1. No customer must leave our store dissatisfied.2. The customer on whom you wait requires all your attention.3. Approach the customer who enters the store; do not wait for the customer to approach you.4. Remember that the object you have in view is to sell goods at a profit to the store, and to the satisfaction of the customer.5. The more customers you have, and the more each one spends, the nearer you are to the attainment of your sales quota.6. Customers come into the store for their convenience. Let your speech and manner show that you appreciate the opportunity of serving them.7. Cleanliness is imperative, from the floor to the ceiling, from your hair and your shoes to your finger nails.8. A smile costs nothing. Give one to every customer.9. Show your appreciation of their patronage by always saying "Thank you" when giving the package or the change.10. Customers come into the store to buy merchandise, not to talk to, or admire you. Do not wear anything, or say anything, that will distract attention away from the goods to yourself.11. Repeat the name and address of a customer whenever goods have to be charged or delivered. An error in writing the name of a customer is almost a crime.12. Write distinctly so that others will know what you mean.13. Try to know the names of customers and, when addressing them, use their names.14. Never correct customers' pronunciation of goods. For preference, adopt their pronunciation.15. The store is a place for business. Do not allow it to be used as a meeting place for loafers or for gossips. Nothing drives away real customers more quickly than this.16. "Punctuality is the soul of business." Be at the store punctually and wait on customers promptly.17. Study your goods and show seasonal articles to all customers whom you can interest in them, especially if the goods are being advertised.18. Don't wait till you sell the last one of an articlebefore putting it on the want book. Remember that it takes time to get supplies.19. Exercise care in displaying goods. Goods well displayed are half sold.20. Adopt as your personal slogan:"If every worker were just like me,What kind of a store would this store be?"21. Workwithyour fellow workers.
1. No customer must leave our store dissatisfied.
2. The customer on whom you wait requires all your attention.
3. Approach the customer who enters the store; do not wait for the customer to approach you.
4. Remember that the object you have in view is to sell goods at a profit to the store, and to the satisfaction of the customer.
5. The more customers you have, and the more each one spends, the nearer you are to the attainment of your sales quota.
6. Customers come into the store for their convenience. Let your speech and manner show that you appreciate the opportunity of serving them.
7. Cleanliness is imperative, from the floor to the ceiling, from your hair and your shoes to your finger nails.
8. A smile costs nothing. Give one to every customer.
9. Show your appreciation of their patronage by always saying "Thank you" when giving the package or the change.
10. Customers come into the store to buy merchandise, not to talk to, or admire you. Do not wear anything, or say anything, that will distract attention away from the goods to yourself.
11. Repeat the name and address of a customer whenever goods have to be charged or delivered. An error in writing the name of a customer is almost a crime.
12. Write distinctly so that others will know what you mean.
13. Try to know the names of customers and, when addressing them, use their names.
14. Never correct customers' pronunciation of goods. For preference, adopt their pronunciation.
15. The store is a place for business. Do not allow it to be used as a meeting place for loafers or for gossips. Nothing drives away real customers more quickly than this.
16. "Punctuality is the soul of business." Be at the store punctually and wait on customers promptly.
17. Study your goods and show seasonal articles to all customers whom you can interest in them, especially if the goods are being advertised.
18. Don't wait till you sell the last one of an articlebefore putting it on the want book. Remember that it takes time to get supplies.
19. Exercise care in displaying goods. Goods well displayed are half sold.
20. Adopt as your personal slogan:
"If every worker were just like me,What kind of a store would this store be?"
21. Workwithyour fellow workers.
We felt quite pleased with that list of rules, and the more I looked at them the better they seemed to me.
We had a discussion as to which of the twenty-one rules of conduct was the best. Larsen said that number one was the best. I favored twenty-one. Charlie said four was the best, and we finally agreed with him.
"Four," said Charlie, "appears to me to be the best, because the whole object of running this business is to make a profit. All the other rules are followed merely in order to secure that object."
I really believed that we would find it easier to work according to definite rules, than to continue with no rules for our guidance. Furthermore, we ought to be happier, working harmoniously together along definite lines. We all agreed that following these twenty-one rules would help us to give the store an atmosphere ofgood service, thesquare deal,truthfulnessandcooperation.
Larsen had resumed his Thursday afternoon hunts for business. The first Thursday, when the old chap got back to the store, he was almost crying with delight.
"Say, Boss," he said, "those people seemed real glad to see me. They ask me where I been so long. I tellthem I was sick. That's why I dropped Thursday trips. I felt I was meetin' old friends."
"Fine!" I said. "How much business did you get?"
"Sixteen dollars' worth," he said. "I think by keeping at it we'll get lots of new business. Remember old Seldom?—well," (Seldom was a real estate man and quite well-to-do) "he saw me coming in and came out of his office to me. He made me go to Traglio's and gave me a cigar. Then he said, 'There's nothing I'm wanting, Larsen, but step over to the house; I'll tell the missus you are coming over.' Well, Boss, I go to the house and see her. She had a mail-order catalog and was making out an order. She's good-natured and fat. She make me cup of tea. She showed me order to go to Chicago."
"What was it for?" I asked Larsen.
"A bread mixer, for one thing," said Larsen, grinning.
I remembered my bread-mixer episode, so I said: "Well, why didn't she come here for it? Goodness knows we advertised them enough."
"That's what she said. She said it advertised too much. She thought if she bought one she get her name in paper or something."
"Why, that's nonsense," I remonstrated.
"That's what she said of the ad," said Larsen.
"Oh, well, forget it," I cried peevishly. "Did you get an order from her?"
"The only one I did get. Here it is—sixteen dollars! I try to sell her pencil sharpener, but she say, 'That's a man's buy.' I'll sell Seldom one for her."
"Didn't any of the other people you called on want anything?"
"No," said Larsen, "they not expect me. I didn't like to push this trip. I think we oughta make a list of season stuff and call on regular customers. We could sell them stuff they buy from mail-order folks."
Larsen was determined to find some way of coping with the mail-order houses. We certainly had had some little success, but the mail-order houses seemed always to be everlastingly on the job.
When I was a boy I had been great chums with a lad named Larry Friday. Larry used to sleep at our house every other night, and I would sleep at his house every other night. We certainly knew each other as well as two boys could.
About six years before I bought this store, he had left town, when his father had moved to Providence. His father had failed there, his mother had died, and Larry, who had always had plenty of spending money, was thrown on his own resources. I had lost track of him, so you can imagine my surprise when he walked into the store one day.
