"Heavens, no! Shaving powder sells for 25 cents."
"It costs us only twelve. Razor and soap together don't cost a dollar. We make profit on it, and—and—they buy more powder soon."
Well, we did it; we added to the sign: "To every purchaser of a Middle Razor, Friday and Saturday only, will be given a can of Dulcet Shaving Powder."
I wanted to put a can of the powder in the window as well, but Larsen was against it; and, as it was his show, I let him have his own way with it.
"How many of the razors have we in stock?" I asked.
"We got three dozen last week. We ain't broke the package yet."
"Oh, that'll be plenty," I said. . . .
By ten thirty Friday morning we had sold every Middle's Razor in stock, and I had telegraphed for six dozen more to come by express. As they were made in this State, they should arrive the first thing in the morning. By Friday night I had orders for sixty-four razors,—and I also had had to telegraph for more shaving powder. Well, up to closing time on Saturday, we had sold a hundred and fifty-nine Middle's razors! We couldn't supply them, of course, although the six dozen we had ordered came in time, so we merely took orders on Friday afternoon and Saturday, and promised to deliver the razors as soon they came. In practically every case, however, we had got the money.
Think of it, a hundred and fifty-nine razors in our town. I couldn't understand why so many people bought them. Also, it had been a revelation to me to find how many women had come in for this bargain offer. Two or three people had come on Thursday to buy it, but we wouldn't sell them. That window certainly had attracted a lot of attention, particularly at night. There had been a number of people around it all the time.
Poor Larsen collapsed altogether from the strain of the two busy days, and had to place himself under the doctor's care.