In a traveling man's experience no two days are exactly alike, and yet there is a monotony in the story of a trip because the history of one day is so much like the history of everyday. We sell to different men in different towns but the arguments on both sides are very much the same with all men. It is but rarely that a merchant admits that he needs anything in our line until after a certain amount of preliminary coaxing, and he never admits that prices are low enough.
Some buyers meet one pleasantly, and are perhaps all the more disappointing. Their manner seems to promise success, but the result is failure. Other men start in rather snappish, as if the salesman was a nuisance, but gradually grow sociable, and if they give him an order he is forever their friend. He can not take “no” for an answer, because his experience tells him that the majority of buyers start out with a “no,” and end by buying a bill. He must be persistent, because he has heard numberless times, “I will look at your samples if it is any comfort to you, but I won't buy,” and in nine cases out of ten he has taken the man's order after all.
The longer he is out on the road the easier his work grows, but it is not always true that his orders continue to grow larger. Friendship with buyers work two ways: the salesman may be able to press them to buy in a stronger manner than a stranger would dare do, and on the other hand the buyer can the easier put the salesman off. When he says: “You know well that if there was a thing in your line that we wanted you would get the order, but there is none,” the salesman has to take it gracefully and hope for better luck next time. But a stranger, in the same line, calling there the next day, and mentioning each item in his list, may secure an order, and at no better price than the buyer's acquaintance would have given.
For these reasons I have not given details of my trip so far as they concerned my own sales. It is enough to say that I was doing fairly well, not only in selling goods, but in making “valuable acquaintances.” My house wrote me very pleasant letters, praising the character as well as the amount of my orders, and I looked to my going in with such anticipations of pleasure that the last six days of the trip seemed to have more hours than any arithmetic table of time ever put into them. Partly to kill time, and partly to make myself more “solid” with buyers, I spent nearly every evening with some of my customers, and listened to many bits of experiences that were worth more than money to me.
One merchant said to me in his talk: “I have bought a great many goods of Wiebusch, and feel as much at home in his store as I do in any place outside of my own. And, while I do it because of dollars and cents, still there is something back of these that always turns the scales in his favor when his prices are no lower than his competitors. Twenty years ago I was clerk for a hardware house in the West, and about as ordinary a one as could be. One summer I made a trip East to visit some friends, and concluded to give myself a treat by taking a day or two in New York. I knew no one in the city personally; I knew the names of the houses my employers bought from, and for some reason that of F. Weibusch seemed most familiar. I put up at the Hoffman House. I laugh every time I think of it.”
“Did you feel overpowered?”
“That's exactly the word. I was awfully overpowered. I had been used to dropping into the little country hotels where the landlord and clerk were at your service, and where you had to black your own boots, and carry your baggage around. When I dropped into the Hoffman with my grip in hand, and wrote my name in the register, and saw the overwhelming indifference in the eyes of the lordly clerk, I assure you I felt as small a potato as ever grew in a hill. I never felt quite so small and mean in all my life.”
“How did you get around?”
“I got to the hotel about 2 o'clock in the afternoon. I sat down in the office and tried to get my spirits up to the pitch of my surroundings, but it was a dismal failure. I felt that I was 'country' from crown to heel, and I was terribly uncomfortable. I happened to think of some familiar names, and among others of Mr. Wiebusch. The directory gave me his address, a porter posted me on street-cars and the way to Beekman street, and in due time I presented myself at the door. I felt timid about going in. I was only a clerk; I had no business on hand; I would simply be taking up some of their time in the store, and with no profit to them. But I went up stairs, and after telling a clerk who I was and whom I was connected with, was by him introduced to Mr. Wiebusch.”
“And your reception was a pleasant one?”