"N-no;" and then, feeling the need to excuse myself for it, I continued, "I've really been too busy."

"Ha!" he jerked, putting his head on one side like a sparrow, "bad habit to get into, that, if I may say so without being rude. Man can't know how best to conduct his own business unless he has some idea of what other people are doing. Got to know that to keep even with the times.

Come along with me."

And then this little man, who I afterward found was one of the wealthiest hardware dealers in our State, took me by the arm, saying:

"I am going to introduce you to a trade paper man you ought to know."

He took me up to a group of men who were laughing at a story told by a big, raw-boned, loose-jointed man who seemed to be popular with the others.

"Rob," said Minker, "come here!" And the big man good-naturedly came over, put his arm around the little man's shoulder, and asked:

"Well, what is it this time?"

"I want you to meet Mr. Dawson Black, who has only recently opened a store. Mr. Black," said he, "this is Mr. Robert Sirle, known to all his friends as Rob. He is the editor of _Hardware Times_."

"I'm mighty glad to meet you, Mr. Black," said Mr. Sirle, giving me a hearty handshake, "You bought Jim Simpson's business, didn't you?"

"Why, yes!" I replied. "How do you know?"

He smiled. "I wish I had known you a few months ago, Mr. Black," he said. "I might have saved you a bit of money. Didn't you read in _Hardware Times_ some two years ago about the mess Simpson got into?"

"Why, no," I returned, "I don't know as I--I--as a matter of fact, I don't subscribe to trade papers. I haven't time to read them."

I would like to tell you what this big Westerner said. I am not sure whether it is what he said or the way he said it, but we sat down and we had a very serious talk, in which he told me how necessary it was for a business man to watch at all times the development of his trade; how the reading of trade papers kept him constantly posted, and continually gave him new ideas. He gave me some excellent pointers, and invited me to write to him any time he could be of help to me.

I at once subscribed for two copies of his paper to be sent to the store--one for myself and one for the salesmen. The last was his suggestion. I felt it would be a good investment, for, as he said, when the clerks read the magazine they get interested in the bigger things about the business, they learn more about the goods, and get to appreciate some of the boss's responsibility and trouble.

It certainly was a fine thing for me to meet this man, representing a paper whose sole object appeared to be to help the retail merchant.

Some wonderfully interesting talks were given. One discussion which interested me greatly was about giving credits. Credit appeared to be the bane of the hardware man's life. Mr. Sirle had charge of a question box, and gave some fine suggestions which I decided I would try to adapt to my business.

One other thing, as soon as it was mentioned, aroused a lot of heated discussion--that was mail-order compet.i.tion. Even in my short experience I had felt the pressure of these mail-order houses, but somehow or other I had taken it as a natural evil, and had not thought of taking any particular steps to combat it. One thin, cadaverous man voiced my thoughts when he said in a mournful drawl:

"The best thing to do is to appeal to the patriotism of the people. We live in the town, they know us, and they are with us all the time, and their very friendship for us ought to be enough to make them give us the business. I believe we all ought to have posters saying 'Buy in your home town' or something like that, and if you say this to the people long enough, they'll do it."

As soon as he finished a short, roly-poly kind of man jumped excitedly to his feet, and, having obtained permission to speak, said:

"I'm sorry I can't agree with Mr. Jenks. It's all right to talk patriotism, but, hang it all, is there any one here who would buy from his home town if he could buy cheaper elsewhere? I'll bet every one of us here buys things out of our own towns. I know I buy my clothes in Boston, and my wife buys her shoes when she goes to New York to visit her sister. I can get better clothes and cheaper clothes in Boston than I can in my home town, and I should consider myself a poor business man if I put up with inferior clothes at a high price, just to support some local man who couldn't compete fairly with Boston merchants.

"I tell you, gentlemen, it's just a question of compet.i.tion, and I think it's all poppyc.o.c.k to talk about appealing to a man's sentiment about his home town. All things being equal, I believe the local man would get the business every time. But if a man can buy a stove cheaper from the mail-order house than he can from me, I shouldn't expect to get the business.

