"Pat Burke?"
"Yes, he is the manager of the new Woolton store here—awfully nice fellow."
"When did you know him?" I said.
"Strange to say, he was assistant manager of the Hartford Woolton store when I was there, and I got to know him quite well."
"I hardly like to call on him," I said. "Remember, he's a direct competitor of mine, and next door to me."
"Competitor nothing," said Roger good-naturedly. "You are not competitors at all. You are selling different classes of goods, and you ought to supplement each other."
That was a new thought to me. I wondered if a five-and-ten-cent store was a hindrance or a help to an adjoining hardware store?
A man named Purkes ran a grocery store at the corner opposite Traglio's drug store. He was an undersized man and fussed and interfered with everybody else's business, and made a living chiefly because he hadn't much competition.
About two weeks before, a salesman of cheap enamelware had come into town, gone to Purkes, and sold him two or three cases of "seconds." Purkes thought he was a real fellow when he filled his window full of those seconds. The same week I was having a display of perfect enamelware. He put a price on his goods of ten cents each. He also had a big sign in the window, reading: "Don't pay fancy prices for enamelware. Purkes's cut-rate grocery store will sell you all you want for ten cents each. Pick them out as long as they last."
Now, old Barlow always played the game square. Stigler was certainly a hardware man, and I could stand for his cut prices; but, when a grocery store came butting in, I felt mad, and I told Charlie Martin that I'd like to get Purkes's scalp somehow. Charlie suggested quite a good little stunt.