"I take strong exception to your words," said Fellows evenly. "I don't appreciate your slur on the 'progressiveness' of my—of Mr. Black."
"IbegMr. Black's pardon. I spoke hastily. But you must admit, Mr. Black, that the unreasonableness of your friendisexasperating."
Fellows ignored the last remark. Apparently to no one, he mused:
"I remember in the little town of Wakeford some of the merchants there got this trading stamp 'bug.' First one got it, then another, and then they were all giving trading stamps—that is, all those who did any real business. And then one of them thought he would steal a march on the others, and began giving double trading stamps on Saturday. In two weeks they were all giving double trading stamps on Saturday. It has got so now that they are giving double stamps every Friday and triple stamps on Saturday! I suppose before long they'll be all giving double stamps every day of the week. Pretty tough on those merchants, isn't it?"
Bulder looked at Fellows with some amazement in his face, for Fellows' remarks were not apparently addressed to either of us; he was gazing through the window of the door leading into the store.
"Pretty tough on those merchants," Fellows continued, "because, when they give double trading stamps, they increase their percentage of cost on their capital from 15 to 30 per cent. assuming they have a 5 times turnover. Of course it's all right for the trading stamp concerns, because the more stamps that are sold, the more profit they make.
"By the way, Mr. Bulder, do you sell stamps in Wakeford?"
"Why, yes, we do sell some," was the reluctant response.
I saw the point at once, and instantly I made up my mind that I would not take the chance of being drawn into a war of giving trading stamps away in competition with other stores, and I quietly told Bulder that we were merely wasting time now, that I had definitely decided not to touch the proposition at all.
Bulder shrugged his shoulders. "I amsorrythat you let this opportunity go by. Butpleasedon't come to us in a few months' time and ask to do business with us, for we shallunquestionablyclose with some other hardware store before I leave town to-day."
He was once more the suave and polished man of the world. He shook hands pleasantly with us, cracked a joke or two, and left the store, apparently in the best of humor.
Hardly had he gone out when Fellows went to the telephone and called up Mr. Barlow. I don't know what Barlow said, but I heard Fellows say:
"This is Fellows of the Flaxon Advertising Agency. I am at Dawson Black's. We have just had the Garter Trading Stamp man here. You knew that Black was thinking of taking up the trading stamp proposition. Well, he has turned it down cold. I thoughtyou might like to know, in case they came to you with a different story."
There was a meeting of the Merchants' Association that evening—I didn't tell you that I had joined sometime before. As I entered the meeting room, Barlow came to me and told me that Bulder had been to see him, and had told him that I was interested in his proposition but he felt that Barlow would be the better man for them to work with.
Barlow brought the matter of trading stamps up for discussion at the meeting, and it was decided that no member of the association should handle them.
"What would we do if some merchants in the town, who are not members of the association, should take them on?" I asked.
I saw a twinkle in Barlow's eye, for he knew I was thinking of Stigler, who was not a member of the organization.
"I should think," said Wimple, who was the president, "that we had better not try to cross that bridge until we come to it. The leading merchants belong to the association, and I question very much whether the fact that some small store might handle the stamps would have any effect upon us, one way or the other."
I hoped and believed that we had killed trading stamps so far as our town was concerned, but I determined that, if ever the question was to come up again, through some of the others taking up stamps, I would suggest that idea of Fellows', that we form a trading stamp organization of our own, which the association could run. In other words, the Merchants' Association would be the trading stamp concern, and so we would have any benefits coming from it ourselves.
As soon as possible, I visited the landlords of all the empty stores in town, and contracted to rent the windows in seven of them for two weeks beginning the first of October.
Two of the stores I couldn't get because they had been rented for the first of October; one I didn't go to at all because I remembered, fortunately, in time, that the landlord was a friend of Stigler's. If I had told him what I wanted, the probabilities were that Stigler would have got wind of it and he would somehow have got ahead of me.
The total expense was less than twenty dollars. Two stores I got for nothing, and I found out that Barlow owned them. The old brick had told his agent to let me have them for two weeks without any cost. Traglio, the druggist, let me have the vacant store next door to him, which he owned, for $2.00 a week, on the understanding that I would not display any toilet articles, and that I would put a card in the window, at my own expense, reading: "For toilet articles of all kinds go to Traglio's." I didn't think that would hurt me any, so I promised to do it. It cost me $12.00 for the old Bon Marche store, but that was right opposite the post office, and I thought it well worth the money, because everybody in town would see the displaysthere. Besides, they were big windows. It had been a prosperous store, but Waldron, who ran it, had lost his money in a big Providence bank failure.
When I had got it all done the question came to me, What am I going to do for stock? It would be difficult to put a lot of stock in those windows to make a real display and still have left in the store any of the lines to sell. I worried over this for some time, and then I wrote to Hersom, the salesman for Bates & Hotchkin of Boston, the jobbers from whom I bought the bulk of my general supplies, and told him about my plan, and asked him if he could help me out. They were pretty decent people, and while I had to pay a fraction more for the majority of the goods than if I had bought from the manufacturer it was well worth it to me, for they looked after me well. As Hersom had told me, the last time he had called, "We certainly will do all we can for you, because you give us the bulk of your business." . . .
Coincidences do happen even in a little town. The electric light company had been making a big campaign in the town, advocating the use of electricity for lighting, cooking, ironing, etc. The advertising certainly had made the gas company sit up and take notice, for they had offered to wire houses for a ridiculously small amount, with easy terms of payment, and in a large percentage of the houses they had begun to use electricity instead of gas. For some time I had been thinking of taking advantage of this fact, and putting in a stock of electric toasters and grills, perhaps an electric fan or so, and a few electrical devices like that.
Well, I happened to meet Mrs. Twombley in the street. Mrs. Twombley was a close friend of the Mater's. She was a widow, like Mater, and they had been schoolgirls together, and Mrs. Twombley had been one of the episodes of my father's period of calf love. Mrs. Twombley was a big, plump, jolly-looking woman, well to do, and she was quite fond of me. The last time she had been at the house she had said to the Mater, as she rumpled my hair—she did that every time she came because she knew I didn't like it—"It was just nip and tuck as to whether I would have been Dawson's mother, wasn't it?"
She was passing on the other side of the street, and, seeing me, she frantically waved her umbrella at me—she always carried an umbrella, whatever the weather might be. I went across to her, and she told me she wanted a dozen kitchen knives.
