My Monday night meetings were proving very beneficial, and one, in particular, had been very interesting. It had been something of an innovation.

The secretary of the hardware association had been in town, and I had asked him around to the house for lunch; and while there, I had told him about our weekly meetings. He thought it was an excellent idea.

"You are doing a good thing," he said, "and you'll get a lot closer to your boys. They work better for you, don't you know."

It was Betty who had suggested the idea. It hadn't occurred to me at all. She was in the kitchen, getting the lunch ready, and I didn't think she was paying any attention to what Mr. Field and I were talking about. Then, as she was placing the lunch of chops and grilled sweet potatoes (grilled as only Betty can grill them) on the table, she had remarked:

"If Mr. Field is staying in town to-night, why not ask him to attend your meeting with you?"

"That's a dandy idea!" I returned enthusiastically. "Will you come, Mr. Field?"

And the big, rosy-faced, jovial secretary chuckled and said:

"Very glad to."

I had been told a number of times that Mr. Field was one of the best-natured men in the world, which perhaps accounted somewhat for his success. His readiness to comply with my request tended to show that what I had heard about him was true.

"And, boy dear," said Betty sweetly, "Mr. Field has several stores of his own. Why not make him an ex-officio member of the company for to-night? Perhaps he could give you some good ideas on selling."

"Say, that's bully!" I cried, smacking my knee. "I'll tell the boys this afternoon!"

Betty smiled:

"Wouldn't it be just as well to ask Mr. Field first, if he would do it?"

"Why, yes, of course," I replied, blushing. "How careless of me! You will, won't you, Mr. Field?"

"Only too glad to be of service," he returned, "if you think there is anything I can say that will help them."

"I'm sure there is," I said impetuously.

We then settled down to our lunch. A few minutes later Betty suggested:

"Won't it make it pretty late for Mr. Field to get his dinner after the meeting, since it doesn't start until 6:30?"

Then a brilliant idea struck me.

"Betty," I asked, "will you make us coffee and buy some doughnuts and send them down to the store about quarter past six? That will keep us from starving until the meeting is over."

Well, we had our coffee and doughnuts before the meeting started. Mr. Field had a chance to mix with the boys, and got them all into good humor. Then the meeting was called to order, and I announced that, before Mr. Field began to talk, we would clean up any left-over matters.

I brought up the matter of the Cincinnati Pencil Sharpener agency. The boys seemed to fight shy of doing any outside selling, and I, in a fit of bravado—caused, I think, by the keen twinkle I saw in Mr. Field's eyes—said:

"Well, I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll go out myself to-morrow, and see what can be done with it. If I start the ball rolling, you fellows will follow it up all right, won't you?"

And this was agreed to—somewhat half-heartedly, I must say.

Wilkes, who was delivery and messenger boy, and general boy of all work, then asked if it wouldn't be a good idea to sell toys at Christmas time. Jones laughed at this; but Larsen said nothing. I, myself, thought the idea rather ridiculous, although I didn't say so, of course; but a glance at Mr. Field's face showed me that he didn't think the idea was foolish.

"Tell you what we'll do," I said. "Let's leave that until next week, for we want to have some good ideas from Mr. Field while we have him here."

Mr. Field, in his good-natured, friendly manner, started in by inviting us to interrupt him at any time and ask any questions we wanted, because he wasn't going to make a speech, but was just going "to talk."

I wish I had put down verbatim what he said; but, as I didn't I will outline the main points he brought out—and some dandy pointers on selling he gave us.

He was talking about courteous service to customers.

"Courtesy is something more than mere politeness," he said. "You have to have the real feeling of wishing to do something for the customer, and you have to show the customer you want to help him by every word and action. Such a feeling, don't you know, will make you, when you see a customer coming, go to him instead of standing still and waiting for him to come to you."

"That's just what Mr. Barker was telling me last week!" I exclaimed.

Mr. Field then spoke about introducing other lines to the customers while they were waiting.

"Have you ever noticed," he said, "when you go into a store to buy something and you are waiting for the parcel to be wrapped, or waiting for your change, that the salesman will usually make some remark about the weather, or talk about the ball game, or the election returns? That's all right and very interesting, perhaps, and it helps to make the customer like the salesman. But it would make the cash register work harder—and you know, boys, there's no Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Cash Registers—if, instead of talking about the weather, or something of that kind, the clerk talked about something that might make the cash register 'ting.' See what I mean, boys? Instead of saying, 'A nice day, isn't it?' why don't you say 'This is a nice safety razor,' or 'do you use a safety razor?'"

Larsen broke in with:

"You ask him to buy something after he got what he wants? He get mad? no?"

"Well," said Mr. Field, "he might, if you were to say to him, 'Wouldn't you like to buy this safety razor?' But, of course, you would merely pass the safety razor over to him, as you mention it, saying, perhaps: 'This is a new kind of safety razor which works differently from the ordinary kind—what do you think of it?' You do not ask him to buy it; but you just try to get him interested in it. The difference between being interested in an article, and wanting to own it, is one of degree, and not of kind. See what I mean?

"There is another thing that's helped sales in my own stores very much—the use of suggestion. Whenever a customer buys anything, we always suggest something that can go with it. For instance, I sell stationery. Suppose a customer comes to our stationery counter and asks for a box of note paper. We always suggest post-cards, blotting paper, pen and ink, or anything else that is associated with the goods she has purchased.

