“When Sam left, I went over to the cigar stand,
pulled out my order book and figured about long enough
to add up a bill. I filled my cigar case and
going over to my competitor, at whose line Anderson
had promised to look, offered him one. He had
made a sort of ‘body snatch’ from me anyway
and was ashamed to say anything about Anderson, but
he asked: ‘How’s business?’
“‘Coming in carriages today,’ said
I. ’My city customer was over early this
morning and, no sooner had he gone than a man from
the country came in. Two clothing bills in one
day is all right, isn’t it? I just turned
my country customer over to Sam, as he has a few new
patterns in his line I want him to show. Guess
I’ll go pack up shortly.’
“I hadn’t told a point blank lie, and
my competitor had no right to ask about my affairs,
anyway. He also went to pack up.
“I let Sam entertain Anderson until I knew my
competitor was out of the way. Then I sent a
note up to him. In due time he brought the merchant
down and soon excused himself.
“‘That’s a mighty nice fellow,’
said Anderson, ’but my! his goods are dear.
Why, his suits are two to three dollars higher than
yours. You’ll certainly get my bill.
I told my partner I believed your house would be all
right to buy from.’
“I took the order from Anderson, but I was half
glad when I heard that he had died a few months afterward;
for if he had lived he would have been sure to catch
up with me when Sam and I were both in market.
And then my goose would have been cooked for all time
with him, sure.”
And so it would.
THE HELPING HAND.
The helping hand is often held out by the man on the
road. Away from home he is dependent upon the
good will of others; he frequently has done for him
an act of kindness; he is ever ready to do for others
a deed of friendship or charity. Road life trains
the heart to gentleness. It carries with it so
many opportunities to help the needy. Seldom
a day passes that the traveling salesman does not loosen
his purse strings for some one in want—no,
not that; he carries his money in his vest pocket.
Doing one kind act brings the doer such a rich return
that he does a second generous deed and soon he has
the habit. The liberality of the traveling man
does not consist wholly of courting the favor of his
merchant friends—he is free with them, but
mainly because it is his nature; it is for those from
whom he never expects any return that he does the
most.
A friend of mine once told this story:
“It was on the train traveling into Lincoln,
Nebraska, many years ago. It was near midnight.
It was, I believe, my first trip on the road.
Just in front of me, in a double seat, sat a poor woman
with three young children. As the brakeman called
’Lincoln, the next station! Ten minutes
for lunch!’ I noticed the woman feeling in her
pockets and looking all around. She searched
on the seats and on the floor. A companion, Billie
Collins, who sat beside me leaned over and asked:
‘Madam, have you lost something?’