"As a matter of fact, there are very few things that the mail-order house can beat us on. I know a fellow came into my store a few months ago and told me he could buy a stove I was selling cheaper from the mail-order house. I took him up on it, and said I didn't believe he could. He showed me the stove in the catalog, and I could see that it wasn't the same thing I had, and wasn't as good. I pointed out to him the difference, and he said, 'Yes, but look at the difference in the price!' He had forgotten that he had to pay the freight, and, when that was put on, there was mighty little difference between the two. Then I said to him: 'You send for that stove and set it up beside the one I have here, and, when you get them side by side, if you can honestly say that mine isn't the better value for your money, I'll pay the bill on your stove!'

"He hesitated at that, and then I told him about a woman who bought one of these kitchen cabinets from a mail-order house, and, when she got it, it was all banged up, and she had no end of trouble in getting it straightened out, besides having to wait about six weeks before it came.

She reckoned up afterward that if she had bought it of me she'd have been dollars in pocket and could have seen just what it looked like before buying it. That settled him, and he bought the stove from me!"

That started me thinking, and, going home on the train, I had a talk with Mr. Barlow about it, and also about the question of credits, for these were the two things that impressed me most at the whole convention, although there were many other interesting things taken up.

"I wonder," said I to Mr. Barlow, "whether it would be possible for us to kind of work together on credits--whether, if I were to tell you what customers owed me money, it would save you getting in badly with them, and you do the same with me?"

I felt very nervous in making this proposition, for I didn't know whether it was proper or not. I had never given such things as credits or compet.i.tion the least thought while I was working with Barlow. I was surprised and delighted at the fine way in which he said:

"Why, certainly I will. Come up to the store and talk it over with me."

I made an appointment with him for the following night to discuss a policy to adopt for mutual protection on credits, and also on fighting mail-order compet.i.tion.

I could not help thinking what a wonderful thing a convention is. I had learned more about business in those three days than I ever knew before.

When I weighed the cost of going to the convention against the benefits I got out of it, I considered that I had made a good investment--not counting the happiness of a honeymoon!

CHAPTER IX

A GOOD PLAN BLOCKED

I had promised to get to Barlow's as soon after eight as I could, and I was there at ten minutes past. Barlow welcomed me and led me to his office in the rear, and there I met with a surprise, for who should be sitting there in his office but Stigler, who ran the only other hardware store in town.

Stigler didn't attempt to rise when I came in; but just nodded curtly and said, "Howdy?"

I looked blank for a minute, and then said:

"I see you are busy, Mr. Barlow. I'll come in again."

"Sit right down, Dawson," he replied, "for if we are going to help each other on credits and on mail-order compet.i.tion, we all need to get together, and it would not be fair for you and me to discuss this matter without asking Mr. Stigler's help also."

"Well," said Stigler, "if you fellers can show me anything that'll save me a dollar, I'm on. But I'm from Missouri! K-ha!"

His laugh was like the sound of a cork coming out of a bottle.

Barlow then explained to him what we purposed doing. When he had finished, Stigler said:

"Sounds pretty, all right, but how are yer goin' to do it?"

"Couldn't we arrange," I offered, "to tell each other who we are charging goods to, and so prevent ourselves from running up unsafe bills?"

"How d'yer mean?" said Stigler.

"Well," I continued, "suppose there's a carpenter who has a bill of thirty or forty dollars coming to me which is overdue--why I tell you and Mr. Barlow that he owes me that money, and, when he comes to you for credit, you won't do business with him until he has paid me. That will make him pay me and save you running into danger with him."

I saw those thin lips of Stigler's turn up with derision.

"And," I continued hastily, "if anybody owes you anything, you let us know and we won't sell to him until he has paid you."

"Listens very pretty, Black," Stigler sneered, "but I guess when you've been in business as long as I have, you won't talk so glib about lettin'