To win the customer's good will is the aim of every successful salesman.

"Ah, but how can I do this?" asks the new man.

The ways must be as many as the men he meets. The dispositions of men are as varied as their looks. A kind word will win one man and a bluff another. A generous deed will go right into the heart of one merchant; another will resent it, thinking that the man who does him a favor seeks only to buy his good will. The one thing, however, that the man on the road must do, and always do, is to gain the confidence of the man with whom he seeks to do business. His favor will as surely follow this as day follows night. The night may sometimes be long, like that at the North Pole, but when day does finally dawn it will also be of long duration. The man whose confidence it is slow for you to gain, will probably prove to be the man whose faith in you will last the longest.

Then, the salesman must not only have the knack of getting the good will of his customer on first sight, but he must also possess patience and, if need be, let confidence in himself be a slow growth. He must do business from the jump when he starts out with samples but, to be truly successful, his business must always grow.

A little group of us, having come back from our trips, fell in together one day at luncheon in Chicago. Our meeting was not planned at all, but before the first of us had forgotten the sting of the tabasco on our Blue Points, so many old friends had foregathered that we had our waiters slide two tables together. There was quite a bunch of us. The last one to join the party was a dry goods man. He was a jolly good fellow.

"Hello! Ed, Hello!" spoke up all the boys at once. "How are you? Just home? Sorry to hear your old customer out at Columbus finally had to quit business," said the clothing man.

"Yes; so am I," said Ed. "He was a mighty hard man for me to get started with but when once I landed him he was one of the most faithful customers I had. Do you know that for more than eight years he never bought a sou in my line from any other man? It's too bad that he had to leave this world. He was a fine old gentleman. I'll never forget, though, the first time I sold him. I had been calling on him for three or four years. His town was one of the first ones I made when I started on the road—I was not quite twenty, then.

"He always treated me courteously—he was a Southerner, you know—but I couldn't get next to him to save my life. One day as I walked toward his store, a little German band stationed itself just before his door and started in to play Yankee Doodle. I didn't pay any attention to this at the time, but when I went up to shake hands with the old gentleman, as usual, I asked him if there was something in my line he wanted. For the first time in his life he was uncivil toward me. He said, 'No, suh, there is not,' and he turned and walked away. Well, there was nothing left for me to do but to scoot as soon as I could.

"I made a sneak and went into another store but soon I saw there was nothing there for me and I thought I would run over to the hotel, get my traps together and skip town by the next train. I had to pass by the old man's door again. The little German band was still there. They had quit playing Yankee Doodle but were going it good and hard on 'Marching Through Georgia.' I happened to look into the old man's store and he was pacing up and down behind the counter. A bright idea struck me. I went up to the leader of the band and said, 'Look here, Fritz, can you play Dixie?'

"'Deekse?' said the big, fat Bavarian. 'Vas iss dass?'

"I didn't know much German but I whistled the air and made him understand what I wanted.

"Ja wohl,' said he.

"'Then, here,' said I, handing him a cart wheel, 'just you stay right here and give me a dollar's worth of Dixie,—a whole dollar's worth, mind you!'

"Well, he must have understood me all right, for the band promptly began to play Dixie. I didn't know that the old gentleman had seen me talking to the band leader, but he had come to the front door to order the band to move on shortly after I came up.

"I simply stood there, leaning against the store in the sunshine, while the German band blowed away. Well, sir, the fellow that played the clarionet—when he got down to the lively part of the tune— certainly did make that little instrument sing. They didn't know what Dixie meant but they played it to a fare-ye-well, just the same!