We had a long chat over old times and I took him home for the night. Then he told me that he had saved up a few hundred dollars, and wanted to get another five hundred dollars, for a little while, to enable him to buy a small stationery business in Providence. His father had been in the paper business, and for that reason he naturally leaned toward that line.
"That's too bad, old man," I remarked, when he told me that he was five hundred dollars short. "If I had the money I'd be only too glad to lend it to you," as, indeed, I would have been.
"That's what I came to see you about, partly," hereplied, leaning over and becoming very serious. "Now, the present owner of that store is willing to take my note for two months for the five hundred dollars, if I can—find some responsible endorser. Listen, old man,"—and he brought out several sheets of paper all covered with figures. "Let me tell you exactly the condition of the store."
The figures that he had seemed to show conclusively that in sixty days at the most he would have sold enough goods to be able to pay the note.
"You see," said Larry, "I would have three hundred dollars in cash, anyway, as a working capital, so, in a pinch, I would really only have to find two hundred dollars to pay it. And if you would endorse it for me—there's not the least risk in it, or else I wouldn't ask you—I am willing to pay you interest on the money, if you wish, old man."
"Larry!" I exclaimed, quite disappointed that he should suggest such a thing as interest. "Indeed I'll endorse the note for you, but don't you talk of interest, for I'm only too happy to be able to help you a bit!"
Just as I had signed my name on the back of the note, Betty came in.
"What are you doing, Dawson?" she asked sharply.
"Just—" I looked at Larry to see whether he had any objection to my telling Betty about it.
He said, with a little embarrassment: "It's just a little business matter between Dawson and me."
"You know, old man," I said to Larry, "I talk all my business over with Betty. Of course you won't mind my telling her about this, will you?"
"Why, no," he returned, as he picked up the note and put it in his pocket.
When I told Betty what it was, to my astonishment she said:
"Well, Dawson, if you allow Mr. Friday to have your endorsement on a note you are very foolish!"
"Betty!" I said, quite mortified to hear her speak so in front of my old friend.
"And," she continued, looking Larry squarely in the face, "if Mr. Friday allows his friend to endorse a note for him, I don't think he is much of a friend."
"I am sorry your wife feels that way about it," said Larry. "I guess I'm coming between you two, old man. Here's the note—you better take it back, for I think too much of you to do anything that would affect your happiness. . . . Although I must say that I think Mrs. Black is unjust to you and me."
"You put that note right back in your pocket!" I commanded. "Betty," I said sharply, "this is a matter which I can handle without any help. Thank you!"
"Dawson," said Betty, holding out her hand to me, "I was vexed."
"Come, Larry, old man," I said, "I've known you too many years to allow my judgment of you to be swayed."
Larry held out his hand to Betty, who, however, turned coldly away and left the room.
"If you don't mind, old man," said Larry, "I'll not stay with you to-night, and if you want that note back—" his hand went toward his pocket.
"No! If the time comes that I can't trust you, I'll tell you so to your face!"
"You're a real pal!" exclaimed Larry, with feeling eyes.
He packed his grip, and, with a hearty, silent handshake, he left the house.
I had felt very much astonished and mortified that Betty should have acted that way, and I went into the house to reason with her. To my surprise, she was in her room and the door was locked.
"I want to come in," I said.
"Keep on wanting!" she replied, angrily.
"B-but—" the door was suddenly thrown open, and Betty stood there with her eyes flashing.
"Don't 'but' me. You can hardly make both ends meet now, and your business is only just making a bare existence,"—I looked surprised—"yes, a bare existence; and here you jeopardize your future by endorsing the note of a friend without knowing the first thing about it! The thing I advise you to do is to begin to save up five hundred dollars to pay that note."
I laughed.
"Dawson," she said, "therearetimes when I don't know whether you're a fool or not. This is one of the times I'msureyou're one!" And, with that, she slammed the door in my face, and left me aghast.
Betty was still sulky the next day. She could not get over my having endorsed that note for Larry. I was disappointed in Betty. I didn't think she would have me throw down a pal. Besides, it had not cost me anything to endorse the note, when it was sure to be paid long before it matured. While trying toget Betty to be reasonable, the telephone bell rang and I said, "Go answer it, Betty."
"Better answer it yourself," she snapped, "perhaps it is some other friend who wants you to give him some money."
I picked up the telephone and called, "Hello!"
"Hello, yourself, you old scallywag!" came back a voice which was familiar, though for a minute I could not place it.
"Who is it?" I asked angrily.
"Who's been biting you?" came back the answer. "This is Fred Barlow, old surly face. What's the matter, anyway? Had a row with the wife?"
Fred Barlow! Old Barlow's son! If ever there was an irrepressible young man it was Fred Barlow.
"I'm coming right over to see you," he said, and click went the receiver.
I went back in the room and growled at Betty: "Fred Barlow's coming over here. Try to be civil to him."
Betty looked at me for a minute, then crossed the room, and put one arm around my shoulder.
"Dawson, dear," she said, "you must not get vexed with me. You know, dearest, I would do everything to make you happy. But you must also know, dear, you have such a great big heart that you sometimes let it run away with your head—now, don't you? But you must not get angry with me. We cannot afford to get cross with each other—can we?"
"I—" but what then happened is nobody's business but ours. Suffice to say that, when Fred Barlow did breeze into the house, Betty and I were both smiling, and smiling from our hearts.
"Well, you old turtle doves," said Fred, "what's the price of dollar razors to-day? I want to buy one so that I can razor rumpus."
"Dawson," said Betty severely, yet with a twinkle in her eye, "please throw this person out of the house. A man who makes puns on Sunday is breaking the Sabbath."
"Never mind the Sabbath," said Fred. "If you will ask me to break bread with you I will stay. What's doing?"
"Well," I said, "I suppose we shall have to ask him, sha'n't we, Betty?"
Then we stopped fooling, and began to talk of general matters. I told him about Larry Friday.
"Poor old Larry," said Fred.
"Why poor old Larry?" I asked, with a sinking feeling in my heart.
"Why the poor devil only got clear of the bankruptcy court three months ago. You know he tried to run the Providence business after his father died, but he made a bad mess of it. Still, I guess he's learned his lesson."
I had a cold feeling around my heart, and I began to wish that I had heeded Betty's advice. A five hundred dollar note is not much to endorse, if a fellow's got the money; but—
"But can he?" I heard Betty ask.
