“Quite so! You ought to, considering how the newspapers will mention your shop.”
“I may suggest, Colonel Lowther, that our firm's reputation—”
“I know its reputation. That's why I am here”—the colonel's voice seemed colder than a Canadian cold spell—“but it is no better than your competitors'—Goffony, Johnson & Pierce, or J. Storrs' Sons. I figured that the duke's patronage should be worth thousands to Welch, Boon & Shaw; so you must make me a special price.”
“We have but one—”
“I've heard all that, Boon,” the colonel interrupted, angrily. “If you are going to talk like a bally ass I'll waste no more time here. Bring in the pearls. I can't take over a half-hour to this.”
Mr. Boon's hard sense and knowledge of advertising values triumphed over his injured dignity. He excused himself, and presently returned with a tray full of pearl necklaces.
“I say, Boon, on second thought, you must not reduce your prices. It's a bad principle.”
“Yes, it is,” agreed Boon, cordially.
“Therefore, my good fellow, name me one price—the lowest possible after considering how much the duke's patronage is worth to your house. The very lowest! Put it in plain figures on new price-tags. The duke is accustomed to the prices across the pond, you know; so don't frighten him. Now that one?”
He picked up at once the most beautiful necklace—and also the most valuable, though by no means the most showy. Mr. Boon's respect jumped. He looked at the colonel, whose neck and head were twitching and twisting violently.