"After a while the old man came to the front door. He saw me standing there in the sunshine. There was a smile on his face as broad as Lake Michigan. Joy spread over his countenance in waves. When he saw me leaning up against the store, he came right out where I was and said, 'Look hyah, suh; I was pow'ful uncivil to you this mo'nin', suh. I want to beg yo' pa'don. No gentleman has a right to insult another, but I was so infernally mad this mo'nin' when you spoke to me, suh, that I couldn't be civil. That confounded Yankee tune just riled me. You know, I was an old confed'rate soldier, suh. The wah is all ovah now and I'm really glad the niggers are free. The country's lots bettah off as it is now. Since I've been up hyah in this country I've begun to think that Abe Lincoln was a good man and a fair man, and a friend to the nation; but, confound it! ever' time I hyah 'Yankee Doodle' or 'Marchin' Through Georgia,' suh, I put on mah unifohm again and want to fight. It's pow'ful ha'd fo' a man that has woh the gray, suh, to forget the coloh of his old clothes, try as ha'd as he will. I want to be broad-minded, but, confound it! it seems that I cyan't, suh.'

"'Well, you are ahead of me just one generation,' said I. 'I was born in the North and raised up here but my father was a Southern soldier.'

"'What!' said the old man. 'Why didn't yo' tell me this befoh, suh? Hyah, I've been treatin' yo' like a dog, suh, all this time. And your father was a confed'rate soldier, suh?'

"'Yes, sir,' said I. 'He was under Jackson.'

"'What! Stomal Jackson? Why, suh, a greater man than Stomal Jackson nevah lived, suh. He was a gentleman clean to the co'. Come right in, suh, and sit down. I want to talk to yo' some mo'.

"'Now, you are goin' to pa'don me, suh, fo' my rudeness this mo'nin'.
I want you to say that you will.'

"'Why, to be sure, Colonel,' said I. 'I certainly wouldn't blame you for the same feeling that I know my father had as long as he lived.'

"The little Bavarian band, according to my instructions, kept on playing Dixie so long that the fellow who blew the clarionet began to skip notes and puff. I went out and told them that that was enough of that tune and switched them onto S'wanee River. To the tune of this old air, the Colonel marched me up to his house for dinner.

"We didn't say a word about business, of course, until after we had returned to the store. When we came back there, the old Colonel said to me, 'Now, look hyah,—let me get yo' first name.'

"'Ed,' said I.

"'Well, yo'll have to let me call yo' "Ed." Yo're lots younger'n I am. I can't do any business with yo' this trip. I have my promise out. I told the man that I've been buyin' dry goods from that I'd give him my o'der fo' this fall but I don't think as much of him as I do of you, and hyeahaftah I am going to give you my business. I know that yo'll see that yo' house treats me right and I would ratheh deal with a man anyway that I have confidence in, suh. Now, you needn't hurry, Ed, about gettin' around hyah next season, suh, because, sho's yo' bawn, upon the wo'd of a Southern gentleman, suh, yo' shall have my business.'"

"You sold him next time?" asked one of the boys.

"You bet your life I did," said Ed. "That man's word was good."

"He was a splendid old gentleman," spoke up another one of the boys.

"Yes," said the clothing man, "I haven't been there for four or five years. He used to have a lovely little girl that sometimes came down to the store with him."

"Well," broke in Ed, "I'm glad that somebody besides myself has a good opinion of her for she is to be my wife next month."

"Well, good luck to you and lots of happiness," chimed in all the boys.

"When once you get the good will of one of those southerners," remarked the wallpaper man, "you have it for all time. I don't wish to wave the bloody shirt—I am a northerner, myself—but these northern houses somehow don't know how to handle the southern trade. I travel down in Louisiana and Mississippi, and I really dodge every time that one of my customers tells me he is going into the house. Once I started a customer down in the Bayou country. I was getting along well with him and he was giving me a share of his business. One season, however, he came into the house. I didn't know anything about this until I was down there on my next trip. I went to see him, as usual, expecting at least to get a fair order, but when I asked him to come over to my sample room he said, 'Now, Jack, I'd really like to go oveh and do some business but I've already bought my goods. I was in to see yo' house and when I asked the young man at the do'h to see the membahs of yo' firm, he went away fo' a minute or two and when he came back, he said, without bein' at all polite about it, "They're busy." I didn't say anything mo'h to the young man but I turned on my heel and went out the do'h. It made me so mad that I do believe the spahks flew right out of me. I made up my mind I wouldn't have anythin' mo'h to do with such people and that I would buy mah wall papah in New Yo'k when I got down theah. Now, I'm mighty sorry about this, Jack, but I really cyan't pat'onize a conce'n that treated me wuss'n a niggeh.'