"Of course he can!" said Fred.
"What's that?" I asked, coming out of my brown study.
"I suppose you know," Fred said, "that I am an agent for the Michigan car, the best little four-cylinder on the market, twenty miles on a gallon of gas, seatsfive people, rides like a feather bed, nine hundred and fifty dollars."
"Hold on," I cried, "if you have come here to sell me a car, just beat it while the beating is good."
"I have not," he said, "I have come to tell you that you and Charlie Martin are going joy riding with me. I have to go to Hartford to attend the conference of the eastern managers of the Michigan Car Company, and I think the ride, and a day or so off, would do you and Charlie a world of good."
"But we can't get away."
"Can't!" jeered Fred. "Hear the man, Betty," he said, turning to her. "Here is a man in business who says 'can't.' Don't you know that failure comes in 'can't's' and success comes in 'cans.' How many cans of it can I sell you?"
"You're full of it to-day, aren't you?" I said.
"Bet you I am, had eggs for breakfast, and am full of yokes."
"But," I said, "Charlie and I can't get away together."
"I'll be around at the house at nine-thirty to-morrow morning, and I'll pick Charlie up before I get here. We will stay at Hartford on Monday night, and Tuesday I will leave you folks to enjoy yourselves for a short time while I attend the conference."
"There isn't anything to do in Hartford," I said.
"Nothing to do! Say, Dawson, wake up! You—a retail merchant—saying 'nothing to do' when there's a bunch of good retail stores there, every one of which should give you a number of good ideas. Don't you want to see the Charter Oak? Why, there's a whole lot of interesting things in Hartford,and it certainly would do you and Martin good to visit there and get an assortment of good wrinkles. Besides, I want to tell you boys something about automobiles."
"That's awfully good of you, Fred," I said, "but honest Injun, I'm not interested in automobiles."
"Autos be blowed!" he said.
"Blown," corrected Betty, smiling.
"Have it your own way," said Fred. "Now," said he, turning to me, "you and Charlie are coming with me to-morrow as my guests, and I'm going to give you a real good time. I'll be through at the meeting at four or five o'clock Tuesday night, and then we'll have a good dinner and a nice midnight ride back home."
"I will go," I said.
"I knew you would," he replied, "and now, Betty, what about that bread-breaking stunt you spoke of?"
How work does pile up on one when he is away from business for a day or two! I was away less than two days; but it took me practically a whole week to get caught up. I suppose that it was because Charlie and I had gone away together.
I had a fine time in Hartford. Fred Barlow was full of ideas. He told me something about a plan that he was then working out for chain garages in connection with hardware stores.
"You're crazy," I told him. "No one has ever done anything like that before."
"Good boy!" he said. "The very fact that no one has ever done it before shows that it has a chance of success. I may have something to say to you about that later on," he said, mysteriously.
We had a very interesting meeting the following Monday. Our Monday evening meetings were certainly valuable, and I wouldn't have discontinued them for anything. It kept the fellows thinking and working in the interests of the business.
The matter for discussion was, "What can we do to boost sales this spring?"
A few days before I had asked old Barlow why he always got the trade for farming implements. His reply had interested me very much. He said:
"I know exactly the uses of all farming implements I sell. I know what kind of soil we have for miles around Farmdale. I know what kind of crops rotate best, and what fertilizer is best for each crop. The result is that I can advise the farmer what to buy, why he should buy it, and how to get the best results from using it."
"You must be a regular farmer yourself," I had exclaimed with surprise. "When did you learn farming?"
Barlow had smiled as he said, "I realized early in the game that if I meant to win the farmers' trade, I must win their confidence by knowing their needs, and talking in their own terms; so I bought that little farm at Mortonville, eight miles from here, just to experiment with and to study farming."
It just showed how easily a boss can be misunderstood. When I worked for old Barlow we fellows had always thought he was having a good time every spring, summer and fall at his farm, and had wished we could get away from business as often as he did just to "play" on the farm—and all the time he had been trying out new methods so as to talk helpfully to the farmers!
I began to understand more and more why Barlow was so successful. He never guessed, but always got the facts first hand.
Just the same I'm convinced he made a mistake in not telling his workers more of his methods—he would not have been so often misunderstood and misjudged by his employees if he had had meetings with them similar to my Monday evening "Directors' Meeting."
Well, to come back to our meeting. Of course, we had decided to have a full line of gardening tools. Jones suggested that we add garden seeds, which we had never kept because Traglio, the druggist, sold them.
I demurred, saying, "We ought not trespass on Traglio's trade for seeds, which he has had for years."
Charlie Martin said, "Of course, it's splendid of you, Mr. Black, to be so considerate; but, after all, business is no 'After-you-Alphonse' affair. I believe you should sell garden seeds. The hardware store that sells garden tools is also the logical place for seeds."
Larsen agreed with Charlie, while Jimmie said, "Gee, boss, that's a great idea—and let's grow some in the window so as to show the seeds are there with the sproutin' act."
We finally decided to sell garden seeds.
Jones then suggested that we should make a big window display of seeds and tools, "Not just a 'dead' display, you know, Mr. Black, but a display of them in use. That's the way to attract attention to the goods—show 'em being used," he concluded.
"How are we to show seeds in use?" I asked.
Jones was stumped and so was Larsen—even Jimmie had no idea. We all looked at Charlie when he said, "I remember seeing a good display of garden seeds once."
"Well," I said, "what was it?"
"As near as I can describe it, it was fixed like this," said Charlie. "The floor of the window was covered with soil divided into little plots. Each plot had a single variety of seeds arranged on top of it in orderlyrows. In the center of each plot was a 'talking' sign something to this effect:
GIANT BEANSA 5¢ package is sufficient for fifty square feet of soil. They should, under normal conditions, produce —— pints of beans, worth at retail $3.75.
GIANT BEANS
A 5¢ package is sufficient for fifty square feet of soil. They should, under normal conditions, produce —— pints of beans, worth at retail $3.75.
"I don't remember the price, the ground space, nor the production," confessed Charlie, "but that's the general idea. The five cents' worth of seeds (or whatever the amount was) was visualized. The amount of ground they required was then given, and, after that, the average production and its value. At the rear of the window all kinds of gardening tools were arranged—each one price-ticketed, of course."
"That's splendid," I said, enthusiastically. "We'll appoint you a committee of one to find out what seeds to buy and all about them."
