"What do you—I don't quite follow you," I smiled.
"I'll tell you, Mr. Black. Your mother and I, of course, know each other, and she paid me a call a few days ago; and, while talking, she mentioned that you refused to sell me some goods because you would have to add a premium to the price."—Betty must have told mother!—"I have suspected that I have been paying too much for my goods, and, when your mother told me that, I was certain of it. Besides, I suspected something when Miriam said she couldn't find the things we wanted here, and she had to go to Stigler's, when I asked her why she didn't buy them of you."
"Don't worry. I haven't dismissed the girl; but I have given her a good talking to."
If you knew Mrs. Sturtevant, you would know that she could give anybody a good talking-to. "But I do know I have paid prices that were too high," she continued, "because I asked a friend to go into Mr. Stigler's store and buy some things, and I checked those with the prices which had been charged me."
"And they were—?"
"Yes, about fifteen per cent. more."
"Hum!"
"Yes, exactly. I said something more vigorous than that, though, for your competitor first of all added ten per cent. for the maid and then apparently another five per cent. for himself! I have been over there and told him that I have instructed my help never to buy anything from him again, and that, if they do, I shall positively refuse to pay for it."
I wondered if other retail merchants had just these same little problems to solve that I had. I wondered if, in a case like this one, they would have ever thought of suggesting to their customers that they get some friends to buy an article or two occasionally, and compare the prices with those they were charged. . . . I knew the episode wouldn't make Stigler love me any more, for the Sturtevant business amounted to quite a lot. That one order that Miriam Rooney had bought of Stigler had been eighteen dollars' worth.