MR. GOLDBERG, the manager and proprietor of the Parade Drug Store, was a man who possessed neither a sense of imagination nor the spirit of romance. He sent peremptorily for Timothy, and Timothy came with a feeling that all was not well.
“Mr. Anderson,” said Goldberg in his best magisterial manner, “I took you into my shop because I was short of a man and because I understood that you had had some business experience.”
“I have business experience,” said Timothy carefully, “of a kind.”
“I gave you particular instructions,” said Mr. Goldberg solemnly, “on one very vital point. We carry a full line of all the best proprietorial medicines, and our customers can always get them upon application. Each of those medicines we duplicate, as you know, providing the same constituents and charging some sixpence to a shilling less—in fact, we are out to save the public from being robbed.”
“I understand you,” said Timothy, “but I don’t see much difference between robbing the public and robbing the patent medicine proprietors, and all that just-as-good stuff never did impress me, anyway. It stands to reason,” he said, leaning over the desk and speaking with the earnestness of a crusader, “that the advertised article must be more even in quality and it must be good all round. You can’t advertise a bad article and get away with it, except on the first sale, and that doesn’t pay the advertiser. The goods sell the goods, and the advertisement is only to make you take the first lick.”
“I do not want a lecture on advertising or on commercial morality,” said Mr. Goldberg with ominous calm. “I merely want to tell you that you were overheard by my chief assistant telling a customer not to ‘take a chance’ on one of my own pills.”
“That’s right,” said Timothy, nodding his head vigorously. “Guilty, my lord. What about it?”
“I have had a further complaint,” said Mr. Goldberg, consulting with elaborate ceremony a little notebook. “I understand that you have initiated the awful practice of offering to toss customers for their change. People have written me strong letters of complaint about it.”
“Because they lost,” said the indignant Timothy; “what’s wrong about that, anyway, Mr. Goldberg? I don’t pocket the money, and I win twice out of every three times. If a fellow likes to take a chance as to whether he gets sixpence or we get a shilling, why worry?”
The outraged Mr. Goldberg brindled.