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“When I brought my samples in–I sell a specialty line of baby shoes– I spread them on the counter. The old man was curious to see what a ‘deaf and dumb man’ was selling, I suppose, for up he marched and looked at my line. He picked up a shoe and wrote on a piece of paper: ‘How much?’ I wrote the price and passed the slip back to him. ‘What are your terms?’ he wrote back. ‘Bill dated November 1st, 5% off, ten days,’ I replied on paper. ‘Price your line right through,’ he scribbled.

“With this I wrote the price of each shoe on a slip and put it under the sample. Old Jenkins called his shoe man. They both agreed that the line was exceptional–just what they wanted–and that the prices were low. But the old man wrote: ‘Can’t use any of your goods; the line I am buying is cheaper.’

“I made no answer to this but began packing my grip. The old man tried to write me so fast that he broke the points off his pencil and the clerk’s. While he sharpened his pencil I kept on packing. He took hold of my hand and made a curious sign, saying, ‘Wait.’ But I went right on until the old man had written: ‘Don’t pack up. I will buy some goods from you because I feel sorry for you.’

“‘Thank you, sir,’ I wrote, ‘but I am no charity bird; I want to sell goods only to those who appreciate my values. Charity orders are always small ones and a small one will not be sufficient for me to give you the exclusive sale.’ That was a clincher, for when a merchant sees a good thing he will overbuy, you know, just to keep his competitor from having a chance at it. I started again packing.

“‘I really like your goods and will buy a nice bill if you will sell no one else in town,’ wrote the old man nervously. ‘I was only joking with you.’

“Just as I had finished writing down my order, never having spoken a word to old Jenkins, a traveling man friend came in and said, in his presence: ‘Hello, Billy! How are you?’

“‘Pretty well, thank you,’ said I.

“‘What! Can you hear and talk?’ half yelled the old man.

“‘To be sure,’ I wrote back, ‘but it would have been impolite to talk to you; because you said, as I drew near the window, you didn’t wish to listen to a traveling man this morning. Thank you for your order. Good-bye.’

“The old man never forgot that day. The last time I was around, he said, ‘Confound you, Billy! What makes you ask me if I want any baby shoes? You know I do and that I want yours. I believe, though, if you were to die I’d have to quit handling the line; it would seem so strange to buy them from any but a deaf and dumb man.'”

It is all right for the traveling man to put his wit against the peculiarities of a wise, crusty old buyer, but it is wrong to play smart with a confiding merchant who knows comparatively little of the world. The innocent will learn.

A clothing man once told me of a sharp scheme he once worked on a Minnesota merchant.

“When I was up in Saint Paul on my last trip,” said he, “a country merchant–what a ‘yokel’ he was!–came in to meet me. He had written my house he wanted to see their line. But when he reached the hotel another clothing man grabbed him and got him to say he would look at his line after he had seen mine. When he came into my room, I could see something was wrong. I could not get him to lay out a single garment. When a merchant begins to put samples aside, you’ve got him sure. After a while, he said: ‘Well, I want to knock around a little; I’ll be in to see you after dinner.’