I looked at Mr. Jordan, and he looked at me. “Are you mad?” I asked.
“No; I'm used to it.”
“Then try a cigar.”
As we smoked and discussed mean customers, I put in some good licks for my house, and by and by heard Jordan say:
“I lied to you about those bull-dogs; I didn't buy any of Layton; you may send me six.”
CHAPTER II.
When Mr. Jordan gave me the order for six “bull-dog” revolvers, I felt that I had made a conquest; I went carefully through my list, adding something here and there, until I had made a very pretty bill with him. So, although he met me as if he wanted to punch me in the head, we parted on the best of terms. Where should I go next? A sign farther down the street said “Hardware,” so I started down that way.
A man who carries a mixed stock is easier to sell goods to than is the man who makes a specialty of one line. In the house we always had a closer price for the dealer who made guns a specialty than for the hardware man who kept a few guns and revolvers as a small branch of his stock.