"I tried to explain that the members of my firm were very busy, and that they would have been only too glad to see him had they known who he was, but I couldn't do anything with the old gentleman because, he said, that he didn't wish to deal with people that would treat anybody that way. He said he thought every man should at least receive gentlemanly treatment."

"And you bet he's right about that," spoke up one of the boys.

"Yes, he was," said Jack. "Still it was hard for me to let go. I of course didn't say anything more about business to him but there wasn't much going on that day, although it was Saturday, and we visited quite a while. You know they always have chairs in the back end of stores down south and a customer who comes in to buy something is always asked to have a seat before anything is said about business. It's a good, old sociable way and although it's a little slow, I like it. Traveling is pleasant in the south, whether a man does business or not, because he always receives courteous treatment.

"As we were talking along I asked the old gentleman where his little girl was that I had seen around the store on previous trips.

"'Well, Jack,' said he, 'I'm pow'ful sorry to tell you but I'm afraid she's a cripple for life. A hoss threw her and stepped on her leg an' broke it ve'y badly neah the knee. She has her knee now in a plaster Paris cast but I'm afraid she'll be lame as long as she lives.'

"Well, sir, she was a pretty, sweet little girl, and when her father told me about her misfortune I was very sorry for him. He couldn't keep from crying when he told me about it. I couldn't say much but I felt mighty sorry. It isn't so bad for a boy to be crippled but if there's anything that goes through me it is to see a beautiful little girl walking along on crutches.

"I told the old gentleman goodbye and started down to the hotel. A block or two away I saw a flower store. I said to myself, 'Well, my firm has treated my friend wrong but that's no reason why I should have anything against him. I don't blame him a bit. I'm just going to send a bouquet up to the little girl anyhow.'

"So over at the flower store I passed out a five dollar bill and wrote on the card that I sent with the Marechal Niel roses, 'From a friend of your father's.' "Now, I didn't have business in my eye, boys, when I did this. It was right from the heart. I was going to Sunday in that town anyway and get out on a train early Monday morning. There was a tough hotel in the next town I was to strike.

"That night, while I was at supper, the clerk came into the dining room and told me that somebody wanted to talk to me over the telephone. It was the little girl's father. He said to me, 'Jack, I want to thank you very much for those flowers that you sent up to Mary. She's proud of them and sends you a kiss; and I want to tell you that I'm proud of this, Jack,—but just to thank you oveh the wyah isn't enough. I wanted to find out if you were at the hotel. I want to come down and shake yo' hand. Are yo' going' to be hyah tomorrow?' I told him I was going to Sunday there. 'Well,' said the old gentleman, 'I will see you tomorrow mo'nin'. I'll come down befo' I go to chu'ch.'

"When he came down the next morning I was up in my room where my samples were. If I could have sold him a hundred thousand dollars I wouldn't have asked him to look at anything, but I did ask him to have a chair and smoke a cigar with me. My samples were in the room where he couldn't keep from seeing them and after he had thanked me again and again and told me how much he appreciated my kindness, he fingered over a line of goods of his own accord, asking me the prices on them.

"I said to him, 'Now, look here, you probably don't wish to price any goods today, as you are going to church. These are worth so much and so much, but if you wish to forgive and forget the discourtesy my house has shown you,—their line of goods is first-class; there's none better in the country; nothing can be said on that score against them,—I'll stay over tomorrow and show you.'