"I don't know the first thing about gardening," objected Charlie, "and will be more than glad if you'll let some one else do it."
I was about to insist when, in an undertone, he added, "Believe me, Mr. Black, I've a very real reason for asking you to excuse me."
"Very well," I replied, somewhat nettled. "Jones can do it."
I wondered why Charlie was so earnest in wishing to be excused!
"Well," I said briskly, "that disposes of one thing. What else can we do this spring to boost business?"
"The fish are biting," said Larsen. "Stigler has a sign in his window that says so."
"I intended stocking fishing tackle this season!" I exclaimed. Then, after a pause, "And we'll do it, too. I'll not let Stigler put anything over on me."
"He's always sold 'em, so I understand," said Charlie, "so perhaps you will want to consider him and his trade as you did Traglio."
I saw a twinkle in his eye as he spoke, for he knew my contempt for Stigler. "Oh, that's different," said I, lamely.
"In that case," continued Charlie, dryly, "I suggest we sell fishing tackle—and do it right away. If I can help I will, for I do know something about fishing."
Just then I thought of Barlow and his grip on the farming implement trade, and, at the same instant, I saw a way of applying his principles to fishing, so I said, "Here's a plan for boosting fishing tackle. We'll have Martin find out right away what pools and rivers there are in our locality. We'll also find out what kind of fish can be caught therein. All this information we'll have in black and white so that we all can learn it."
As I talked the plan enlarged and took definite shape.
"Then," I continued eagerly, "we'll find out the best ways to get to all these fishing grounds—fishing waters, I mean," I said, as they all began to laugh. "In addition to that, we'll find out where to stay; where to pitch a tent if necessary, where supplies can be bought, and anything else that will help the fisherman to know where to go, what to catch, where to live while there, and, most important of all for us, what kind of tackle to use to catch the fish he's after."
"In other words," I said, triumphantly, "we'll make ourselves experts on fishing, so that people wanting to know when the ice is off the lake, or when the season is 'on' or 'off'—where fishing is reported good or poor; or what flies are in the market—will naturally gravitate to our store."
They all became enthusiastic over the plan, and Charlie promised to have the data all ready by the end of the week.
Jimmie then asked what we purposed doing about baseball goods and other sporting goods. We decided, much to his disappointment, that, while we ought to have them, we couldn't manage it that year.
"Barlow's already got 'em," said Larsen. "Too late now. Cream of trade already drunk by 'pussy' Barlow."
I felt vexed to think we had lost our chance on them, just because I had not thought ahead sufficiently.
The next day, I had quite a disturbing talk with Jock McTavish. Betty had told him about my endorsing a note for five hundred dollars for my old school chum, Larry Friday.
"Ye see," said Jock, "your credit is no' too good." I was about to protest, indignantly, when Jock continued, "Bide a wee, lad, and let me hae my say.
"Let's see what your live assets are," he continued. "There's your beesiness, o' course; but your bank account is only sufficient—barely sufficient, ye ken—tae meet your bills and current expenses. As a matter o' fact," he said gravely, "ye lost some discount last month for no' paying in ten days. I've told ye before never to lose discount. Borrow the money first. It pays to borrow money at six per cent. per year to makeit earn two per cent. in ten days—or thirty-six per cent. per year."
"Yes, yes," I said, impatiently, "you've told me that before."
"Exactly," said Jock, "but ye didna do it—and knowing ye ought to isn't worth a piper's squeal—unless ye do it.
"Then," he went on, "ye hae the farm—or rather ye haven't, since Blickens holds the mortgage on it—and makin' ye pay ten per cent. interest as weel.
"So your quick assets are practically nothing. And here ye are, Black, wi' no quick assets—and increasing liabilities (I blushed a bit at that, for I knew he was referring to Betty) ye go and add to your difficulties by adding a potential liability o' five hundred dollars."
"That's nonsense," I retorted. "Friday's as good as gold for it, and I've not the least chance of having to meet the note."
"That's what they aw' say until—" this from Jock.
"And suppose," I said, "I did have to pay it, I guess I could with all the profit I am making. You, yourself, worked it out and should know."
"Profit? Profit?" said Jock. "I didna say ye had any profit. I said the beesiness showed a profit, which is a horse o' anither color."
"How so?" I asked.
"Profit is no' made 'till goods are sold and paid for," explained Jock. "Your accounts receivable are only worth the value o' the creditors—and some ye hae are nae good. Your beesiness shows a paper profit, but it has all gone into stock. If ye hae tae realize on it, quickly, it would shrink alarmingly invalue. In fact, with a forced sale ye would show a big loss on your beesiness venture instead o' the paper gain ye show noo."
I had never realized this before, but the way Jock explained it made it clear to me, and it certainly worried me, for I had been feeling contented and satisfied that everything was going along nicely, and here came Jock, who proved to me that all my profit was potential.
"Ye can't claim tae hae a pr-rofit," Jock said, "until ye hae the actual money oot o' the beesiness. Never mind what the wise ones tell ye, profit is no' real profit unless it is a cash one which the beesiness can spare. Ye can't spare any money frae your business, so ye hae no real profit."
"How am I to pay the bonus to the men?" I asked.
"Ye can't," said Jock, "till ye stop increasing your stock so mooch."
"Look into this matter also," here Jock wagged his finger at me; "see that ye don't increase your stock investment wi'out increasing your sales correspondingly. If ye are the merchandiser I think ye are, ye'll try to cut doon stock investment and keep up your sales—and increase 'em, thus speeding up your turn-over.
"Remember," his parting words were, "never miss your interest on the farm mortgage. If ye do Blickens 'll tak it."
Do you wonder I felt worried? I felt as if the ground had been cut right from under my feet. To add to my troubles Stigler advertised a cut-rate sale on garden seeds!
The next week I went with Charlie Martin and Fred Barlow to Boston to buy the automobile accessories which we had decided upon when old man Barlow and I had fixed up that gasoline deal.
He had come to the house one evening and suggested it was time to get busy.
"Fred knows the automobile business thoroughly—and Charlie is well up on it also," said Barlow, "so I would suggest that, as I have to put up the money, if necessary, on what you buy, you let Fred and Charlie go with you. Their knowledge should be helpful to you."
"That's a good idea," I agreed; "we'll go next Monday."