"I don't know what Lucy does with them," she said. "I think she must be engaged to a sword swallower and he is practicing with my knives."
Then she added: "By the way, Dawson, I have never asked you to do anything for me, have I?"
"No," I replied, wondering what she meant.
"Well, young man, I am going to make a suggestion to you that may cost you a few dollars. Our fair for Foreign Missions takes place, as you know, next month, and you are going to help us out."
"In what way?"
"Bless the boy, I don't know! Look around your store and see if there isn't something you don't want; or else send some things up and give us a commission for selling them. See what you can do about it." And she bustled off without waiting for an answer.
And now for the coincidence. When I got back to the store there was an unusually smart-looking chapwaiting to see me. It seemed he represented the Atlantic Electric Appliance Corporation, and they wanted me to take the agency for their full line of electric appliances.
"Your line is a good thing, I'm sure," I said to him—Wilkshire was his name—"but, candidly, I couldn't afford to put in a full supply of those things, although I was thinking of starting with a few toasters and one or two things of that kind."
"I can understand, Mr. Black," was his response, "that you couldn't very well carry the whole line that we have, unless we worked with you on it. We believe there's a big field in Farmdale for electric appliances—better than usual on account of what the electric light company's doing to boost things.
"Our proposition is this: If you will make a special display of electrical appliances for a week we'll supply you with a full line of our goods, we'll send a demonstrator to show how they are worked, and we will go fifty-fifty on any advertising you care to do during that time.
"When the demonstration is over, go ahead and stock up what you think is necessary, and we'll undertake to supply you with additional stock on twenty-four hours' time. You are not such a great way from Hartford"—that was their headquarters—"and, if you order one day, you can have the goods right here within forty-eight hours at the latest."
Just then the telephone bell rang. Larsen answered it, and I heard him say:
"Yes, Mrs. Twombley, he's back. I'll tell him."
I went to the 'phone, and she wanted me to be sure not to forget about helping them out at the fair."Remember," she reminded me, "it starts Tuesday, the twelfth of October, and ends the Saturday following."
"Mrs. Twombley," I replied, "an idea has come to me. How would you like me to supply you with an electrical exhibition?"
"Bless the boy! What do you mean?"
"How would you like me to make a display up there of all kinds of electrical appliances, with some pretty girls to show everybody how they work and what they will do?"
"That would be splendid! But there's no electricity in the town hall."
"But suppose I can get electric current run in there specially, what then?"
"My! don't disrupt the town management on my account—but do it if you can."
"All right. I think I can do it for you."
Well, I talked to Mr. Wilkshire, and told him my idea, and he thought it was a good one, and said he would personally go and see the electric light company, because he was accustomed to dealing with that kind of people, and make arrangements to have wires carried into the town hall for the exhibition.
He agreed to supply all the equipment needed and to send two demonstrators from Hartford during the five days of the fair, and that was to be my contribution to Mrs. Twombley's "pet," as she called foreign missions; and, at the same time, I would be introducing a new line of merchandise, under the very best of auspices, to the people of Farmdale.
When I talked to Betty about the electrical exhibition she suggested:
"Why not carry it through a little farther. I read a lot inHardware Timesabout business efficiency. Why don't you try to get efficiency in the home—give an exhibition of home efficiency?"
I guess the blank expression on my face told her that I didn't follow her meaning.
"I mean," she said, "along with the electrical devices why not show carpet sweepers and time-saving kitchen devices, and everything that will help the woman of the house to greater efficiency in her work, or give her better results. Make a big exhibition, and call it the domestic efficiency exhibition."
"That's not a bad idea at all," I replied. I thought a little while. "Not a bad idea at all." I thought a little bit longer. "It's a bully good idea!" And I ran right off to call up Mrs. Twombley.
"Mrs. Twombley," I cried, quite excited, "I'm going to do that thing up good and brown for you. I'm going to make it a household efficiency exhibition, and we'll have vacuum cleaners and carpet sweepers and washing machines and kitchen things—"
"Good heavens above!" her voice returned. "Who is this speaking, what is he speaking about, and has he got the right party?"
When I explained the matter, she said:
"I don't know, I'm sure, but I'll leave it to you—"
"Are you sure," asked Betty, when I came back, "that the electric-supply people will agree to your selling other things there, when they are providing the material for the big show?"
"I never thought of that!" I exclaimed. "I guess they won't! No. And I don't think now it would be fair to them to do it, for, if I want to sell electricalsupplies, it would probably be better not to spread the attraction over too many things. No, I'll confine myself just to electrical supplies, so as to make as big an impression with them as I can, concentrate the people's attention right on them, and give them a real bang-up start-off.
"That reminds me, Betty. You know those Sisk glass percolators? I'm going to drop them."
"Why, I thought you were selling so many of them!"
"Yes, I am, but I got a letter from them yesterday telling me that the discount had been reduced from 40 to 25 per cent., and there's nothing doing at that price."
"I wish you wouldn't talk such slang."
"What do you mean, slang?"
"Why, 'nothing doing.' I wish you would learn to cut it out. There," she said vexedly, "I'm catching that bad habit from you!"
To come back to that Sisk percolator. I had been handling it for some time and doing a good business on it, when a letter had come saying that on and after that date the discount for Sisk percolators would be reduced to 25 per cent. As it was costing me about 25 per cent. to do business, I decided not to handle them after I got rid of what I had, and I wrote them so right away. You see, I was beginning to study the relationship of profit to expense, and, unless the things I sold were showing me a profit, either directly or indirectly, there was nothing doing on them—I would not bother with them at all. I had told the Sisk people that perhaps they could find some one else to handle them for love of the company, but that I would not.
My letter got results, and got them quickly. I had a nice letter from them stating that they realized that I couldn't handle the goods unless I made a fair profit on them, and so they had decided to increase the discount from 25 to 33⅓ per cent. Since they were willing to come up on the discounts I was quite willing to push the percolators, and I wrote them and told them so, and sent them an order for half a dozen more right away.
In the same mail I had an answer from Bates & Hotchkin. Hersom was out of town; but they said they were glad to help me out, and would send me enough stuff to fill up the windows and have some left over for the store, and would I please let them know just what I wanted and they would send it on consignment right away. It was good to deal with a concern that would go out of its way to do you favors.