"'No, I won't have you do that,' said my friend—he was my friend then—'Time is money to a man on the road. If I was going to do any business with yo' I ought to have done it yesterday. I have spoiled a day fo' you an' I don't believe the Lord will hold anything against me if I do business with you today. You know he makes allo'ances when the ox gets in the mire, so get out yo' book, if you will, suh,—an' I will give you an ohdeh.'

"Before I was through with him my bill amounted to over six thousand dollars, the biggest order I ever took in my life,—and do you know, we finished it in time for both of us to get up to church just as the preacher was reading his text, and, singularly enough, the text of the sermon that day was, 'Do unto others as you would have others do unto you.' I half believe my friend had arranged this sermon with the minister."

"Even if I have lost the twang in my voice," spoke up the southerner, a furnishing goods man.

"Oh, come off!"

"Lost it?" said the clothing man.

"Yes, I reckon I have. I've been up no'th long enough. Well, people down in my country are warm hearted and courteous, but all the goodness in the world doesn't dwell with them. I've found some pow'ful good people up no'th. Raisin' has something to do with a man, but that isn't all. We find good men whereveh we go, if we look fo' them right. Your tellin' about sendin' flowe's to that little girl reminds me of the time when I once sent some flowe's, but instead of sending them to a girl, I sent them to a big crusty old man. This man was, to a great extent, an exception to the rule that I have just laid down. That is, he was cranky and ha'd to get next to for nearly ever'body, and sometimes he was pretty rough with me. But I handled him fairly well and always got business out of him, although sometimes I had to use a little jiu jitsu to do it.

"Several seasons ago—haven't you heard this story, boys?—I was on my way up to his town, Deadwood. While I was down at Broken Bow, I got a telegram from the house which read, "Sam Shoup dead"—that was one line—and on the next line the message read: "Wood wants goods."

"I thought this was rather funny when I got hold of the message for I hadn't sold this man Wood for several seasons. He had been a little slow and the house had drawn on him, and I lost him. But I thought maybe things were all patched up again and so I hur'ied on up into the Hills and over to Hot Springs to see Wood. He handled lots of goods and I wanted to get there before somebody else nipped him. Besides, I could double back and catch Chadron and those towns along there on my return.

"I was ve'y sor'y to heah that my friend Sam had croaked. You know, after a man has turned up his toes you can see a whole lot of good points about him that always escaped yo' notice befo'; so at Broken Bow I wiahed the flo'ist up in Deadwood to send ten dollars worth of roses with my card on over to Mrs. Shoup, that I would see him in a few days and pay him fo' them. I also sent a telegram to the widow, extending my heartfelt sympathy.

"Well, sir, when I got into the Springs I had my trunk brought right up, opened my samples, befo' I went over to see my friend Wood. When I went into his sto' he said to me, 'Well, Mark, what are you doing here?' 'What am I doing heah,' said I, 'Why, the house telegraphed me you wanted some goods.' 'Why, I wouldn't buy any goods from yo' house if I were a millionaire and could get them for ten cents on the dollar. They turned me down once good and ha'd and that's enough fo' me. Where's the telegram? I think you're stringin' me.'

"'No; nothing of the kind,' said I, and I handed him the telegram.
Laugh? I never heard a fellow laugh like he did in my life.

"'Why, can't you read?'

"'Sure! This telegram reads: "Sam Shoup dead. Wood wants goods."'

"'No,' said Wood. 'That telegram says that Sam Shoup, Deadwood, wants goods. That hasn't anything to do with me.' And do you know, boys, that's the first time that I could understan' that telegram?

"It was such a good joke, howeveh, that I did jolly Wood into giving me an o'deh. From the Springs I went right up to Deadwood. When I met Sam in his sto' he said to me, 'Vell, Mark, vat are you senting my vife vlowers for, and vat are you extenting your heartfelt sympat'y aboud?'

"I showed Sam the telegram.