"I'll tell Fred to be ready to go with you then," Barlow said. He was silent for a minute, then he went on, "Fred has to buy a lot of automobile accessories for his people, so perhaps, by pooling his and your orders, you can get prices shaved a bit."
I looked up with surprise. "I thought Fred had left his Detroit people."
"He has," said Barlow, abruptly, "but he has made new connections recently."
I wanted to ask what they were, but Barlow's attitude warned me not to.
So, the three of us went to Boston and bought acomplete stock of automobile accessories. I followed Fred Barlow's lead, for he certainly was familiar with the goods.
The next day the men came to make arrangements for putting in the gas tank. While they were measuring the pavement, and deciding just where to fix the pump, Stigler happened along.
"Morning, Stigler," I said, with an attempt at joviality; "how's business?"
"Fine," he responded. "How's bread mixers going?" He sneered as he spoke, and I felt myself getting mad.
"So, so," I replied—then, in an attempt to equal up the score, I added, "Too bad your five-and-ten-cent store proved such a fizzle!"
He turned sharply on me and snarled, "You keep yer damned tongue still when yer see me. I don't let whelps like you talk 'big' to me and get away with it, savvy?"
Without another word he walked away, leaving me taut and trembling with agitation.
I had been given to understand that Stigler's plan of continual price cutting had cut his profits to the vanishing point. He had brooded over it so much that it had become a mania with him. Unfortunately, he held me responsible for his troubles.
I told Betty about it as a good joke on Stigler, but she didn't laugh, instead she said gravely, "Leave that man alone, my dear; he is dangerous. Don't pick quarrels with him, or you may come to blows, or worse. Remember, dearest, that I need you more than ever—now."
How dear she was, and how brave and happy shekept while waiting—I could not let her have anything to worry about until after.
Charlie Martin had asked if he could come around to the house that evening, and, of course, I had said, "Yes."
Charlie had grown to be one of us almost, and I hardly realized how much I had come to depend on him until the thought of losing him occurred to me.
I don't know how I had happened to get into the habit of looking upon Charlie as a fixture with me. I knew his people were fairly well to do, and that the eight dollars a week I paid him were a mere bagatelle toward his living expenses. One gets into the habit, however, of accepting things on surface evidence, until one loses sight of the motive which is at the back of the evidence. For instance, if I had thought a bit, I would have known Charlie hadn't worked for eight dollars a week just because he needed a job.
One thing it taught me was that I must not confuse the apparent with the real. Thereafter, whenever a man said anything to me, I remembered that there was a motive at the back of what he said, and that if I was going to understand other people I must understand the motive which impelled their action. For instance, I knew that, when a man came in to buy a saw from me, he had a reason for buying that saw. The more I knew of his reason for buying it, the more able I was to sell him just what he wanted.
If a man put up a business proposition to me which looked good for me I remembered that it was not for me that he was doing it. I was not the reason which impelled him to give me a good deal. It was something which he eventually was going to get out of it himself. So I said to myself, "Why does he want to do this for me?" And if I could not find a good logical reason I left it alone until I could.
"Dawson," said Charlie, after dinner—he had got to calling me Dawson outside of business—"Do you know why I have been working for you for the last few months?"
"Why, no, unless you've just wanted to do something."
"I never do anything just because I want to fill in some spare time," he smiled. "My business training has taught me that I cannot afford to make a lot of waste motions. I came to your store because I wanted a small-store experience."
"We're not so small," I protested.
"Well, let's say small compared to Bon Marche in Paris, or Selfridges in London, or Marshall Field in Chicago, or such young concerns. However, I think I know more about small-store conduct than I did before, now that I've had some experience. You see, I studied retail merchandising, but that was only half the battle, you know. All I learned there was no use whatever until I found whether I could actually apply it.
"As you know," he continued, "I went to Detroit and studied the automobile business—not from the manufacturing end, but from the distribution end—because Fred Barlow and I had a hunch that there was a big future in automobile selling, if we could discover it."
"I should think there was a big 'present,'" I remarked.
"Yes, there is a big present for the manufacturers, and some few distributors make a fine thing out of it. But the distribution end struck us as being very inadequate."
"Fancy you two young fellows deciding that the big bucks up in Detroit don't know how to sell automobiles!"
"I guess you're right, at that," agreed Charlie; "but the outsider often gets a different slant on things from the fellow who is continually on the job. But that's neither here nor there," and he waved his hand as if to brush aside the discussion. "The point is that Fred and I went to Detroit together and studied the automobile business from the distribution end, and, of course, we also learned how they are made. We then looked into the accessories, and found out quite a lot about selling them. Then we decided we wanted retail-store experience, particularly in hardware. So Fred has been studying the practical side of retail-store management in his dad's office, while I have been studying it in yours."
"Do you think that's quite fair?" I said indignantly, "for you and Fred Barlow to use his father and me as suckers?"
"Don't get vexed," he said quietly, "until you know the reason for our actions." Then he continued, "I don't think you have any cause to complain at what I've done for you, Dawson. I think I've been worth my eight dollars a week."
"Of course you have. Forgive me."
"Here's the idea," he resumed. "The hardware stores of the country are at last waking up to the fact that automobile accessories are logically a departmentof the hardware store. We feel, however, that the garage itself is a logical department of the hardware store. The hardware store in the past has lost several lines which ought to belong to it. Look at the number of hardware lines the drug stores sell, and the department stores also. If the hardware stores had been on the job it would have been impossible to have bought a bicycle anywhere than at a hardware store.
"Now, we have to admit that, of late, the hardware repair shop has not been a flourishing, profitable department. In fact, many hardware stores have eliminated it, sending outside such odd jobs as must be done. We believed—in fact, we still believe, that the hardware store of the town should also be the leading garage of the town, and that the garage is the natural development of the tin shop. Many hardware stores are selling gasoline, and, as you know, automobile accessories are becoming quite common in a hardware store.
"If we had a garage adjacent to our hardware store," he continued, "we could not only supply a man with accessories, but attach them to his car. If a man has a breakdown, we are in a position to repair his car, and then exercise our selling ability to sell him accessories.
"Just look at the average garage! Did you ever know of a garage man who made a display of accessories? If the present garagemen were on to the job they could put the hardware man out of business, so far as accessories are concerned." Here Charlie paused for a minute, and then added: "Except, perhaps, in the larger cities.
"As you know, my dad has quite a little money,and he is willing to set me up in business. Fred Barlow's dad has a little money, also."
I smiled at this, because it was known all over town that old man Barlow was one of our wealthiest citizens.
