"So I did, and I still think so, if we could have Stigler with us. But don't you see," he said, "that, if we were to come out with an advertisement under our joint names, Stigler would tell every one in the town that either I had bought you out—remember that you worked for me only a few weeks ago—or else that we had combined to drive him out of business. And, as soon as you put a man in a position where people think he's a martyr, they'll flock to help him. It seems to be a peculiarity of human nature to want to fight for the under dog, and I think you've seen enough of Stigler to know that he would use that weapon to the fullest advantage."
"Well, can't we work together on the credit scheme?" I asked.
"No," he replied, "for, if we did that along the line suggested, Stigler would tell people that we were telling our customers' business to each other, and you can imagine the general feeling then. Stigler would urge them to come to him, and tell them that he would keep their business private, and such things as that."
I must have looked dejected, for Barlow laughed sympathetically, put his arm around my shoulder, and said:
"Now I know you had your heart set on doing this, Dawson, but it's really only a little matter."
"Little?" I said, remembering the hullabaloo at the convention when mail-order competition was mentioned, as well as the question of credits.
"Yes," he replied, "for we can help each other in a quiet way without any definite plan. Now, if you've any credit customers about whom you are in doubt, come in and see me and I'll tell you what I can of them."
"And you'll do the same, sir?"
"I surely will," said he.
And we shook hands and that was how it ended.