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Clerks, Cranks And Touches
by
“I booked my order–it was a fat one, too–solid case lots.
“‘Shall I ship these from Orange Valley or Chicago?’ I asked.
“‘Why do you ask that?’ asked the proprietor.
“‘Because you have bought a bill from a firm you have dealt with for twenty years, Blank and Company of Chicago, that I represent, and I do not want one who has favored me to pay any extra freight. You will pardon me, I’m sure, for not telling you the whole truth until now; but this was the only way in which I could overcome your prejudice.'”
“That’s one on me,” said the merchant. “Come–boys, you are in on this too–I’ll buy the smokes.”
Many traveling men make mistakes by steering shy of cranks. The so- called crank is the easiest man to approach, if only you go at him right.
Once I sat at dinner with two other traveling men who were strangers to me–as strange as one traveling man ever is to another. This is not, however, very “strange,” for the cosmopolitan life of the road breeds a good fellowship and a sort of secret society fraternity among all knights of the grip. My territory being new, I made inquiry regarding the merchants of a certain town to which I intended to go.
“Don’t go there,” spoke up one of my table companions. “There’s no one there who’s any good except old man Duke and he’s the biggest crank on earth. He discounts his bills,–but Lord, it’s a job to get near him.”
Some men on the road are vulgar; but will not this comment apply to some few of any class of men?
“My friend,” said companion number two, looking straight at the man who had just made the above remarks, “I’ve been on the road these many years and, if my observation counts for anything, those we meet are, to a great extent, but reflections of ourselves. True, many call Mr. Duke peculiar, but I have always got along with him without any trouble. I consider him a gentleman.”
I went to the “old crank’s” town. As I rode on the train, louder than the clacking of the car wheels, I heard myself saying over and over again: ” Those we meet are, to a great extent, but reflections of ourselves. “
When I went into the old gentleman’s store, he was up front in his office at work on his books. I merely said, “Good morning, sir,” and went back and sat down by the stove. It’s never a good thing to interrupt a merchant when he’s busy. He, and he alone, knows what is most important for him to do. Maybe he has an urgent bill or sight draft to meet; maybe he has a rush order to get off in the next mail; maybe he is figuring up his profit or his loss on some transaction. Then is not the time to state your business if you wish to make your point. The traveling man must not forget that the merchant’s store is a place of business; that he is on the lookout for good things and just as anxious to buy good goods advantageously as the salesman is to sell them; and that he will generally lend an ear, for a moment at least,–if properly approached–to any business proposition.
After a while, the old gentleman came back to the stove and, as he approached, politely said to me, “Is there something I can do for you, suh?”
I caught his southern accent and in a moment was on my guard. I arose and, taking off my hat–for he was an old gentleman–replied: “That remains with you, sir,” and I briefly stated my business, saying finally, “As this is my first time in your town and as my house is perhaps new to you, possibly, if you can find the time to do so, you may wish to see what I have.” Recalling that one of my table companions had said he considered him a gentleman I was especially careful to be polite to the merchant. And politeness is a jewel that every traveling man should wear in his cravat.