"Fred and I and our dads," he continued, "have formed a little corporation under the title of Martin & Barlow. What we plan to do is to operate a chain of garages in connection with the best hardware store in each town. We are going to run a garage in Farmdale here, in that place exactly opposite Barlow's store. We are also going to have a display window in the garage where accessories will be shown. The hardware store will also contain a big display of accessories, which will be under our control. We are going to pay Mr. Barlow a small sum for rent of space in his store. Fred or I will be in charge of that to begin with.
"We have a man coming from the Michigan Car Company to look after the garage. We will also have the exclusive agency for this territory for the Michigan car. That is how it will work out," he continued, after a moment's pause.
"We shall train one of Barlow's clerks to look after the accessories department in the store. We shall then have our own man who will go around selling cars in this locality. We shall also have a man in the garage who understands repairs of all kinds, and particularly the Michigan car, for which he shall carry a complete line of parts."
"Will that pay Barlow?" I asked.
"Yes, for in return for his providing a salesman for the accessories department, we will give him a percentage of the profits from that department, besidesguaranteeing him a small sum for rent every month.
"Now our salesman for the Michigan car will also canvass the car owners in the locality—representing Barlow's store, you understand,—and secure their business for accessories. We believe that he will sell enough cars and accessories to pay for himself and to make money for the store and us. In addition to this the salesman will take orders for general hardware whenever the opportunity occurs, and on such business the store gives us a commission. In other words, you see, our salesman is really a salesman for everything that Barlow will sell.
"The man we will have in charge of the garage is not only thoroughly trained in repair work of all kinds by the Michigan Car Company, but he has also been given a special schooling in simple bookkeeping, salesmanship, the need of cleanliness, courtesy, and the best way to keep his garage smart and attractive. He is not only able to repair cars, but he knows how tochargefor his repairs."
"All the garage men I know don't need any training inthat," I said, with a grin.
He smiled and went on: "Now, when we have this town working properly we want to make arrangements with a good hardware man in another town. Fred Barlow and I will get hold of a local man, train him in the selling of the Michigan car, and show him how to go about building up accessories and general hardware trade. We will also teach one of the hardware man's clerks how to sell accessories; and the Michigan Car Company will then send us another man with the same training as the first to look after the garage for us, which will in every case be locatedas near to the hardware store as possible. The Michigan Car Company is running a regular class-room in its factory, so that we will have fifty men, properly trained, if we need them.
"Of course, we shall have signs up in the garage that automobile accessories and hardware can be bought from the hardware store, and in the hardware store there will be signs saying that gasoline and repairs of all kinds are to be had in our garage, at such an address.
"In each town we will operate our business in the name of the local store."
"Won't you have a job in checking up your cash? Do you have your salesman look after that, and bond him?"
"No," he replied. "The local hardware man is responsible for all cash. We get him to receive all the money collected, render us a weekly report, and send us a check for the full amount, with a list of any goods wanted for either the garage or the accessories department."
"Can you get the hardware people to do that?" I asked skeptically.
"We think we can."
"Do you think you can get them to go to all that bother and trouble?"
Charlie smiled and replied: "If they are not willing to go to that bother and trouble we would not want to work with them, for it would show they were 'dead ones.' We believe that live hardware people will be glad to work with us on a proposition such as this, which will be a source of profit to them, as well as increased sales on their regular hardware lines."
"What's the local garage man going to say about this?" I asked.
"It will be a survival of the fittest," he said quietly. "We have not entered into this to put the garage man out of business, but merely to get a garage business for ourselves. We shall not consider him in any way, or go out of our way to fight him. We shall merely mind our own business, and get as much of it to mind as we can."
"When are you going to start here?"
"May 1st," he replied.
"Say," I exclaimed, sitting up straight, "then all those goods Fred and you bought while with me in Boston are really for your store here?"
"Yes."
"Well, why didn't you or Barlow say something about it?"
"Look here, Dawson, we can trust you to the last gun shot; but, if one wants to keep a thing quiet the best way is to tell nobody, for if he starts to tell one, before he knows it he is telling some one else, and his plans may be frustrated before he has a chance of putting them into operation."
"Why bother to tell me about it all, then?" And then another distressing thought occurred to me. "Look here, Charlie, this is going to hurt me. If you have a man going around selling hardware he is going to upset Larsen on his weekly trips to get business. Then, what's the good of my having accessories, if you are fighting me all the time?"
The more I thought about it the more alarming it became.
"I'm going to see old Barlow first thing in themorning." I felt my temper rising. "I am going to tell him to keep his old gas tank. I won't have it; and as for those accessories, I'll return them right away. You're not going to use me as a cat's-paw in your business, and you and Barlow can go—"
"Oh, shut up!" said Charlie, sharply. "Look here, Dawson, old man Barlow never did anything to hurt you, and is not going to now. Fred and I think too much of you. In fact, we want you to help us and yourself at the same time. This town is big enough for two hardware stores with accessories. The only man who is going to be pinched here is Martin, who runs the garage, and as a matter of fact, old Barlow is out for Martin's scalp."
I then recalled an episode between old man Barlow and Martin, the garage man, some years ago, when they had a lawsuit over a land boundary. Martin played some very dirty trick on Barlow, who lost his case. The only comment Barlow ever made was, "I can wait." It looked to me as if Barlow was helping to start a new idea in chain store organization, and at the same time paying off an old score.
"Well, where do I come in on this deal?" I asked, somewhat suspiciously, I must own.
"Listen, Dawson," said Charlie, putting his hand on my knee, "you're a mighty original chap. Some of the selling stunts you have pulled off here show you have an excellent merchandising instinct. You have made some 'bulls,' of course, but I'd hate to have a fellow around me who couldn't make some mistakes. When we've got our plan in this town working properly, we would like you, if we could get you, to thoroughly study the automobile accessories business, and think up ways and means of selling them; and then we'd like you, if you would to come in with us as a partner and take charge of the selling and displaying of the accessories for all our stores. We would also like to have you write up form letters to send to car owners, and go around and visit the stores and see that the goods are being displayed properly. Think up new selling wrinkles for salesmen, and things of that sort."
Then he got up abruptly, leaving my head in a whirlwind with the torrent of thoughts he had given me, and said, "Think it over, old man, and talk about it with Betty, but don't let it go any further!"
There followed three such strenuous months that everything had to go by the board, except business; and I cannot with any clearness remember everything that took place.