"'Vell, vell, vell. I nefer had a ting to happen like dot in my life,' said he. 'Now, I know you are my frient. If you had send dose vlowers while you knew I vas alife, I would have t'ought you done it to sell me a bill but you send 'em ven you t'ought I vas deat. Ged op your stuff, Mark, you bet your life I haf a bill for you. I will make it dobble vat I t'ought I vould. You are de only man dat has proved he vas my frient.'"

"Did I ever tell you how I got on the south side of Ed Marks?" said Sam Wood. We had nearly all heard this story before, but still it was a pleasure to get Wood started, so we all urged him to proceed.

"Well, it came about this way," said Sam, squaring himself in his chair, as we lit our cigars. "It was in the old flush days, you know, Goodness! How I wish we had some more mining camps now like Ed's old town. Business was business in those days—to sell a man ten thousand in clothing was nothing! Why, I've sold Ed as much as twenty-five thousand dollars in one season. His account alone, one year, would have supported me. I know one time he came into our store and I took him upstairs and sold him the whole side of the house—overcoats that stacked up clear to the ceiling, and he bought them quick as a flash. He just looked at them. He said, 'How much for the lot?' I gave him a price, and before I could snap my finger he said, 'All right, ship them out. Send about a fourth by express and the others right away by freight.'"

"Yes, but how did you start him, Sam?"

"Oh, I'm just going to get to that now. I was something of a kid when I started out west. I've always been a plunger, you know. Of course I've cut out fingering chips for a long time now, but there was no stake too high for me in those days. It cost a whole lot of money to travel out west when I first struck that country. It was before the time when clothing houses sent out swatches in one trunk. They weren't such close propositions then as now. They're trying to put this clothing business now on a dry goods basis.

"Well, I carried fourteen trunks and five hundred wouldn't last me more than two weeks. I just cashed a draft before I struck Ed's town. I had heard that he was a hard man to handle and I didn't know just exactly how to get at him, but luck was with me.

"The night I got into town, I went into the den out from the office. You know that in those days the hotels would board suckers for nothing if they would only play their money. I knew Ed by sight and I saw him standing by the faro table. 'Ah, here's my chance,' said I. I pulled out my roll and asked the dealer to give me two hundred in chips. I played him twenty on a turn and then said to the dealer, 'What's your limit?' The roof's off,' said he. 'All right, 250 on the bullet,' said I, sliding over. '250 goes,' said he. I lost. I repeated the bet. I lost again. By this time they began to crowd around the table. I didn't see Ed then at all, you know, except out of the corner of my eye. I could see that he was getting interested and I saw him put his hand down in his pocket. I lost another 250. Three straight bets of 250 to the bad, but I thought I might just as well be game as not and lose it all at one turn as well as any other way, if I had to lose. All I was playing for was to get an acquaintance with Ed anyhow and that was easily worth 500 to me if I could ever get him into my sample room, and I knew it. Gee! Those were great old times then.

"Well, I planked up the fourth 250, and won. Then I let the whole 500 lay and—"

"You are pipe dreaming, Wood," spoke up one of the boys.

"Jim, I can prove this by you. You've seen worse things than this, haven't you?"

"Bet your life, Wood," and Jim whispered to one of the boys, 'Wood can prove anything by me.'

"I let the 500 lay on a copper and I won. From that time on I made no bet for less than half a thousand. At one time I had the dealer pretty close to the bank but I didn't quite put him ashore.

"Well, to make a long story short, when I quit I was just a thousand to the good. Next day was Sunday. There was a picnic out a mile from town. I said:

"'Well, gentlemen, I've done my best to relieve my friend here of all he has, but I can't do it. I am a little to the good and I want you all to go as my guests tomorrow to the picnic. In on this?' said I, and Ed, among others, nodded.