The Mater was at the house that evening, and I was telling about the Sisk percolator matter. Suddenly she said:
"Really, those Sisk persons are remarkably clever, don't you know! I believe it was their plan to reduce the discount from 40 to 33⅓ per cent., and they studied the psychology of the matter and decided that—and I think you will agree with me, Dawson—that, had they merely written, in the first place, announcing that the discounts were reduced from 40 to 33⅓ per cent., their customers would feel annoyed at the reduction of their profits. But, instead, they reduced the discount to 25 per cent., unquestionably with the purpose ofincreasingit to 33⅓ per cent., thus leaving with their customers the impression that the discounts had been increased instead of reduced, going on the psychological principle that the last impression made upon the mind is the strongest."
Remarkably clever, I thought! I believed the Mater was right. Because, even when I knew it, I hadn't any ill feeling against the company.
It was very keen of the Mater to spot it. I had never suspected she was so shrewd.
The Atlantic Electric Appliance Corporation fixed me up with a dandy line of electrical goods, and they sent two smart young girls to act as demonstrators.
I had suggested to Wilkshire, the electric appliance salesman, that, in place of his demonstrators, we should get a couple of local girls to handle the demonstration. "People will know them," I said, "and they'll feel more at home with them."
"That is a good idea, Mr. Black," replied Wilkshire. "But don't you think that a strange face would be a little more attractive, perhaps, in the town? Of course you know best, but I should think a couple of smart-looking girls who were thoroughly trained in demonstrating would attract more attention and more confidence, as a matter of fact, than local girls would. You see, if some of you society folks should see a couple of girls that they know, they wouldn't have much confidence in what they said about electric appliances; but they will listen and take stock in what a stranger will say to them."
I had got his point at once, and agreed with him that it would be best to have outsiders do the demonstrating.
Larsen was always a pretty shrewd observer. When Wilkshire left the store, he said to me:
"Boss, I learned something from that feller."
"Huh," I returned. "I guess he could teach us something at that. Still, our problems in selling to the consumer are quite different from his in selling to the trade."
"The same in lots of ways," Larsen remarked. "Did you notice, Boss, he never say you were wrong? He always say you right and then say something else better. 'Member it when you talk about them girls."
"That was clever, wasn't it?" I exclaimed. I had not noticed it until Larsen pointed it out. In fact, I had been rather under the impression that I had had things pretty much my own way with him, but when I looked back at our whole conversation I saw that Wilkshire won his own way right along the line.
"Say, that was fine!" I said, again. "We'll have to adopt that plan right here in the store, and make it a rule always to agree with what the customer suggests, tell them it is a good idea, even if it's punk, and then kind of lead 'em around to doing what we think they ought to do!"
"Yes," joined in Larsen, "just like he—" here he stopped in embarrassment, so I finished his sentence for him—
"Just like Wilkshire did with me!"
"Oh, well, you know what I mean, Boss."
Well, to get back to the exhibition—it proved to be the feature of the fair. Those demonstrators were two of the smartest girls I ever saw in my life. Betty got a bit jealous, and said I was giving too much attention to the electrical exhibition!
Here's what we sold at the exhibition during the week:
One electric clothes washer, 38 electric toasters, 11 chafing dishes, 14 electric coffee percolators, 1 electric curling iron, 11 electric water heaters, 3 electric vacuum cleaners and 4 electric grills. Besides this, there were half a dozen odd items.
You ought to have seen those girls sell the water heaters. The device was a little affair about the size of a pencil. The idea was to put it in a glass of water, turn on the current, and it heated the water very quickly. They sold those to women to give for Christmas presents to their husbands—hot water to shave with in the morning, you know. I made up my mind to stock a lot of those—I thought it was a good idea. People were most curious about it—it was such a novelty, and many who stopped to look remained to buy.
It had puzzled me for a while to know why they had sold so many of the toasters and chafing dishes and coffee percolators, until I realized it was because those were demonstrated more than the others. Everybody who came was offered a delicious cup of coffee. Wilkshire told me that they spared no expense to get the choicest coffee possible. They put in just the right amount of sugar to suit each one, and used thick, rich cream. People would exclaim: "What delicious coffee this is!" and the girls would smile sweetly and respond: "Yes, madam, it was made with this electric percolator. It does make such splendid coffee." They gave the percolator all the credit for it, although of course the fine grade of coffee and the rich cream were responsible for a good part of it.
And then, with the toaster, they had fine brown toast, crispy and piping hot; and the girl in chargewould look up sweetly and ask: "Do you prefer fresh or salted butter?" Such splendid butter it was, too, and they spread it on good and thick, and that toast was really enjoyed. It certainly sold the toasters.
THE GIRL IN CHARGE WOULD LOOK UP SWEETLY
"THE GIRL IN CHARGE WOULD LOOK UP SWEETLY"
And the other girl was a past mistress in the art of making Welsh rarebit. When old Wimple tasted it, he said: "That's the finest Welsh rarebit I'll ever taste this side of Heaven!"
"Are you married yet, sir?" asked the girl.
Marriedyet!—and he was sixty-five if he was a day!
"You bet I am!" he responded, vigorously. "I got a daughter as old as you."
"Well, your wife will be able to make you Welsh rarebits like this every day, with this electric chafing dish. In fact, with her ability to cook and this chafing dish, you'll have a combination which ought to result in much better Welsh rarebit than this."
And old Wimple carried home the chafing dish to his wife. That minx was certainly shrewd!
It had been a revelation to me to see how much easier it was to sell anything when you demonstrated the article in actual use. I planned to do more demonstration work in the store thereafter. Wilkshire told me it was an excellent thing to demonstrate whenever one had an opportunity—"and," said he, "let the customer do the thing for himself wherever you can, and he'll feel so pleased with himself that he's pretty likely to buy."
What was more to the point was that everybody in Farmdale had learned that Dawson Black stocked electrical supplies.
I mustn't forget about those seven store windowswhich I had hired and trimmed. It set the whole town talking; and the funny part of it was that many people seemed to think I was opening new stores all over the place. The first inkling I got of this was when Blickens, the president of the bank, dropped in, and said: "Young man, what's this talk I hear about your opening new stores?"
I told him and that seemed to reassure him. "Just the same," he asked, "that's pretty expensive, isn't it?"
"Well, if you call $20.00 expensive for two weeks' display in seven windows, yes, but I think it's remarkably cheap."
"Do you mean to tell me that that's all it has cost you?"
"That's all."
"Well, I congratulate you." And he left the store. I think his opinion of me was a few notches higher.
