A Man of Samples | Page 8

all good enough, so far as it goes; but the poor devil on the road often finds he can't get a cent, neither can he sell any goods. The men at home think all he need do is to say, "Here I am; what is it you want?" and then copy the order as fast as he can write. But the men who order that way are the kind who never intend to pay for what they order.
I thought the matter of Billwock's account all over by the time I found his store. It was dimly lighted, but I saw a man and woman at the rear, and went in. A mussy and dirty looking man came forward to meet me, but when he had walked a little way he evidently concluded that I was a drummer, and that I might walk the rest of the way to him.
"Is this Mr. Billwock?" I asked.
"Yes."
I told him who I was, but he seemed little interested. I started to ask about his business, but some one sang out my name and said, "Don't go talking business out there; come back and see the baby."
Blissam, by thunder!
I went back and found him beside Mrs. Billwock, with a young one on his knee, and as much at home as if he was the uncle of all concerned. I made up my mind that Blissam couldn't be any more sociable than I could, and I set out to do my prettiest.
About 9 o'clock we both went out together, and, perhaps naturally, drifted to the smoking room of his hotel. He was an old hand on the road, and full of stories of his own and others' experience. I tried to be a good listener.
"There are some mighty queer men in the trade," said he, as he puffed his cigar. "I took an order from a man in Indiana, not long ago, for felt wads, Nos. 8 and 9, and for some cardboard. When I went to copy my orders I remembered that the man had given no size for the cardboard wanted, but I was pretty sure he wanted 12's, and wrote that size. As it happened the house was out of No. 9 felt and let it go, as he only wanted one-third of a dozen. What did the fellow do but send back the card-board wads, saying he had ordered 9's, and giving us Hail Columbia for sending 12's instead, as well as a long epistle about knowing his own business, and not wanting our help in running it. The card-board wads were worth about 33 cents, and the express charges on them back were 25 cents. I tell you the world is full of smart Alecks."
"I presume I have seen more about returned goods than you have," I said, "as I have been in the store so long, and see every package that comes in. I do get my back up over some of the stupid things the average retailer will do. It never seems to enter his head to drop the house a card and await their instructions about the goods that are unsatisfactory, but he fancies he is showing how smart he is by whacking them back at once, and always by express, no matter how heavy the goods are. A neighbor of mine, a hardware man, told me an instance of the smart Aleck a few days ago. The house was handling a new tubular lantern and selling it under the market price of regular goods. The traveling man sent in three orders from a Michigan town, each of them for one-half dozen lanterns. The stock clerk had a single half dozen of the new lantern and found a half-dozen case of the genuine. He filled two orders and put the other half-dozen on the back-order book. The genuine was billed at the cut price and nothing said on the bill. In a day or two back that case came by express, and an indignant letter from the customer for palming off on him the old tubular, when the agent had sold the new. The clerk erased the mark and sent the case back to the other man in the town whose order was not filled. You can see how much time, trouble and expense would have been saved had the smart Aleck dropped a card to the house saying he did not want the lanterns and held them subject to orders.
"Yes," said Blissam, "but I have seen goods go back when I thought it was the proper thing to do. You know one of the latest schemes is to sell goods in cases, and throw in the show-case. It started with needle and thread men and has gone into a good many other things. A concern from somewhere