Good night!" I thought. Bulder was quick to respond.
"Ofcoursethey come and ask for the stamps. And if we offer these stamps to other dealers, and thenpeople come to Mr. Black andaskhim for them, and find he doesn't have them, won't thathurtMr. Black? Won't they say that Mr. Black isn't asprogressiveas other people? If the peopledemandtrading stamps, it is up to Mr. Black to give them, for, if he is not progressive enough to do so, he willdrivethem to some other store."