“I've known a good many traveling men who went to the dogs from too much treating,” said he. “When I began business in '65 one of the best salesmen out of New York sold me my first stock. He was paid $5,000 a year, and was worth it. He went on a drunk here, but braced up in a day or two and went off all right. The last I heard of him he was dying in a hospital in Cincinnati of delirium tremens.”
“You must have known a good many men in your time?”
“Yes, sir; and knew a good many to go up, and a good many to go down. I was in the hardware trade then, and bought of Billy Smythe and John Milligan. Look at those boys now! Both of them in splendid positions. Poor Hank Woodbury, who sold me thousands of dollars from Sargents', went insane and died. I remember a man dropping in one day who looked a good deal more like a school teacher than a salesman. His name was Bartlett and he was selling chisels. He didn't know much about the goods, or about hardware, but he had a frank, open way of confessing his ignorance and his prices were all right. Do you know him?”
“Yes.”
“All the wholesalers know Bartlett; he's getting shiny on the head, but he can talk Miller's cutlery sweeter than the angels can sing. They tell me he's grown rich and lives like a lord; owns an island in Long Island Sound, and a yacht and other good things, but he's the pleasantest man who comes here.”
I like to hear about traveling men who have prospered; they ought to get on in the world if any class of men can get on. There may be houses that are prosperous in spite of their salesmen, but such houses are very few. And the man who can make money for others ought to be able to do that for himself, but this does not always follow. I have met some traveling men who were once superior salesmen and then steadily ran down. Perhaps whisky is back of it, or, perhaps, circumstances are against them, but every business man will have known just such cases. Mr. Bell and I discussed this until it was time to part, and then he said, “Come in again, I may see something else.” I felt that I had won his good will.
CHAPTER X.
I left Mr. Bell, and went a square farther down the street to a hardware store, where our house had occasionally done some business. I was very familiar with the firm's name, and had heard a great many stories of Mr. Harris, the buyer. There was an air of push and prosperity in the store, and when I inquired for the buyer I was shown into the office. There were two men at the desks, and a man lying on a lounge; the latter proved to be the man I wanted.