We started our profit-sharing plan, as arranged on June 1, the beginning of my fiscal year. I had thought we had so thoroughly threshed out the plan that it would work like a charm; but two months had barely passed before friction started. Larsen felt he ought to get a larger percentage of the profits than his salary called for, because he went out selling, and said that he thereby created business which no one else could get and he did his regular work besides. Whenever the boy Jimmie made a suggestion of any kind he, at the same time, added that he ought to have a special extra bonus for that suggestion, if it was any good. I talked the matter over with Jock, and finally we straightened it out, but I have not the time to tell you how we satisfied the warring elements.
I would also like to tell in detail of the starting of the new chain garage plan. In three months it was already working well in Farmdale, and negotiations had been completed for the second garage in Hartleyville. We had struck an awful lot of snags in starting this plan. How to handle the store, and at the same time study automobile accessories, had been some job,but Fred Barlow and Charlie Martin were certainly live wires, and they could think up more ways of doing a thing than I ever dreamed of.
I remember once reading something by Elbert Hubbard in which he said that every business required a pessimist, an optimist, and a grouch. I believed we would succeed, for old Barlow was certainly the pessimist in the bunch, and whenever Charlie or Fred went to him with any new idea they wanted to "pull off" in connection with the garage chain plan he acted like a brake to their enthusiasm—or, as he put it, kept them down to Mother Earth.
Charlie's father had oodles of money, and was the principal director of the idea, and he was the grouch. Charlie used to say that his dad never believed anything until he actually saw it.
"If I were to go to him," said Charlie, "and say to him, 'Dad, I made a hundred dollars to-day,' he would say, 'Show it to me,' and, if I did show it to him, he would then ask me if I had planned what I was going to do with it to make it earn more money. If I had told him I had, he would then say that either the investment I had planned was safe enough but didn't pay enough dividend—or else that it wasn't safe, although it paid a good dividend. I'd hate to have a disposition like Dad's," laughed Charlie, "and yet Dad's a good old scout, and he must believe in the plan, else he wouldn't back it the way he is doing."
Charlie, Fred and I were the optimists, I guess.
I had to thank old Barlow for doing me one good turn, for, during all the excitement I had completely forgotten to make my payment to the president of the bank, Mr. Blickens. It was the monthly payment of fifty dollars to apply against the mortgage on my farm. Jock had repeatedly told me to be sure not to get behind with that or I might lose my farm. The very morning after the payment was due I had a telephone call from Blickens, asking me to go to see him. I went, and he reminded me I hadn't made my payment. I said I would write out my check there and then, but he said, "I don't think it is at all satisfactory."
"You must take up the mortgage at once or I shall foreclose," he added in that acid tone of his.
"But, Mr. Blickens, you couldn't do that!"
"Couldn't?" he snapped. "You don't know what I could do." He pulled out his watch and said, "It's ten now—you must take up that note by twelve or I shall foreclose."
Old Barlow was in the bank as I came out of the president's office, and he evidently noticed I was feeling disturbed, for as I left the bank he followed me and put his arm around my shoulders in such a kindly way that I just told him the whole story.
He screwed his mouth a little, a habit he had when thinking quickly. Then "Come back to the bank," he said, shortly. He wrote out a check for cash, drew the money and gave it to me, saying, "Give that to him."
We entered Blickens' office together. He looked surprised to see old man Barlow, too. "What do you want?" he snarled.
"Nothing," smiled Barlow, "only I just wondered if you couldn't give young Black here a little longer on that note. He's all right. Would you give him a little longer if I endorsed his note?"
"Look here, Mr. Barlow," snapped Blickens, "you've interfered once or twice in my business. I told Black that I'd give him till twelve o'clock to take up that mortgage. If he is going around whining after I have helped him, I'll give him no time at all. He must pay the money right here and now—or I'll foreclose at once."
"Pay him, Dawson," said Barlow, quietly.
"I won't accept a check—it isn't legal tender, and his check wouldn't be any good either."
By this time I had pulled out the roll of money, and say, it did me good to see Blickens' eyes. They stuck out of his head so far you could have knocked them off with a stick. He fairly gurgled with disappointment, but there was nothing else to do but take his medicine, which he did none too graciously.
I gave Barlow a demand note, with the farm as collateral, to cover the loan he had made me. I felt safer; but it wasn't my fault that I hadn't lost my farm. What a lot of trouble borrowing money gets one into!
When I got home from this episode, which had started me so unpleasantly, but which had finished so well for me, I found a letter from Larry Friday, in which he said that he found he had been stung badly on the store, and he didn't know whether he would be able to carry it on or not. He hoped, however, before the note matured, to findsomeof the money, but would see eventually that I got paid back what I would have to pay. I felt positively sick.
I was sitting by Betty's bedside when I read the letter, and she noticed my face change.
"What is it, boy dear?"
I silently passed the letter over to her and waited for her to say, "I told you so." Some women are wonderful—aren't they? She said nothing of the sort, but patted my hand and said:
"Too bad, but never mind, dear, I'd much sooner you'd lose a few dollars because you've such a big heart, than have you make a lot of money by being like Blickens."
I realized that I would have to set to and save every penny I could to apply against that note when it came due. There was still a month to get together whatever money I could, but it was going to spoil some selling plans I had wanted to try for the store. Never again, would I endorse a note for any man! I have certainly learned my lesson. But why, oh why, couldn't I have profited by other people's experience instead of having to learn business methods by my own? The tuition fee in the school of experience is mighty high.
Now, I must tell you the dreadful scare we had a few nights later. At eleven-thirty at night—just as I was impatiently walking the floor of our little sitting-room, while the doctor was upstairs with Betty, I heard the fire engine dash past the end of the street. At the same time I saw a huge tongue of flame shoot above the house, with the accompaniment of a dull roar. The flame was in the direction of my store, and, of course, my first thought was that my store had caught fire again—or that Stigler had fired it.
For the last few months Stigler had been acting queerly. He used to stand across the road from my store and nervously bite his finger nails. Then he would unconsciously rub his forehead in a slowmethodical way. After a time he would return to his own store, would gaze into the windows and mutter incoherently to himself. I felt that Stigler had for some time been on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Business had been going very badly with him, I knew, because a jobbing house from which I bought had stopped his credit.