"I didn't tell him who I was and I didn't ask him who he was. I took it for granted if he said he would go along, he would. Next day a whole van load of us went out to the picnic. We had a bully good time. When we got into the wagon I introduced myself to all the gentlemen, not telling them what my business was. When Ed told me his name, he said, 'I'm a resident of this town in the clothing business. Where are you from?' I said, 'I'm from Chicago and I'm in the clothing business, too, but don't let's talk business. We're out for pleasure today.' 'Well, that suits me,' said Ed, but when we got back to town that night I dropped the rest of the bunch and asked him in to supper with me. Nothing too good for him, you know. And while he was under the spell I took him into my sample room that night. You ought to have seen the order that fellow gave me. It struck the house so hard when I sent it in to them that they wired me congratulations."

"Are you still selling your friend Rubovitz, Johnnie?" asked our friend, who had just told us his story, of one of his competitors.

"Sure," said Johnnie, "and the boy, too. Yes, why shouldn't I?"

"Well, I guess you should," said Wood.

"Yes! when I was in the old man's store on this last trip, I felt really sorry for a first-tripper who struck him to look at his clothing. That fellow hung on and hung on. I was sitting back at the desk and he must have thought I was one of the partners because I was the first man he braced and I referred him to the old gentleman."

"Well, wasn't that sort of a dangerous thing for you to do?" asked one of the boys.

"Not on your life. You don't know why it is I have the old man so solid. I've got the hooks on him good and hard, you know."

"Well, how's that?"

"Oh, it came about this way," said he. "When I was down in Kansas City a few years ago, when I had finished selling Ruby,—as I always called him, you know—(he came in from out in the country to meet me this time) I asked him how my little sweetheart was getting on. She, you know, was his little daughter Leah. She was just as sweet as she could be,—great big brown eyes and rich russet cheeks, black curls, bright as a new dollar and sharp as a needle.

"'O, she iss a big goil now,' said my friend Ruby. 'Say,' said he, 'who vass dot yong feller in the room here a few minutes ago?' He referred to a young friend of mine who had chanced to drop in. 'De reeson I ask iss I am huntin' for a goot, reliable, hart-workin' Yehuda (Jewish) boy for her. I vant her to get married pretty soon now. She iss a nice goil, too.'

"'How about a goy (Gentile), Ruby?' said I.

"'No, that vont vork. Kein yiddishes Madchen fur einen Goy und keine Shickse fur einen yiddishen Jungen.' (No Hebrew girl for a Gentile boy; no Gentile girl for a Hebrew boy.)

"'All right, Ruby,' said I. He was such a good, jolly old fellow, and while he was a man in years he was a boy in actions,—and Ruby was the only name by which I ever called him. Nothing else would fit. 'All right, Ruby,' said I, 'I believe I just know the boy for Leah.'

"'Veil, you know vat I will do. I don'd care eef he iss a poor boy; dot is all ride. I haf money and eef I ged the ride boy for my goil, I vill set him op in peezness. Dot's somet'ing for you to vork for— annodder cost'mer,' said he—the instinct would crop out.

"Well, sir, I've got to make this story short," said Johnny, pulling out his watch. "I found the boy. He was a good, clean-cut young fellow, too, and you know the rest."

"You bet your life I do," said Sam. "Two solid customers that buy every dollar from you."

"And," continued Johnny, "Leah and Abie are as happy as two birds in a nest. I don't know but these marriages arranged by the old folks turn out as well as the others anyhow."

"It's not alone by doing a good turn to your customer that you gain his good will," said the hat man. "Not always through some personal favor, but with all merchants you win by being straight with them. This is the one thing that will always get good will. Now, in my line, for example, new styles are constantly cropping out and a merchant must depend upon his hat man to start him right on new blocks. A man in my business can load a customer with a lot of worthless plunder so that his stock will not be worth twenty-five cents on the dollar in a season or two. On the other hand, he can, if he will, select the new styles and keep him from buying too many of them, thereby keeping his stock clean.

"Yes, and this same thing can be done in all lines," spoke up two or three of the boys.

"Yes, you bet," continued the hat man, "and when you get a man's good will through the square deal you have him firmer than if you get his confidence in any other way."

"Sure! Sure!" said the boys, as we dropped our napkins and made for our hats.