Stigler opened up his new store on schedule time, and I had to admit that he had a splendid window display. He had hired a professional window trimmer from a Providence department store to come up and trim the windows for him, and he had done a swell job. He had the window full of all kinds of kitchen goods, everything ten cents. He even had a line of tin buckets, which I knew cost him more than that.
I was looking the place over from my own store—you know it was right next door to me,—I was out on the doorstep, looking at his window, when I saw Stigler walking toward the door. My first impulse was to turn away, but I realized that, if I did, he would think I was spying on him, so I held my ground.
"Well, Neighbor," he said with his usual sneer, whenhe came outside, "havin' a look at what a real store looks like for a change?"
Now, ordinarily my impulse would have been to get mad, but that time for some reason or other I didn't. Instead, I said calmly:
"I was just thinking, Friend Stigler, what a remarkable philanthropist you are."
"Good value, eh?" he returned, sneeringly.
"Excellent," I replied; "in fact, I'm thinking of hiring a lot of women to go in and buy some of your things for ten cents and put 'em in my store to sell over for a quarter."
I saw a shrewd expression pass over his face.
"Huh, if you'd only buy right, you could sell right yourself."
"Exactly what I think," I laughed. "Say, Stigler, you make me smile. Do you think you'll be able to get away with that kind of stuff for long? They'll come and buy your under-cost goods, but they won't buy the rest."
Stigler turned sharply until he directly faced me. His features were distorted and twitching with rage and his face was pasty white. What he said would have cost him a big fine if he had been working for me! And I laughed in his face, and turned and walked away.
I learned something really valuable then. I learned that, by keeping my own temper, I made the other fellow lose his; and for the first time I realized that Stigler was probably more worried over my competition than I was over his.
Somehow I had always had the idea that I was the one to do the worrying and not he, but from that timeon I began to feel that it was the other way round. I remembered reading in a magazine a little article—I think it was by Elbert Hubbard—in which it was said that, when you're running a race, and are getting tired, don't get discouraged, because the other fellow is probably even more tired than you are. I believed it was the same in a business race, too.
One thing was certain. My big displays in the seven windows and my exhibition at the fair had thrown Stigler's opening into the shade. A number of people had come in to buy goods they'd seen displayed in the different windows—I had put different goods in each window so far as possible—and it had been good advertising—it had made people think of my store.
I dropped in to see Barlow and told him all about it, and he said, "Good work—now go after his scalp good and hard. Drive on just as you are doing, push the better-class merchandise, give people reasons why they should buy it, tell them how much cheaper it is in the end, and you'll win out."
I went to bed early that night, and by 9:30 I was asleep.
I was dreaming about a new advertising scheme wherein I had copied the old town crier plan by having a man go about the town ringing a bell and then calling out, "Dawson Black's hardware store for goods of quality!"—only, instead of giving him an ordinary bell, I had given him a big electric bell operated by a battery, which he carried in his pocket and which he rang every so often; and then in my dream the bell had started to ring and he couldn't stop it. I tried to get away from the sound of that incessant ringing, and I started to run away, but the crier followed me and the sound of the bell kept growing louder and louder in my ear. Suddenly he overtook me and grabbed me by the shoulder and shook me. Then I heard Betty's voice saying, "Can't you hear the telephone bell ringing, Dawson?"
Sure enough, it was the telephone bell. I got sleepily out of bed and went over to the telephone. When I picked up the receiver, a voice asked:
"Is that you, Mr. Black? Well, come down at once; there's a fire in your store!" and with a click the receiver went into place.
My heart leaped up in my throat. I was fully awake in an instant. I gasped out to Betty that the store wasafire, and hastily put on some clothes, wild thoughts scurrying through my mind. And the thought which pounded at me most was that I had no insurance! The stock had been covered when I took over the store, but about three weeks before I had received a letter from the insurance agents in Boston that the policies would expire in two weeks. I had intended to have the insurance renewed through Pelton—we used to be chums, and he was an insurance agent in town—and I had written the Boston agents so, and told them not to renew the policies when they expired. Something had come up that made me put off telephoning to Pelton, and I had let it go for a couple of days, and then I had forgotten it altogether!
I didn't waste a second but rushed frantically down the street to the store and there was a big blaze in the rear. The firemen had beaten down the front door and several of them were in the store, while two others, with the hose, were at the rear of the store. Dense clouds of smoke arose, and every now and then I saw a tongue of flame shoot out from one of the windows in the back of the store.
When I rushed into the back yard, the fire chief was there—dear, kindly, old Jerry O'Toole. He grabbed me by the arm, saying soothingly:
"It's all right, son; more smoke than fire."
In fifteen minutes the firemen were all through. The fire had burned through the back door, but hadn't time to get much headway inside the store.
That Friday we had unpacked four cases of electrical goods, and we had put the cases into the back yard, stuffing the excelsior into them. Some of it, however, had been strewn about the yard. I remembered I had told Larsen on Saturday that we ought to clean that up, but evidently in the rush of Saturday he either hadn't time or had forgotten it. It was this excelsior which had started to burn first.
When the smoke had cleared away and I had got into the store I collapsed. All my strength left me, my knees gave way, and I sank into the chair in my little office.
"My God, what a narrow escape!" I cried.
Jerry O'Toole was with me. "You bet it was," he said. "If one of my boys hadn't a'bin passin' and seed the flame back there, it would have got a good hold before we could a' got here."
"I wonder how it caught fire," I said.
"You can never tell. I was asking your neighbor if he'd seed any one around back, but he said no."
"My neighbor?"
"Sure, the feller that opened the new 5- and 10-cent store—Stigler."
"What! Stigler!!"
"Yes, he was here when I got here, a' watching the fire. You don't seem to like him any better'n he likes you!"
"Why?"
"Oh, when I asked him if he'd seed any one 'round, he said, 'No, but he deserves to have his place set afire if he goes a'leavin' excelsior all over the back yard.'"
"Oh!" And I thought to myself, "I wonder?"
Betty had arrived at the store about the time the fire was out. She, poor girl, was almost hysterical. O'Toole put us into his automobile after we had nailed things up and drove us home, but we didn't sleep much, you can be sure.
What a fool I had been not to have seen about that insurance before it expired!
We, all of us, Larsen, and Jones—got down to the store at six o'clock the next morning. Wilkes, it seems, hadn't been awakened by the alarm, and very much astonished he was when he arrived later and learned of the fire. We went over things carefully, and fortunately found that the damage was not very great. The front door was broken; the back door had been burned, and the woodwork around it; and some panes of glass broken. The four cases had been burned to a crisp, but, of course, that didn't amount to anything. Altogether, the damage did not amount to more than fifty dollars, and, of course, the building was covered by insurance and that loss didn't fall on me. There were a few odds and ends which had been blackened a little by smoke, and water had fallen on a few pans and made rust spots, but the damage wasn't much.