During the previous three weeks he had been selling goods at ridiculous prices. Not satisfied with normal cuts, he in many cases had sold goods below cost. It had worried me, and I had told Barlow, who had said to let him alone, as a price cutter was a hog and would eventually finish by cutting his own business throat, and he had advised me to keep clear of Stigler, as he (Stigler) attributed all his misfortunes to my competition—and he hadn't forgiven me for winning Betty.
Well, to get back to that fatal night. I saw the nurse in the corridor, so I told her that I would be home again in a few minutes, and not to tell Mrs. Black that there was a fire. I then grabbed my hat and ran down the street.
I found it was not my store, but Stigler's. It was a most horrible, but fascinating, sight. The body of the store was blazing like a furnace. The bright red glow from it shone across the road and its light, dancing upon the faces of the crowd watching the fire, made an eerie sight. Little tongues of fire were already shooting out of the upstairs windows, while one side of the roof was well alight. Little running streams of flame kept playing backwards and forwards across it, and, even while I watched, there was another roar and part of the roof collapsed.
I knew the fireman who was holding the horses' heads. "Some fire," I said to him in an undertone.
"You bet it is," he replied curtly; "the beggar set it himself."
"Nonsense!" I said incredulously.
"The place has been saturated with gasoline. A fire couldn't catch like that in so brief a time. It will be a pretty serious matter for Stigler, believe me."
My brain was in a whirl with the roar and crash of the fire, the light glowing all around. The knowledge that Stigler had fired his own store and the fact that I was the man he had openly blamed for his misfortune gave me an impression of deep apprehension. Yet somehow I felt sorry for Stigler, for, while he had all the time been competing with me, I had never competed with him; although, goodness knows, I probably would have done so had it not been for the wiser council of Barlow.
While I stood there, wondering and anxious, I felt some one near me. Why, I don't know, but my feeling of apprehension was now accompanied by intense horror. I wanted to turn and see who it was—and yet I positively dreaded to. In a moment I heard a voice hiss in my ear:
"I hope yer satisfied now. That's your work. You—you were the cause of that. You've been the ruin of an honest man, but yer sha'n't live to enjoy yer victory—"
I turned and saw Stigler—his face chalky white—his blood-shot eyes wide and staring; a little saliva trickling from the corner of his mouth. Just then another crash came and a flame shot skyward. It played upon his face and gave him the appearance of some evilspirit. I put my hands up just as he leaped toward me. I felt his fingers tightening around my throat. I tried to shout, but couldn't—only beating my fists upon his face.
It was over as quickly as it started, for the crowd instantly tore him from me. At last my scattered wits recalled what had happened, and I saw Stigler being marched away shrieking and laughing crazily.
Two good souls took hold of me, one by each arm, and led me away from the scene of the fire. After a few minutes I regained my self-control, and remembered what was taking place at home. I asked my friends to go that far with me. As we reached the end of our street a policeman came to me and said, "Can you tell me anything about Stigler?"
"Not to-night," I replied.
"Will you report to the police station in the morning? We'll probably want you."
"What for?"
"Well, Stigler has just died." . . .
Poor Stigler—he had been his own worst enemy and had paid a heavier price than any one else would have demanded of him!
My thoughts were really sad as I opened the door of my home—home? yes, indeed! For as soon as I entered the house I knew it was a dearer home than it had ever been.
The doctor was downstairs, smiling.
"Tell me, doctor, quick—what is it?"
"Well, Daddy," he said kindly, "would you like to see your little boy?"
"How's Betty?" was my answer to him.
"Doing splendidly."
"Can I?—"
"Don't look so worried. This thing is happening every day, all over the country."
THE END
SMILES, A ROSE OF THE CUMBERLANDSBy Eliot Harlow Robinson
Author of "Man Proposes"
Cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated, $1.50
Smiles is a girl that is sure to make friends. Her real name is Rose, but the rough folk of the Cumberlands preferred their own way of addressing her, for her smile was so bright and winning that no other name suited her so well.
Smiles was not anativeof the Cumberlands, and her parentage is one of the interesting mysteries of the story. Young Dr. MacDonald saw more in her than the mere untamed, untaught child of the mountains and when, due to the death of her foster parents a guardian became necessary, he was selected. Smiles developed into a charming, serious-minded young woman, and the doctor's warm friend, Dr. Bently, falls in love with her.
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ROLLO'S JOURNEY TO WASHINGTONBy Richard D. Ware
Illustrated with unique woodcuts by Robert Seaver. Price $1.00
The boy of yesterday—the man of today—knows the Rollo books, and is familiar with the method by which the mind of young Master Mollycoddle was improved by the guidance and precepts of his father and Uncle George. Those who survived such a course of purification and still live will enjoy this story of Rollo's journey to our national capital.
It is not written for the young in years, but for the young in heart—for the good citizen who can see the funny side of a situation that is serious, and can laugh at the mistakes and foibles of our great men of today without malice or viciousness.
The book is about the Great War which has caused so many tears of sorrow, and the author's only desire is to replace thosebitter tearswithtears of mirth.
TWEEDIE, THE STORY OF A TRUE HEARTBy Isla May Mullins
Author of "The Blossom Shop Stories," etc.
Cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated, $1.50
In this story Mrs. Mullins has given us another delightful story of the South.
The Carlton family—lovable old Professor Carlton, and his rather wilful daughter Ruth—twenty-three years old and with decided ideas as to her future—decide to move to the country in order to have more time to devote to writing.
Many changes come to them while in the country, the greatest of which is Tweedie—a simple, unpretentious little body who is an optimist through and through—but does not know it. In a subtle, amusing way Tweedie makes her influence felt. At first some people would consider her a pest, but would finally agree with the Carlton family that she was "Unselfishness Incarnate." It is the type of story that will entertain and amuse both old and young.
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"A rare and gracious picture of the unfolding of life for the young girl, told with a delicate sympathy and understanding that must touch alike the hearts of young and old."—Louisville (Ky.) Times.
THE AMBASSADOR'S TRUNKBy George Barton
Author of "The World's Greatest Military Spies and Secret Service Agents," "The Mystery of the Red Flame," "The Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes," etc.
Cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated, $1.50
Bromley Barnes, retired chief of the Secret Service, an important State document, a green wallet, the Ambassador's trunk—these are the ingredients, which, properly mixed, and served in attractive format and binding, produce a draught that will keep you awake long past your regular bedtime.
Mr. Barton is master of the mystery story, and in this absorbing narrative the author has surpassed his best previous successes.
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