MERCHANTS THE SALESMAN MEETS.
A bunch of us sat in the Silver Grill of the Hotel
Spokane where we could see the gold fish and the baby
turtles swimming in the pool of the ferned grotto
in the center of the room. This is one place toward
which the heart of every traveling man who wanders
in the far Northwest turns when he has a few days
of rest between trips. Perhaps more good tales
of the road are told in this room than in any other
in the West. There is an air about the place
that puts one at ease—the brick floor,
the hewn logs that support the ceiling and frame in
the pictures of English country life around the walls,
the big, comfortable, black-oak chairs, and the open
fireplace, before which spins a roasting goose or
turkey.
“Yes, you bet we strike some queer merchants
on the road, boys,” said the children’s
clothing man. “I ran into one man out west
of here and it did me a whole lot of good to get even
with him. He was one of those suspicious fellows
that trusted to his own judgment about buying goods
rather than place faith in getting square treatment
from the traveling man. You all know how much
pleasure it gives us to trump the sure trick of one
of this kind. I don’t believe that merchants,
anyway, know quite how independent the traveling man
feels who represents a first class house and has a
well established trade. Not many of the boys,
though, wear the stiff neck even though their lines
are strong and they have a good cinch on their business.
There isn’t much chance, as a general thing,
for any of us to grow a big bump of conceit.
A man who is stuck on himself doesn’t last long,
it matters not how good the stuff is that he sells.
Yet, once in a while he lifts up his bristles.
“Well, sir, a few seasons ago I sold a man—you
all know who I mean— about half of his
spring bill, amounting to $600. He gave the other
half to one of the rottenest lines that comes out of
this country. When I learned where my good friend
had bought the other half of his bill, I felt sure
that the following season I would land him for his
whole order; but when I struck him that next season,
he said, ’No, I’ve bought. You can’t
expect to do business with me on the sort of stuff
that you are selling,’ and he said it in such
a mean way that it made me mad as blazes. Yet
I threw a blanket around myself and cooled off.
It always harms a man, anyway, to fly off the handle.
I wasn’t sure of another bill in the town as
it was getting a little late in the season.
“After he had told me what he did, he started
to wait on a customer and I went to the hotel to open
up. Just as I was coming through the office I
met another merchant in the town who handled as many
goods as my old customer, and I boned him right there
to give me a look. ’All right,’ said
he, ‘I will, after luncheon.’ Come
down about half past one when all the boys are back
to the store and I’ll run over with you.’
You know it sometimes comes easy like this.