You can be sure that the first thing I did was to chase down to Joe Pelton's to get that insurance fixed up in double-quick order. When I got there I learned that he was out of town, but was expected back about three o'clock in the afternoon. I left word for him to come down and see me just the minute he got back.
About twelve o'clock I got a long-distance call from Mr. Field, the secretary of the Hardware Association. How he heard about it I don't know.
"I hear you had a fire, Mr. Black," he said. "Much damage done?"
"No, fortunately not," I replied.
"What about your insurance?"
"I'm ashamed to say it,"—and I blushed when Itold him,—"but my policy had just run out, and I had not renewed it."
"I'm glad the damage wasn't much, Mr. Black. But now you want to insure through your association,"—and then he gave me facts and figures showing how much cheaper and safer it was to insure through the association. I didn't bother much to understand, because I was so anxious to get it fixed up, and it wasn't certain anyway that Pelton would be back in the afternoon, so I told him to go ahead and fix it up in double-quick order.
He mentioned one thing that was new to me, and that was about the co-insurance clause. We were talking about how much insurance to have, and he told me to be sure and have at least eighty per cent. of the value of my stock, otherwise I was a co-insurer with the company, and in case of loss would receive only a certain percentage of the amount of damage.
I was glad to have that matter off my mind, and he promised to get busy on it before he went out to lunch. I changed my opinion a little about Mr. Field. He had struck me as being a man who always took things in an easy-going way, but the promptness with which he got after me when he spotted a new prospect for a policy, and the directness with which he explained the proposition, showed me that he had plenty of energy to use when necessary.
At four o'clock I got another surprise. This time it was a long-distance call from Mr. Peck, the credit manager of Bates & Hotchkin.
"Have you had a fire, Mr. Black?" was his first remark.
"Yes," I replied, "quite an exciting time."
"Are you covered by insurance?"
"No—"
"What!" he cried, and there was great anxiety in his tone.
"No, the policy expired a few days ago and somehow I neglected to—"
"Neglected to—neglected such an important thing as your insurance!" My! but I felt small! "What's the amount of damage?"
"I should say fifty dollars would cover it, and that's on the building, not on the stock."
"Phew! I was told that you had been burned out." He must have felt relieved. "You had better get busy and place insurance at once! And your credit is stopped until you have fully protected yourself!"
I told him I had already arranged that with Mr. Field, and he said to have Mr. Field advise him as soon as the policy was written.
Those two calls gave me an insight as to how real business was conducted. Neither of them certainly delayed much when they heard about it, and they must have had some means of finding out things promptly.
But I shuddered to think of my narrow escape. If the place had burned down I'd have been absolutely ruined.
I wondered if Stigler would—oh, but no, it wasn't possible the man would do such a thing. I saw him as he was coming home. "Had quite a fire, didn't yer?" was his remark. "Sorry for yer"—but his tone belied his words.
I wondered!
Our weekly meetings had certainly cultivated a better spirit among my small staff. Even in the case of Wilkes it had had quite an effect. He was only a boy, but we allowed him to sit in the meetings because I wanted to make him feel that he was part of the organization. Ever since we started them he had been much better in his delivery of parcels. He was more courteous and attentive; he felt he was one of the firm. He was not the slipshod, careless, happy-go-lucky boy he was once, but a careful boy, studying the interests of the business certainly more than we clerks had done when I was at Barlow's. I think that retailers could do a lot to build up self-reliance and self-respect among the boys they have.
At our next Monday meeting the fire was discussed. Jones suggested that we have a big fire sale. At this Wilkes broke in eagerly:
"But what would we have to sell? I thought at a fire sale you had to sell stuff that got damaged by the fire."
There was more wisdom in that remark than he knew.
Jones replied: "Everybody in town knows we've had a fire; but they don't know how bad it was, and we can put in the sale a lot of old stuff we want to get rid of, and get away with it, all right."
"Hum," remarked Larsen. "That would be a fake, wouldn't it?"
Here I broke in. "It's a good suggestion, Jones but I don't think we want to have a fire sale. We had no stuff damaged, to speak of, and it would, as Larsen says, be a fake sale, if we had one; and I believe we'll win out in the end by saying and doing nothing that is going to be other than the truth."
Jones was inclined to be sulky at this, and my first impulse was to speak to him sharply; but I remembered, fortunately in time, my previous lesson never to talk to an employee angrily, and furthermore, that this was a directors' meeting, where each was privileged to say what he wished without regard for position. I realized that Jones had made the suggestion in all sincerity, thinking it was to my interest, so I said:
"You know, Jones, that I have made several suggestions that we decided not to adopt, for no one of us knows all the best of it. In some ways that's a good suggestion of yours, and, if we'd had a little more stuff damaged to justify it, I think I'd have been very much tempted to have a fire sale. But, as it is, don't you think we had better exert ourselves in making a big push on perfect Christmas goods, rather than emphasizing damaged goods? You see, if we had a fire sale, some people might hesitate about buying from us for a little while, even after the sale, thinking that we would be trying to sell them fire-damaged goods."
"Well, won't they think that now?" he asked, somewhat mollified.
"By Jove, perhaps they will," I returned. "How would you suggest overcoming that?"
Larsen was about to speak, but I checked him. Iwanted to have Jones feeling good-natured again.
"Of course we could advertise it," he said.
"That seems a good, sensible suggestion. All right, we'll advertise that no goods were damaged by the fire."
That removed the last shred of resentment on the part of Jones.
I told Betty about this when I came home, and she exclaimed: "Why, you're a regular Solomon, you are!"
"Explain yourself," I commanded.
"Why, your tact in handling Jones. You'll be a real manager of men, yet, if you go on like that!"
"Huh, that's where I'll differ from Solomon, then. He was a real manager of women only, wasn't he?"
"Now you're getting impudent," and she kissed me.
Well, after we had disposed of the fire sale question, we brought up the matter of whether we should, or should not, sell toys at Christmas time. Larsen was strongly in favor of it, but I was rather against it.
"We've a hardware store," I argued, "and that's a men's shop. Toys are kids' business."