"If a customer asked for a safety razor, don't you think it would be poor salesmanship not to offer him something else? A machine could do that much. But it takes a real salesman to sell him something else and I know you boys are real salesmen. You mustn't have the customer feel that he's been forced to buy something he doesn't want, but make him pleased with his new purchase. When you're asked for a safety razor, and have made this sale you should ask him what kind of shaving soap he uses, or tell him that you have some good shaving brushes which will help to make his shaving comfortable. If a man buys nails, suggest a hammer; if he buys screws, suggest a screw-driver. It doesn't matter what you're selling, there is always something you can suggest that will go with it, and which is quite natural to suggest. I tell you, boys, a customer will very often thank you for reminding him of something that he wants."

Larsen brought up a problem, and the way Mr. Field answered it, I thought, was fine. Certainly it was something I never would have thought of, and I knew that none of the boys would have known how to get around it.

Said Larsen: "A lady, she come in the other day and ask for an oil lamp. I show her a nice one, bronze finish. But she says no, she want brass finish. We don't carry brass finished lamps—no call for 'em. I tell her bronze finish is better, keep cleaner and more stylish. But no, she won't have it. She want brass finish and I couldn't sell her. What would you do about it?"

"Of course," replied Mr. Field, "you can't sell to everybody. Some folks have certain likes and dislikes, and it's a waste of time to try to change their whims and fancies. I don't think I would have tried to swing her into line on the question of the finish of the lamp, I would have ignored that altogether and talked about some other advantages of the lamp. Do you see what I mean? Here, how's this? Instead of talking about the finish, why not say: 'Yes, madam, it's just a matter of taste whether you prefer brass or the bronze finish. Most people prefer the bronze and that's why we keep it. I know the brass finish looks well but, after all, it's only a small matter. Isn't it more important to get a lamp that does its work properly? Just notice this duplex burner,' and then I would go on to describe all the other features of the lamp, its burning qualities, its economy, its durability, and things of that kind. You see, I would have tried to side track that objection to the finish of the lamp by talking about other things. If necessary you could tell her that she wouldn't have to clean the bronze finish as often as she would the brass. Now, if that isn't clear to you, Mr. Larsen, say so. Don't hesitate to speak up. You know I get more out of this than you boys do, if you ask questions."

As no one asked a question Mr. Field went on:

"I don't believe you should argue with a customer on something which is a matter of taste or fancy. If it was something about whether or not the lamp gave a good light, you could prove that it would, for that's not a question of taste, like the color or finish. In my stores we make it a rule to give way to the customer on little matters. That makes him feel good tempered, don't you know, and it's easy then for us to win our point on something important if its necessary to getting the order."

"I saw in one of the Sunday papers," remarked Jones, "an editorial which said to give way on little things, and you will gain the big ones."

"That's about the idea," replied Mr. Field. "I think that's very well put."

There was one other point that Mr. Field brought out, and one on which I was not certain whether he was right or not—the advisability of showing better class goods all the time. He said that if he had a store like mine he would want to offer solid silver goods during the Christmas trade for presents, and nice cases of cutlery.

"Don't you know," he said, "that people in this town buy those nice things? If you go into the better-class homes you will find beautiful silverware, and cut-glass, and expensive cutlery, and all that kind of thing; but they don't buy them in the town because your business men seem afraid to stock up on really good stuff like that. When folks want that good stuff, they have to go to the big cities for it."

"Think of the money it runs into, though," I said.

"Yes, but think of the extra profit you make by it."

"Huh," interjected Larsen, "that sounds nice, 'extra profit.' Suppose you don't sell the goods! There you are flat on your back, with a lot of expensive silverware and things on your chest!"

We laughed at Larsen. When order was restored, Mr. Field said:

"With a little maneuvering it is possible to get such goods on consignment. We make a point, in all my stores, of offering the best goods we have to the customer. It's easier to come down than to go up, don't you know. I know a store in a small town, that never used to sell pocket-knives for more than fifty cents. They told me they didn't think it possible to sell anything more expensive, there, forgetting that there was a lot of money there. A salesman one day got them to put in a line of pocket-knives selling, retail, up to $2.00 each. They were afraid of them, in spite of the salesman's confidence that they could sell them, if they showed them so the salesman finally agreed to send them a lot on consignment. That was—let me see—a couple of years ago. When I was in the town a few days ago, I was talking with the owner of that store and he told me that now they very seldom sell anything less than 50 cents, and that their average price for pocket-knives is a dollar to a dollar and a quarter. He said they sell a lot of them up as high as $3.50 each, and they sell more knives now than ever they did when they carried only cheap ones."

A buzz went around the store from my little force as this fact sunk home. Then Mr. Field sat down, and we broke into hearty applause.

Larsen got up, before we closed, and suggested a vote of thanks to Mr. Field for his most instructive talk, which suggestion was followed out; and the meeting then adjourned.

I felt that it was a mighty good thing to have an outsider come in and talk like that, and I decided to try to get some people to do it. Barlow was a mighty clever man, but I thought some of these little stunts I was pulling off were better than anything he could think of.