Barlow sent a copy of Hardware Times over to me, in which he had marked an item about the State Convention the next week. I showed it to Betty and remarked:

"Of course I can't afford to go, because it comes the same day as we get married, and you remember, Betty, we agreed that we would not have our honeymoon until we had 'turned the corner'."

But to my surprise, she urged me to go. She said I might learn a whole lot there by meeting other hardware men and the new ideas I would get would help me very much under present conditions. So Betty and I decided to go to the Convention—and also make it our honeymoon. I telephoned Barlow and thanked him for sending the notice to me.

The salary adjustment I left until I should return. Even Jock agreed to that.

It was mighty nice of Barlow to send me that notice—and he a competitor of mine—or rather, I was a competitor of his, I guess!

Thirteen may be an unlucky number for some folks, but it sure was the lucky day for me, for on that day Betty and I were married. It was a quiet little home wedding. No one was there but mother, the two girls, and a cousin of Betty's from Hartford. Everything went off splendidly.We went on the 12:30 train. Barlow went ahead of us on the 9:30. I extracted a promise from him before he left that he wouldn't tell anybody that we were just married, because if they did know they would tease the life out of us. He never let it out, and Betty and I had the time of our lives.

The only incident that marred the day for us happened at the station. We got there ten minutes before train time, and who was there, leaning against the newsstand, but Stigler. He made no attempt to come near us, but raised his hat and said in a loud, harsh voice, "Well, Mrs. Betty Black, so you've been and got married after all! I wish yer luck of your bargain!" He looked me up and down, turned his head, spat contemptuously on the floor, and stalked out of the station.

"Really, that man's 'narsty' temper will get him into trouble some of these days," so quoth I to Betty.

She, however, did not treat it as a joke. "Be careful of that man, boy dear," she said. "He really hates you. You know he—he—"

"Yes, I know," I laughed contentedly. "He wanted to get my Betty, but he didn't."

"Be careful of him, boy dear, anyhow."

The train then came in, and off we went to the Convention, as Betty said, combining business with pleasure.

Barlow met us at the other end, and turned Betty over to the Chairman of the Ladies' Entertainment Committee and took me over to Convention Hall.

"You two will have to endure the hardship of being parted for an hour or two," he said with a laugh.

"Look after him, Mr. Barlow," said Betty. "Remember he is down here for business, and he must not waste his time with nonsense."

"I never called you such a name as that yet," I said, and then we parted.

Barlow was an awfully interesting man to talk to! I never realized how human he was before. Certainly when I worked for him all the clerks at that time looked upon him as a creature outside of our world altogether. I don't think it ever dawned on any of us that he was a real human being, with likes and dislikes just the same as ourselves, and we never credited him with any thought or consideration for us other than how much work he could get out of us!

I felt a little ashamed of myself, in talking with him, to see how really interested he was in the welfare of all his employees. The thought occurred to me, while he was talking, that, as he was interested in us, why in heaven's name hadn't he told us so?

In thinking over the matter later on it seemed to me that it would be a good idea for the boss sometimes to ask a clerk how his wife was, or how the new baby was getting along. In fact, I didn't think it would hurt to take a clerk home to dinner occasionally—not often enough to make him one of the family, as it were, but it seemed to me that a proprietor could develop a great feeling of loyalty in his people over a round of beef, or a good cigar, out of business hours, than in any other way. I decided to try it some time, when things got better settled at the store.

When we got to the Convention it seemed that Barlow knew everybody, and he appeared to be very popular.

A fussy little man, named Minker, who seemed to have something to say to every one, introduced himself to me, and we had some conversation. He asked me where I came from, and I told him.

"Oh," he said, "then you know Barlow?"

"Very well, indeed," I replied. "In fact, I used to work for him."

"If he was as fine a boss as he is a president, you were certainly fortunate," he returned.

"President of what?" I asked, in surprise.

He looked blank. "Why," he said, "president of the association!"

"I didn't know he had ever been president of the association!" I exclaimed. "He never said anything about it to us!"

"Hm!" he said, as he looked at me over his glasses. "Don't you ever read your trade papers?"

I felt a little bit small when I replied:

"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 competition. 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 competition, and I think it's all poppycock 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 competition 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 competition.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!