The next evening, Jock McTavish and I had a long pow-wow over a plan to check credits. It is always a good idea to talk over such matters with an accountant, and Jock was some accountant, in spite of having come from "Doomfreeze" as he called it. In the morning I took a form over to the printers with instructions to have it printed on 4×6-in. cards. I had an old cabinet that just took that size—and besides Jock said it was better than the 3×5-in. size. He said, "Most card indices, run on a 3×5-in. card, are crowded. The card is really too small except for such simple uses as an address index. The result is that the small cards soon get so cluttered up with notes and additions as to be difficult to read. Better use the 4×6-in. size, and give yourself room to write all you want and still keep it in order." Jock glared at me when he said that, for he considered that I was careless in my bookkeeping just because I carried charges on scraps of paper till evening and then entered them all at once. We decided that, starting on the first of the next month, we would make every customer wanting credit give us the following information, and sign it. This is a copy of the form:
We would first get his full name and home address. Then, if he was in business for himself, we would know that, and also where his business was. If he worked for some one else, we'd know it. Then, if he was a plumber, he must state what kind of goods he would most need, and so on. This was my idea. Jock said that builders, carpenters, plumbers and such like would object to that clause. He said they would think it was no business of mine what they bought as long as they paid for it. I believed, however, that if I had a number of customers likely to use a lot of supplies of a certain kind, it would help me and them if I knew it. I could then buy accordingly. Further, if I found a man buying a lot of goods quite different from what his card said he used, I'd know there was something wrong and could at once look into it. With the customer's signature to that card I could easily stop a man's credit if he exceeded his limit in either way. Betty thought it was an excellent thing,—if I could get it started; and Jock said it was a good plan,—if it worked. I showed a rough draft of it to Barlow at lunch time, and he said it wouldn't work. So, between the lot of 'em I got mighty little encouragement. Still, perhaps it was best to act on my own judgment. If I was wrong I'd know better next time. Every credit customer who came into the store was to be passed over to me, and I was going to tell him a little story like this: "Mr. ——, I've only recently bought this business, and I'm not yet acquainted with all my customers and their needs. Now I see we have an account open with you, and I'm very glad to accommodate you. It will help me to give you good service and to meet your wishes if you will please give me the particulars of your needs." Then I was going to ask him those questions, fill in the card myself as he answered them and, passing it over to him, I'd ask him if it was all correct. If he said "yes" I'd pass him my pen without a word—and I felt sure he would sign it without a murmur. At least that was my guess. One thing was certain, I simply had to cut down my credit business. I was hard up, and owed more than I had in the bank. Of course the accounts were I had a crowd of small accounts, people who had bought and promised to come in "at the end of the week," or who had asked to have the goods delivered and promised to pay the boy—and when the boy delivered, they had said, "Tell Mr. Black I'll be in to-morrow and pay him. I haven't the change now." When, oh! when was "to-morrow"? Unless I got some ready cash soon I'd have to ask some of my creditors to wait until "to-morrow." The next day, while I was out for lunch, old Peter Bender, the carpenter, came in for some more goods. He had bought $18.75 worth early in the month; a little later he had bought $11.00 worth, and, while I was at the convention, he had got another $8.50 worth of goods. I had blamed Larsen for that last lot of $8.50, for I had said that Peter was to pay up before getting more goods. However, it had got by Larsen and I had said nothing. Peter had come in as soon as I had left the store, and told Walter, the first assistant, that he was to tell me that my bill would be paid "to-morrow." He had then said there were "a few odds and ends" he wanted—and took $26.00 worth of tools with him. That brought the total to $64.25. I was really uneasy about it—I was more—I was worried, for Barlow had told me that he would not sell him anything until he had paid a bill of $2.65, while I had gone to $64.25! Peter had "stuck" Simpson too, I remembered, for Peter had told me when he bought the first lot of Betty was quite "snippy" that evening. She said she was worrying over the way I managed the business. I fancied she had started to say "mismanaged" it. We almost "got to words." However, I told her that Fellows of the Flaxon Advertising Agency was writing a form letter for me to send to the people who owed me small accounts. There was over $300.00 worth of such accounts, none over $5.00. Fellows, however, telephoned me that he could not get over till late the following afternoon with the collection letter, so I decided to write it myself. When he arrived I showed it to him. I set it down here as a horrible example of how not to do it. This is it: Dear Sir:— I notice that your account of .................. for goods purchased some time ago has not yet been paid. From this date on, no more credit will be allowed any one owing overdue accounts; furthermore, definite particulars of credit requirements must be supplied in advance. As I am anxious to close up these overdue accounts at once, I must ask for your remittance in full by return mail. Yours truly, When Fellows read that he laughed and said: "I don't think that hits the mark at all. If any one were to pay you on the strength of that letter, it would be with the determination never to do any more busi Here I broke in with "Does it take all that time to write a single dunning letter?" "For one letter, no; but for a form letter that is going to sixty or seventy people, yes. It is really important that it will not offend any one and yet 'bring home the bacon.' Here it is," and he passed me this: Dear Mr. ............:— The enclosed account is so small that I feel sure you will not object to paying it when next passing the store. May I respectfully add that it materially aids me to get these small accounts paid promptly and out of the way. Will you do your share toward helping me—to-day? Very truly yours, P.S. Have a look at my new line of "hot weather electrics"—fans, grills, toasters, etc.—at the same time. I took it over to a young stenographer who promised to typewrite them for me as quickly as possible. I thought it was worth the little extra cost to send these people real individual letters, each one signed by myself. Fellows offered to send me three more letters on collections. He advised me to put in a regular "follow-up" system. I was a little dubious, and told him so, of the wisdom "No," he said, "for you send a letter that is not a formal one by any means. Follow-up systems can be just as successful in a small town as in big cities, if you will see that the letter expresses your own personality. A high-falutin', high-brow letter would be a joke, but a human letter, written in the language you use, and that your customers are used to, will win out every time." |