I finished the bill, then chatted awhile with him about trade.
“There's no money in business,” said he; “times were when you could make a profit, but nowadays it is a struggle to see who can sell the lowest. There's a revolver that I bought of Tryiton for 53 cents, and our men say he has advertised it all over for 55 cents. How the devil am I to pay freight and sell for 2 cents profit? There is no such idiocy in any business today as in the gun trade. A jobber has to fight against every other jobber and the manufacturers too. The U. M. C. folks are said to back up Reachum, and Simmons is supposed to have Winchester behind him, and away they go, seeing who can cut the most and be the biggest fool.”
“But is it not so in other lines?”
“No; the prices are not advertised to any such extent as with guns and ammunition.”
“Then you think the factories could stop it if they chose?”
“Oh, the factories be d—d! Seven-eighths of the factories are managed by school-masters. They get up their little schedule of prices just as they draw off their 'rules and regulations' for their help, and expect the dealers of the country to dance to their tunes.”
I thanked him for his kindness and went on my way very well content. But when I sat down to copy off the order I was put in quite a quandary. Traveling men meet such men as Harris frequently. He gave the order because he was friendly to the house, but he had not asked for prices on anything. What was I to do? I had several prices, for my figures were elastic, to offer trade, according as the buyer was a close one or not, and just where to put Harris I did not know. I proposed to ask him all I dared and not get into trouble, but to decide on what this limit was gave me some study.
The other trade in the city I attended to carefully, and was well satisfied with my work. In the evening I started for C. As I went into the car there were three men at one end talking rather loud and sociably, and I went as near to them as I dared. One of them had lately been out to Denver and that section, and was describing to his audience the wonderful perpendicular railroads of Colorado, I soon found that all three were connected with boots and shoes, but handling different grades or styles, so they did not conflict. Of course they were from Boston, and equally of course they were rather priggish. The talker was not more than 22 or 23 years old, but the immense experience he had passed through was more than wonderful, and the old chestnuts he got off as having happened to himself were beyond Eli Perkins' power of adaptation.
“I had a customer in Peoria,” I heard him say, “who picked up a goat shoe and said 'he supposed dat was apout tree sefenty-fife.' I told him it was $5.25. 'O, tear, tear,' said he, 'can't you make him four tollar? Shake dells me: Fader, ton't you puy ofer four tollar. You should see my Shake; he is only dwendy-dwo, but he got a young head on old shoulters.' I told him that, seeing it was he, I would make the price $5, and he ordered twenty-four pairs.”
He told this as if it was the most comical story ever heard, and he laughed both long and loud over it, as did his two friends.