He is the steam—and a big part of the engine
too—that makes business move
Larry let business drop entirely and danced a jig
“Whenever I let go the buggy handle the baby
yelled”
“Tonight we dance, tomorrow we sell clothes
again”
“I listened to episodes in the lives of all
those seven children”
“I braced the old man—It wasn’t
exactly a freeze but there was a lot of frost in the
air”
“You ought to have seen his place”
“My stomach was beginning to gnaw, but I didn’t
dare go out”
“In big headlines I read ‘Great Fire in
Chicago’”
“Well, Woody,” said he, “You seem
to be taking things pretty easy”
“You’d better write that down with a pencil”
said Harry
“Shure, that cigare is a birrd”
“He came in with his before breakfast grouch”
“I’m treed” said the drayman.
“They’re as heavy as lead”
“What explanation have you to make of this,
sir?”
“He tried to jolly her along, but she was wise”
The author wishes to acknowledge his special debt
of gratitude to the
Saturday evening post, of Philadelphia.
The square deal wins.
Salesmanship is the business of the world; it is about
all there is to the world of business. Enter
the door of a successful wholesale or manufacturing
house and you stand upon the threshold of an establishment
represented by first-class salesmen. They are
the steam —and a big part of the engine,
too—that makes business move.
I saw in print, the other day, the statement that
salesmanship is the “fourth profession.”
It is not; it is the first. The salesman, when
he starts out to “get there,” must turn
more sharp corners, “duck” through more
alleys and face more cold, stiff winds than any kind
of worker I know. He must think quickly, yet
use judgment; he must act quickly and still have on
hand a rich store of patience; he must work hard,
and often long. He must coax one minute and “stand
pat” the next. He must persuade—persuade
the man he approaches that he needs his goods
and make him buy them—yes, make him.
He is messenger boy, train dispatcher, department
buyer, credit man, actor, lawyer and politician—all
under one hat!
By “salesman” I do not mean the man who
stands behind the counter and lets the customer who
comes to him and wants to buy a necktie slip away
because the spots on the silk are blue instead of green;
nor do I mean the man who wraps up a collar, size
16, and calls “cash;” I mean the man who
takes his grip or sample trunks and goes to hunt his
customer—the traveling salesman. Certainly
there are salesmen behind the counter, and
he has much in common with the man on the road.