"You say we have a men's store, eh," was Larsen's rejoinder. "More women than men come into the store. Women buy ninety per cent. of all retail goods sold in the country. Why not we get women's and children's trade? Get youngsters coming into the store. When they grow up they come for tools."
Wilkes was strongly in favor of it, but I had an idea that it was so that he could play with the toys. Jones was against it—he thought it undignified.
After an hour's discussion we were just about wherewe were at the beginning, and the matter was held over until the next meeting. I decided in the meantime to talk it over with Betty, and then I thought to myself: "If I'm going to talk this over with Betty why not get the others to talk it over with their women-folk?" That seemed to me a good idea, and I made the suggestion to the others. So Larsen agreed to talk it over with his wife, Jones with his sweetheart, and Wilkes with his mother.
I had a long talk with Betty and Mother over the toy situation. Betty was for it. Mother was against it. So there we were. What's a poor man to do when opinions are so divided? I decided to wait a while.
Betty made a bully good suggestion, and that was to have the boys up to dinner some night. I had been thinking of that; but then she added: "And have Larsen bring his wife, Jones his young lady and have Wilkes bring his mother."
"Good heavens," I exclaimed, "what is this to be—a gathering of the Amazons? Or are you planning to make a union of you women to run us out of business!"
"Don't try to be funny, boy dear—because, whenever you try it, you fail miserably. You know your humor is very much like an Englishman's—it's nothing to be laughed at!"
"But what's the idea?" I persisted.
"Now you promise you won't laugh if I tell you?"
"Sure," I said, grinning all over my face.
"There you are! You promise with one hand, and grin with the other. Oh, pshaw!" she said, when I laughed. "You know what I mean!"
I saw she was getting a little provoked, so I said: "Go ahead, I won't laugh."
She handed me a newspaper clipping in which some big steel man said that, whenever he wanted to hire executives, he always tried to find out something about their home surroundings, in the belief that the home influence, to a big extent, makes or mars a man's business efficiency.
"You see, boy dear," said Betty, "you never saw Jones' girl, and you never saw Mrs. Larsen. Of course, Mrs. Wilkes we do know—we know she used to do washing before she married again. She's a dear body, and I know it would please her to come. And if you please her, she's going to make Jimmie work all the harder."
"I see! You're going to turn into a female gang driver!"
"Now, if you knew Mrs. Larsen, it would perhaps give you more insight into Larsen's character than you have now. You would know what his home influences are, and whether they are helping him or hindering him. And Jones' young lady—she may or may not be a girl who is likely to help him; and if she isn't—"
"If she isn't, I suppose I've got to tell him to change his girl, or fire him! That's a crazy idea!"
"I didn't say that. But, if she isn't the right kind of girl, you can't afford to look upon Jones as a permanency, that's all."
"You're making the suggestion for the best, I know; but I think it's a foolish idea."
"I don't think it's so foolish," interrupted Mother.
There it was! First they had disagreed about the toys, and then, when I disagreed with either of them,they sided together! Well, I finally gave way—I might have done it in the first place and saved the trouble—and I invited the whole bunch of them up on the following Friday night. It seemed to me a risky experiment, but Betty was so keen on it—and I had to admit she was no fool. Anyhow, I didn't think it could do much harm.
When the evening had come, and gone, and they had all left the house, Betty squared herself in front of me, and said:
"Well, what have you to say for yourself?"
Solemnly I replied: "Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings—"
"I don't know whether you are the babe, or the suckling; but it's very seldom wisdom cometh forth from you!" she broke in; but her eyes were dancing with delight at the success of the evening—for it certainly had been a success.
Jimmie's mother had kept looking at Betty all night, and whatever Betty said she agreed to. She was a good-hearted soul, who was always quoting "my Jimmie." She had no ideas of her own whatever, and she believed that Betty was a kind of guardian angel. It seemed that some weeks ago Jimmie had had a bad cold, and Betty had noticed it while in the store and had gone across the road and bought some cough lozenges which she gave him. She had forgotten all about it; but ever since then Betty has been on a pedestal in that household. . . . Isn't it queer what a little act of kindness like that will lead to?
Jones' girl was named Elsie Perkins. I didn't like the name Elsie; but she was much better than her name. She was a quiet little girl, but had an opinion and willof her own. She worked at the bank and was Blickens' personal stenographer. I never even knew that Jones was acquainted with her! How little the majority of people do know about their employees; and if they only knew more about them, how easy it would be to get better results from them!
That evening certainly resulted in a more friendly feeling among my little staff than ever there was before.
Mrs. Larsen was a very queer woman. When she came in shebristled—do you know what I mean by that? Well, whenever any one said anything to her she bristled all up, as if there was going to be an argument. When she came into the house and Larsen introduced me, I said:
"How do you do, Mrs. Larsen?"
"How do you do, Mr. Black?" she replied sharply, and the way she said it conveyed the idea that she was absolutely on the defensive.
I went into the kitchen, later, while Betty was there, and I said to her:
"What is the matter with Mrs. Larsen?"
"I don't know. Doesn't she act queerly?"
"She doesn't like us for some reason or other."
"Has Larsen ever said anything about it?"
"Never a word."
"Why not tell her how much you think of Larsen, and how lucky you feel to have him as your manager?" suggested Betty.
"I see. Soft-soap the old girl. All right."
I had to hurry back into the room then, because I couldn't leave my guests for long. In a few minutes I was talking to Mrs. Larsen about the hard time we had had when I bought the business. "I don't knowwhat I would have done if it hadn't been for your husband, Mrs. Larsen. I certainly think I'm lucky to have him, and I know he thinks he's lucky to have you!"
"So you think that you are lucky to have my husband working for you, do you, Mr. Black?" she asked.
"Yes, indeed; he is a mighty fine man, and I think a lot of him, Mrs. Larsen." I spoke with all sincerity.
"Do you know how old my husband is?"
"Why, n-no. How old is he?" I couldn't see any reason for her question, which was asked in the same frigid manner, but I responded with polite interest.
"Fifty-four," was her response.
"Is he that old?" I was floundering, for I felt that I had altogether missed my aim in trying to pacify her.
"Yes, fifty-five next January. . . . And after forty years' work he is very valuable to a hardware store—so valuable that he gets twenty dollars a week!"
Hadn't I got my foot into it! "T-that's nothing like your husband's real value, Mrs. Larsen," I stuttered, "b-but you know I've only had the store about six months and I had some very heavy losses at the beginning."
"So my husband should bear your loss, is that it?"
