A salesman came in one morning from the Cincinnati Pencil Sharpener Company to offer me the local agency for the firm's pencil pointers. He walked into the store with what I said to myself was a silly grin, but Larsen, when we were talking the matter over afterward, said he looked a jolly, good-natured fellow, so perhaps it was just my nerves twisting things around.
I was just going over my stock of butt hinges when he came in. I was feeling disappointed because our stock was lower than I had thought it was, since I was getting so that I positively hated to buy! Well, I looked up at him and snapped:
"What do you want?"
"Good afternoon, Mr. Black," he replied. "I represent the Cincinnati Pencil Sharpener Company, and I want—"
Here I broke in testily:
"I'm too busy now. Besides, we're not in the stationery line. You want to go to a stationer with that thing. . . . Well," I said angrily, as he made no attempt to go, "if there is anything else you want to say, please say it quickly; if not, you will have to excuse me, because I am really too busy to waste time with drummers to-day."
"Excuse me, Mr. Black," he returned a little hotly, "I am not a drummer—I am a salesman. I came to talk with you about giving you a special agency, but it is evident that in your present frame of mind I would only be wasting my time. I will come back later."
With that he walked out of the store.
I certainly felt mad! I could have chewed ten-penny nails!
"Did you ever hear such impudence?" I cried to Larsen.