“And I suppose the reason there are no tricks in our trade is because there is positively no epidermis to hold them. It is trickery and nothing else.
“Nevertheless, there are tricks; and there are other tricks. I have no patience with the others. My principle, as I have already explained, is to always give a man the worth of his money at ordinary, every-day market prices. If an emergency arises when I can’t do that I try and see that he receives no damage. The fakir that sells a tooth-wash which will eat the enamel off the first application, and crumble the teeth to the gums by the third, deserves to be hung.
“It is a little strange,” he added, reflectively, “how some of the gang can talk the senses out of the average individual, and make him see that black is white. I don’t approve of such methods, and it rather gratifies me when I see a fakir of that class come to grief.
“I remember once, when I was selling bibles up in Minnesota, I had the extreme pleasure of seeing one of the meanest, most contemptible little scoundrels of the species arrested and brought to justice. On the chance of making a trifling ten dollars for himself he had done more than that much damage, which he did not know how to properly repair, and possibly ruined a six hundred dollar instrument. And he seemed to have been working the scheme right along until he was accidentally caught up by a young lady—upon whom I happened to call, in the midst of the wreck, for the purpose of introducing my fine line of cottage bibles.
“You understand, I love a fine piano, and have a sneaking regard for an instrument of almost any kind. But this was, or had been, a good one, and the way the fellow temporarily ruined it was this:
“The house stood by itself, with vacant lots on either side. He walked up to the front and knocked. When the young lady came to the door he looked up inquiringly, and then slowly and in a disappointed manner, as though speaking to himself, remarked:
“‘I can’t understand it.’
“‘Understand what?’ asked the young lady.
“Before answering he consulted a card in his hand, which had some penciling on the back.
“‘Why, I am the traveling tuner of the Mittlebache Piano Company. Yesterday somebody sent an order to me at the hotel to call at number 413, this street. There is no such number, I see; but as this is 415 I thought I would drop in and see if you were not the lady.’