I was getting angry and was about to make some tart rejoinder; but, just as I was about to speak, I felt Betty's hand on my shoulder. She had quietly come into the room and heard Mrs. Larsen's last remark. To my surprise, Betty took over the conversation.
"Just what I was telling Mr. Black," she said sweetly. "I told him that, if he ever expected to getpeople to work whole-heartedly with him, he would have to let them share in his profits."
"And his losses?" broke in Mrs. Larsen.
"Yes, and his losses. For instance, take the case of Mr. Larsen and Mr. Jones—and Jimmie," she said, looking at the last-named with a twinkle in her eye. "They have all had to bear some of Mr. Black's losses; and it was a case of either sharing the loss or Mr. Black getting some one else to share it, for, if he had paid them what they were worth, he would have failed, and you see then they as well as Mr. Black would have all been out of work. As it is, I really think my husband has turned the corner, although it's only six months since he took over the store. . . . And it has been a pretty busy six months, hasn't it, Mr. Larsen?"
"You bet it has," he returned heartily.
"And a pretty happy six months?"
"The happiest I have had in my life!"
"Well, I think," Betty continued, "that we are going to have many more happy months; and one reason we asked you all here was to let you know so; because, you know, Mrs. Larsen, your hubby can't work well for Mr. Black unless he has your help, just the same as Mr. Black can't work well without my help. . . . These men are helpless things without us women to cheer them up, aren't they, Mrs. Larsen?"
"That's so," she nodded, thawing under the sunshine of Betty's words. "I tell my husband sometimes he is a fool, and I don't know how people endure him, but he's good to me." Then she stopped, embarrassed, for she had made her first remark without "bristling."
"I know this, Mrs. Larsen," said Betty, "that noman is worth much in business, unless he has a good woman at the back of him, to help and encourage him. . . . You agree with me, don't you, Mr. Jones?"
His answer was to blush red and sheepishly grin, first at Betty, and then at Elsie.
"Well," Betty went on, while I stood by, too astonished to say anything, and indeed not knowing what was coming, "Mr. Black and I talked over, right from the beginning, the advisability of starting a profit-sharing plan. Now, we haven't worked it out—in fact, he has only just decided definitely to go ahead with it; but he purposes that, by the time he has finished his first year in business, if not even sooner, he will arrange some plan whereby he can divide a share of his profits, if he makes any, with his help. . . . We talked it over yesterday,"—what little liars these women are sometimes!—"and Mr. Black said he wanted to have the women-folk, who made his little staff so effective, know what he was trying to do for them. You see, Mrs. Wilkes, Jimmie here will get a little bit of profit—let's see, every three months you were thinking of paying the bonus, wasn't it, Dawson?"—I gulped and looked at Betty with amazement, and I must say, admiration, and nodded—"so, you see, that Jimmie, every three months, will have a little check to bring home as a little extra money, which he can put in the savings bank; and—"
"How much is it likely to be?" asked Jimmie eagerly.
"Bless the boy, I don't know. You may not be worth anything. You may be having more now than you're worth," she said teasingly.
"Not my Jimmie," said Mrs. Wilkes a little indignantly. "My Jimmie"—and here she entered into a pæan of praise of Jimmie.
Then Betty continued:
"And Mr. Jones will have a little check which will probably come in very handily for—furniture?" she said, looking at Elsie. Elsie's only answer was a blush. "And you, Mrs. Larsen, will probably have a check from Mr. Larsen, every three months, which will help, at any rate, to give Mr. Larsen the protection for his old age that he has so thoroughly earned."
Mrs. Larsen was completely won over, and, to my surprise, she burst out crying bitterly. Betty quietly put her arm around her waist and led her upstairs. They came down in a few minutes, Mrs. Larsen red-eyed, but smiling; and we immediately started the question of handling toys for Christmas. The women were all strongly in favor of it, so we decided to have toys for Christmas.
I didn't know the first thing about toys; I didn't know where to buy them; I didn't know what we ought to sell. But, as we were going to sell them, I hoped that my luck would be with me.
After they had gone Betty told me that Mrs. Larsen had said, when they were upstairs, that she had been urging Larsen to find another job, as she felt he wouldn't make any progress with me.
"Perhaps that's why he has looked worried sometimes lately, and hasn't seemed to work with the same delight that he did when I first bought the business," I said.
And then it was that Betty had put her hands to her hips, cocked her head impishly one side, and thrown her taunt at me: "Well, what have you to say now?"
The next day, I wrote to Hersom, the salesman for Bates & Hotchkin, and asked him to give me the names of one or two good firms from whom to buy toys. I had just mailed the letter when he came into the store.
He was a nice fellow, was Hersom, and I had found that, whenever I left anything to him, he gave me a square deal. Indeed, he had got so that he was almost one of the family when he got inside the place. He gave me the names of two New York concerns, the manager of one of which he said he knew personally, and to him he gave me a letter of introduction.
I decided that Betty and I would go to New York the next week and pick out a stock of toys. We would plunge on a hundred dollars' worth—perhaps a little more—and see what happened.
After I had found out a little about selling the Cincinnati pencil sharpener, with the aid of the selling manual which the company had given me, I had passed it on to Larsen, and he had studied it for a week or two, and then, one Thursday afternoon, he had gone calling on the business men of the town, other than the store-keepers. He sold only one sharpener the first afternoon, but he had a request for a pocketknife, which we delivered the next day. The next Thursday he went out again. To my surprise he didn't sell asingle pencil sharpener, but he came back with an order for a Middle's razor and a stick of shaving soap, and also brought in eighteen safety razor blades to be sharpened, and two of the regular kind of razors to be honed!
Of course we did not sell soap and I asked Larsen why he had taken an order for it. His reply was:
"Look here, Boss, let's do it. He wanted it, and it'll please him. He then give us more trade."
"But what about the razor blades? We can't sharpen those here."
"Up to Bolton is a drug store with a machine for sharpening 'em. It's only eleven miles away. I go there and fix up for them to do it for us. We can get lots of business for it."
Well, I let him do it, and we put a little notice in our window that safety razor blades would be sharpened, and razors honed, in forty-eight hours. We made only ten cents on a dozen blades, but, as Larsen said, and I believed he was right, we were obliging the customers; and even if we didn't make anything out of it it would pay us on account of the good-will we would build up.
Larsen had shocked me very much the same day by saying that he thought we ought to stock shaving soap and talcum powder, and bay rum, and such stuff. I had told him I couldn't stand for a thing like that—we'd have Traglio the druggist down on us.
