“Oh, that's all nonsense; people don't go a cent on houses any more; prices are what tell. I'll introduce you.”
Not much. No competitor of mine ever introduced me or ever shall. I prefer to introduce myself in my own time and way.
We reached Rossmore about 7 o'clock in the evening. Blissam took it for granted that I was going to the Everett House, but my hotels had been fixed for me by our old traveling man, and he had instructed me to go to the Forest; a cheaper house, but in all other respects equal to the other. I was rather glad, too, that we were not going to the same house. Be ever so sociable with a competitor, still the fact remains that he is a competitor, and his success means your failure. Under such circumstances a man must be less interested in his business than I was to permit him to feel very desirous of his competitor's company.
After registering at the hotel it occurred to me that it would be a good idea to catch any of the dealers that I could that evening and break the ice. It might be worth something to make a good impression before Blissam got around. After getting my bearings well established, I started to call on Billwock.
Billwock was pretty generally known in the gun trade; first for being mighty slow pay, and second for the fact that they had a baby at his shop regularly every year or oftener, and the store was used as nursery and play-ground. Traveling men had to see the last baby and count all the old ones, and according as they praised them did old Billwock buy liberally or not.
The head of the house had said to me, “Don't push goods on Billwock; he owes us enough already. If you squeeze a good payment out of him you can sell him a small bill.”
This kind of talk is all good enough, so far as it goes; but the poor devil on the road often finds he can't get a cent, neither can he sell any goods. The men at home think all he need do is to say, “Here I am; what is it you want?” and then copy the order as fast as he can write. But the men who order that way are the kind who never intend to pay for what they order.
I thought the matter of Billwock's account all over by the time I found his store. It was dimly lighted, but I saw a man and woman at the rear, and went in. A mussy and dirty looking man came forward to meet me, but when he had walked a little way he evidently concluded that I was a drummer, and that I might walk the rest of the way to him.
“Is this Mr. Billwock?” I asked.
“Yes.”