"Tut, tut!" I said.
"—In a deuce of a mess if traveling salesmen did not call. You hear about new stuff from drummers. Suppose you get mad and they won't call? You are real loser. Simpson used to be that way. You know, Boss, I used to hear some of them salesmen damn him like they meant it. One feller came here with agency for Stamford saws. Now, you know, Boss, Stamford saws is one of best agencies Barlow has. Simpson could have got it. I don't know why he come to Simpson first, because Barlow is—was—leading hardware man in town."
I smiled at the implied compliment.
"Well, in he come here, and Simpson treat him about like—well, he treat him like a dog. You know what that feller did?"
"No," I replied curiously, "what did he do?"
"He put his grip on the floor, walked around the counter, took hold of Simpson's nose and gave it one h——" I held up my finger warningly—"a deuce of a pull!"
My hand unconsciously went to my nose, and I saw a twinkle come into Larsen's eyes as he noticed the movement.
"Well, that feller, he went right over to Barlow. Barlow knew a good thing when he saw it. He tied up that agency."
"Good Heavens," I said, "it never dawned on me that any traveling salesman wouldn't be only too tickled to do business with anybody he could!"
"I tell you, Boss," said Larsen, "I have been in retail business now, let's see—forty years. The more I see of drummers the better they seem. If I were boss of a store I'd never turn a salesman down cold. If I couldn't buy I would say no, like I was sorry. Some day that feller would have a real bargain. Would he offer it to the feller who balls him out? No, sir-ree! He tip off to the feller who treated him white.