"Traglio?" replied Larsen. "Say, Boss, you never been mad at him for selling razors? Nor for selling mirrors?"
"Oh, well, we don't sell shaving mirrors."
"Hum. I know we don't, but we oughter. Whatabout him selling shaving brushes? That's a line we got. I think we oughter please customers and not bother about old Traglio."
Finally I had allowed him to buy twenty-five dollars' worth of shaving sundries—in fact, I had told him to look after that stock himself. Well, since then, old Larsen had looked upon his little stock of shaving accessories as if it were an orphan which he had adopted. I thought he spent too much time in pushing the sale of shaving sticks, and bay rum, and witch hazel, but his twenty-five dollars' worth of stock rose to over sixty dollars and we built up quite a nice little sale for it. Strange to say, very little of it was sold in the store; for every Thursday Larsen visited his "trade," as he called it. He went around to his different people once a month. He had about sixty people he called on, all told—an average of fifteen each Thursday afternoon. In three months he had brought to us over twenty charge accounts, and charge accounts with the best people in town, too, through calling on the husband at his place of business, and getting the wife to visit our store.
He would come back with all kinds of strange requests and orders. Once he brought a request that we send a man to repair a broken window sash. We hadn't any one who could do that, so I telephoned to Peter Bender to go down there and repair it and charge it to me. Peter seemed quite tickled to think that I had got him some business. I told Peter that they were charge customers of ours, and that, as they never paid cash, I'd pay him and collect it on my regular bill, which satisfied Peter very well, because he never kept books.
He went down and did the job and turned me in a bill of $2.25. I paid it and charged it to Mr. Sturtevant at the same price. I made nothing out of it, but I surely did please that customer, for Mrs. Sturtevant dropped into the store to make some little purchase and told me about it. She remarked she didn't know we had a carpenter department. I told her I hadn't, but, as she had wanted the job done, I had telephoned Bender to go and do it and charge it up to me.
"Bender charged me $2.25," I said, "and of course I charged you only just that amount, for I don't want to make any profit on little jobs like that. It is merely an accommodation to my customers."
"I haven't bought much from your store before," she said.
"That's my misfortune," I returned with a laugh.
"You merely did that so as to put me in the position of having to deal with you, is that it?"
"Not at all. But your husband asked Mr. Larsen, when he called on him, if he could see to it for him, and we were only too glad to do so. Naturally, we are anxious for your patronage. You know, Mrs. Sturtevant, that's what we are in business for."
She seemed satisfied with that explanation. As she was leaving the store, she remarked:
"Mr. Black, if either of the maids or the chauffeur come here for goods, please don't deliver anything unless they have a written order. I have decided to stop trading with Mr. Stigler, because I think his bills are too high. Do you think Mr. Stigler is a fair man?" still with her hand on the doorknob.
Fancy asking me that question! As though I could possibly do justice to my feelings about Stigler in thepresence of a lady. I was about to say, in the politest manner possible, that I thought him the dirtiest, meanest hound in the town, when I caught Larsen shaking his head, with a warning look in his eye, and then I realized the folly of what I had been about to do.
"I think Mr. Stigler is a pretty good man, so far as I know," I said, "but, of course, we don't see much of each other."
"I understand you fight each other a lot?" she asked.
"Oh, no, not at all."
"Mr. Stigler seemed quite provoked about you. I was telling my husband about it."
"What did he say?" I asked with a smile.
"He said that, when a man disparaged his competitor, he preferred to trade with the competitor!"
With that she left the store. I think she wanted to convey to me, without directly telling me so, that that was partly the reason she had decided not to trade with Stigler any more! And to think of the fool I was about to make of myself! When you come to think of it, itisbad business to speak ill of your competitor. Fortunately, I learned that lesson without having to pay for it.
Betty and I went to New York on a Sunday, slept there Sunday night, and the first thing Monday morning, at Betty's suggestion, we went up to the office ofHardware Times. There we found Mr. Sirle. He was a wonder, that man. He knew my name right off, for he came right up and shook hands with me, saying: "Is this Mrs. Black?" whereupon I introduced him to Betty. Some pleasantries followed, and he led us into his office.
"Well," said Mr. Sirle, "are you in New York on business, or is this just a pleasure trip?"
"It's supposed to be a business trip," I replied.
"I see," he returned, "a business trip with a little pleasure on the side."
"Yes," said I, "in spite of having brought the wife with me."
"Shall I throw him out of the window?" said Mr. Sirle, turning to Betty.
"Not this time," she said, "I think your office is too high up."
I told Mr. Sirle the object of the trip, and asked him if he could recommend the house to which Hersom had given me a letter of introduction, and he said yes, it was a good house to do business with.
"Are you going down there right away?" he asked.
I told him yes, whereupon he picked up the 'phone, gave a number, and asked, "Is this Plunkett?"
Plunkett, it seemed was the manager of Fiske & Co., the toy firm to which I was going. Mr. Sirle seemed to know everybody. It must be fine to be known and liked by everybody as he was.
"Say, Plunkett," he said over the 'phone, "This is Sirle. There's a bully good friend of mine, Mr. Black, going over to see your line of Christmas toys. He doesn't know the first thing about toys, but he's all right. I want you to do the best you can for him. . . . All right, I'll see if Mr. Black can be there about half-past two. . . ."
I nodded assent, and the appointment was made.
Well, Mr. Sirle wouldn't hear of us doing anything until we had lunch with him, so he took Betty and me out to one of the nicest little lunches I ever had.Betty quite fell in love with him, especially when she heard the way he spoke about his little boy. She said to me, coming home on the train: "A man must be all right who loves children as he does his boy."
Well, we went to the toy house, and we bought a selection. We spent $160, as a matter of fact, but I was certain that we got an excellent assortment. We bought a lot of mechanical toys and a number of games. Mr. Sirle advised us to add air rifles, structural outfits, water pistols, and a few things of that nature which the regular jobbing houses carry, to make a big showing. He also advised me to make a good display in the window and have one counter exclusively for toys.
"Fix a train in the window, and let one of your boys keep it wound up," he added. "The little engine running around and round on the rails will attract a lot of interest. Nothing helps a window display so much as something moving in it."
In the evening we went to the theater and left New York early the next morning, getting back to Farmdale in time for me to put in a couple of hours at the store. I sent off a little order to Bates & Hotchkin for the extra toys which Mr. Sirle had advised me to buy.